Faramir Fiction Archive

Deadly Attraction (R)

Written by Laurëlóte

21 June 2008 | 4791 words

Title: Deadly Attraction
Author: Laurëlóte
Beta: Minx
Pairing: Faramir/Aragorn, Faramir/OMC
Rating: R
Word Count: 4,592
Summary: Faramir finds himself with some unwanted attention.
Warnings: Dark themes, rape, mild torture
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they belong to Tolkien, I merely like to borrow them for my own pleasure.
NB: This is my first attempt at writing a dark fic so I would dearly love to know what everyone thinks of it. What you say might dictate whether I write more or if I scurry back to my safe, fluffy place! ;)

Written for the 2008 Midsummer Swap.

Request by Bell Witch: Prefer Faramir with human partner. Maybe a Faramir/Denethor incest (incest should not be happy. Faramir of age, please.) Rarer partner—Éomer, Gríma (a more innocent Faramir this time?), an OC (soldier, council member, etc.) Someone stalking Faramir? Prefer one on one, definitely adult Faramir. Any rating. Prefer darkfic but possibly a sweeter story with Faramir crushing on a tutor/older soldier. (Not his brother.) Faramir/Théoden? Don’t think I’ve ever seen that. Fallback position, nasty Aragorn/Faramir. Should not be angry with Faramir for not being Boromir, but for his own sake. Or because he took the Ring, which is never good.

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Deadly Attraction

“I tell you, I am being watched!” Faramir snapped angrily, his agitation growing as he paced in front of his king. “How can you expect me to do my work properly when I am under constant surveillance?”

He knew that Aragorn did not believe him. He had not done so the last time they had spoken of the exact same issue.

It had gone on for weeks now. Initially it had just been for an hour or so at a time, but for the last few days Faramir had had the uneasy feeling that he was being watched constantly. Someone was following his every move, hiding in the shadows. He had not managed to see them yet and confront them, but he knew they were there.

He was sure that it would turn out to be some old ally of his father’s; making sure that he did not do anything to dishonour the family name. It certainly would not be the first time, although things had eased somewhat since his father’s death. But the whole matter was weighing heavily upon his mind. He had not slept the past few days and his work was piling up as he struggled to concentrate.

“Faramir, no one is watching you. I had a guard close to you at all times today and he saw nothing,” Aragorn replied gently. “You look tired. Perhaps you should take the day off tomorrow. Rest a little.”

Aragorn was trying hard to be understanding and considerate, but the look on Faramir’s face said it all. His steward was not happy, clearly indicating that he felt he was being punished but that had not been Aragorn’s intention. He was concerned that Faramir had not stopped working since he had been given the stewardship, desperate to prove himself, and as a result, it did not surprise him that the younger man was suffering from hallucinations due to exhaustion. A day’s rest would hopefully resolve the whole issue.

“Before you try to argue Faramir,” he said quickly, cutting the younger man off from what he was about to say. “Think about it, if you are right and this is someone checking up on your work, then they are not going to bother you on your day off. Then we will know that that is definitely the reason.”

Faramir looked at him warily, as though he realised that what Aragorn said was true, but also could not help but feel that his king was simply humouring him; as though he thought this moment of madness on Faramir’s part would pass and things would return to normal. The trouble was, he knew that it would not, but how did he explain that he just knew that it was not his imagination, that he was certain that someone was watching him when he had no proof?

“Very well, my Lord, I will do as you request, even though I am not happy about neglecting my duties. I know everyone thinks that I have an overactive imagination but I can assure you, I am not wrong in this.”

It was in fact, three days since that conversation had occurred and Faramir had yet to return to his duties. The feeling of being watched had not left him; in fact it had only intensified.

About a week ago he had begun to keep a log of his days, marking the times when he felt the sensation of being watched and now he studied it continuously, desperate to find some connection between either time or place, but so far he had come up with nothing. He had felt it as he broke his fast and in the chapel, but it was not always when he was alone; he could be training troops or in a council meeting and still that feeling would make him sick to the stomach.

This past day, he had not even left his room the once, absorbing the sanctity it offered, still too scared to step out onto the balcony.

It was Aragorn who finally coaxed him back out into the world the next day, promising that he would do everything he could to find the person responsible. It was all Faramir could ask for.

He threw himself into work, seemingly working even harder than before, and tried desperately to put it to the back of his mind.

Then suddenly the watching stopped.

It felt strange. As infuriating as it was, Faramir had grown used to the fact that someone would watch his movements, at least for part of every day. But now he could not help but feel there was something missing.

He still could not sleep without the help of herbs and roots, even more curious as to what it was they had wanted. Had they found out what they wanted to know? Or had they just given up waiting for him to do whatever it was they had wanted him to do.

Things were just returning to normal a few weeks later, when, returning to his room one evening, he found a single red rose upon his bed.

He picked it up gently and brought the delicate flower to his nose, inhaling its sweet scent.

He looked around the room in the hope that he might find a message or something that would give him a clue as to the leaver’s identity, but found nothing of help.

He questioned the maid, but she denied all knowledge of it, leaving Faramir with the additional question – how did they get into his room in the first place?

A week later he found six roses.

And then there were a dozen.

“Faramir, you are the only man I know who, instead of being flattered that they have a secret admirer, stays up all night worrying about how they got into your room!” Aragorn chuckled when Faramir told him the latest developments.

“Aragorn this is serious!” Faramir protested, once again annoyed that the older man had failed to see how disturbing the situation was. In fact he seemed to think it a good thing.

“You deserve someone who cares about you Faramir,” Aragorn said softly now, as if already knowing his Steward’s reaction to the matter. “You should be wondering who it is that cares about you so and enjoying it, not dwelling on such insignificant things as how they entered your room.”

“I do not want anyone Aragorn!” Faramir exclaimed in horror. It was almost true; he was not interested in a relationship, especially when the object of his desires was unavailable.

He did not know what he had expected from Aragorn; some understanding and some support maybe. In his dreams Aragorn would have been jealous of the attention that he was receiving and would have whisked him away to a secluded hunting lodge; just the two of them together for a few days to convince Faramir that he was the one he wanted.

That was just pure fantasy though. The reality hurt. Aragorn would never be interested in him. Indeed, he did not even appear to care enough not to laugh at Faramir’s fears. It was at times like this that he really missed the support that Boromir had given him. His brother would have helped to reassure him, even humoured him a little by checking his quarters.

After Aragorn had brought him back from near death, there had always been a closeness between them, Aragorn had promised that he would not allow Faramir to be hurt by anyone ever again, that he would always be there for him, but by the time Faramir left Aragorn’s study he was feeling worse; unloved and rejected. He did not think he would sleep that night; there was too much playing upon his mind.

His heart sank further as he discovered a box waiting for him upon the bed. He opened it carefully and gasped as he saw the contents. There was a single blood red coloured rose that had shrivelled and died, the petals darkened so that they almost looked black.

Searching for clues as to the meaning, Faramir found a small envelope at the bottom of the box. It contained a card on which a single line was written.

‘I have seen the way you look at him. I do not like it!’

With a sharp intake of breath, Faramir dropped the card, causing it to flutter the ground.

He spent the night sitting at his desk in candle light, the flower and card before him, attempting to construct a list of all the people who he believed could have left it, but after many hours his page was still blank. The truth was, he could not think of a single person who he believed would leave such a disturbing gift.

Forgetting his latest gift, Faramir started to construct a second list, all those who could be a secret admirer, those he could see leaving the gifts he had received before. This too was difficult. He could not see why any one would want to admire him anyway, let alone go to so much trouble.

He needed help to construct these lists, but now he did not know whom to turn to. There was no one he could trust anymore, and he would not go to Aragorn about this. The king had made it clear what he thought of the matter, and besides, if he took the card to Aragorn then he would want to know what it meant and Faramir knew he would rather die than suffer the embarrassment of explaining that it was the king himself who was the object of his desires.

As the sun rose, Faramir shoved the rose to the back of the drawer in his desk and headed down to the main dining hall to break his fast.

It was that night, in a drug induced sleep that the dreams started. He dreamt that he was in his office, when a noise caught his attention out of the window. As he wandered over to have a look, he was suddenly overcome with the feeling that someone was behind him. He spun round and caught a glimpse of a dark, hooded figure just as something heavy came into contact with his skull and everything went black.

The dream reoccurred night after night and Faramir’s worry deepened. His dreams often came true and he did not know a way of preventing them. What frustrated him the most was that he never managed to see the figure’s face. He was certain that if he did, he would know the identity of his ‘admirer’.

He did not go to Aragorn again with his fears. He knew that his king would only laugh at him again, for being scared of a simple child’s nightmare.

Besides the dreams, there were no more events of note for the next week or so. Faramir almost returned to some normalcy, often working late or visiting the library in the evening. Message forgotten, he even jumped at the chance of dining with Aragorn in his private dining room. However, that proved to be a fatal mistake, as he realised when he entered his room.

His quarters were transformed into a complete mess. Books were no longer carefully lined up along their shelves; instead they were strewn upon the floor. The clothes which had been neatly folded up in drawers were also scattered; some over his desk, others over chairs. Some had been put there carelessly, but others had been carefully placed, his favourite tunic, his nightshirt, the cloak his brother had given his for his 21st birthday; it was almost as if they had been… worn.

Faramir shuddered at the thought. It almost felt as if he had been violated himself, and the feeling only got worse as he turned his gaze upon his bed. The sheets were wrinkled and the pillow dented; it was as though someone had been lying there, in his own bed. He felt sick.

He practically ran from the room and heaved up the contents of his dinner in the corridor outside.

Aragorn moved him to the old steward’s quarters next to his own and placed a guard on Faramir’s door. He even made a calming tea to help him sleep at night.

The dream changed that night. Instead of waking up at the point where he was knocked unconscious, it continued further. This time he dreamed of regaining consciousness.

He came round in a cold, stone room, probably a cellar. He was naked and his wrists and ankles were tied and the ropes fastened to the wall, leaving him vulnerable and facing the wall, unable to turn around to view the rest of his surroundings.

As he tested the bonds to see if he could get away, he was aware of someone watching him, it was almost as if he could see them smile as they stood behind him, leaning in close to whisper in his ear:

“So here you are; mine at last. I am sorry it had to come to this; we were doing so well on our own. But then he came along and stole you from me. I could not allow that, you understand.”

Faramir’s head was spinning as he tried to process the words.

‘We were doing so well.’

That was the bit he did not understand, it almost implied that the man was an old lover, thrown aside upon the arrival of Aragorn, but yet, Faramir had never admitted his attraction to men, and certainly never acted upon it.

He thought he recognised the man’s voice but could not quite place it. He was still trying to work it out when he felt the first blow across his back.

Faramir flinched as leather came into contact with his skin again and again. He wanted to cry out from the sting of the blows, but he did not. He would not give them the satisfaction of reacting. He just closed off his mind the best he could.

Suddenly the beating stopped and was replaced with the feeling of hands upon his skin. It was the touch of a lover, soothing and caressing, exploring him the very way that he had dreamed of Aragorn doing so many times.

The voice was back, this time apologising for the punishment, but that it had to be given, and now that sins were repented they could finally be together.

The words sent a shiver down Faramir’s spine. Never had he felt so vulnerable, and so terrified, and this was caused by a man who claimed to care about him.

The hands ran down his sides and back and down to his buttocks before he felt fingertips trace along the inside of his thighs. They then moved around the front of his body and splayed over his stomach.

He felt the man’s body press up behind him, skin touching skin, so close that they could have been one. There was no ignoring the hardened length that he felt press against his buttocks. He felt sick and tried to pull away, but it only resulted in the man’s grip tightening around him, holding him in place.

The man’s calming words did nothing to help him relax as he prepared for what he knew was about to come next.

Faramir screamed as he felt his body being breached.

Faramir woke in a blind panic, sweat pouring down his face. As arms encircled him, he fought frantically against them desperately trying to get away. It was only when he realised that it was Aragorn who held him that he calmed a little.

Despite the fact that common sense told him it was just a dream, and that in reality, nothing had really happened, Faramir felt sick to the stomach and dirty and used.
Aragorn tried to get him to talk about what had upset him, as if he had realised that it was not like Faramir’s usual nightmares of that night upon the pyre, but the young ranger merely shook his head and refused to talk. It was as if, by talking about it, it really would have happened, that then there would be no escape from it.

As soon as Aragorn finally left his quarters Faramir headed down to the public baths, intent on cleaning every last memory of the man’s touch from his mind.

The baths were busy at this time of day, and Faramir felt somewhat comforted by that fact. The last thing he wanted right now was to be alone and be reminded of that man’s touch. He could still feel it, even now, loving caressing him while taking him against his will. It was that which disturbed him the most, the sheer gentleness of something so brutal.

He felt himself relax as the warm water formed a cocoon around his exhausted body.

He bathed himself carefully, cleaning every part of his body that he could think of. He was starting to feel a little better, when he suddenly realised that any one of these people could be the man whom he had dreamt of, the one who had been watching him all this time. And he could be watching him right now, could have watched him bathe before now, watched him undress, cleanse himself… the possibilities of what this man had seen were endless.

Trying to keep himself calm, he forced himself to act normally as he got out of the baths, but dressed in a hurry. Despite him telling himself it was merely paranoia, the baths no longer felt like a safe place to linger.

He rushed out into the market place; it was bustling with people buying everything from food and cloth to tools and weaponry. Once again he realised that his stalker could be anywhere within the crowd, but he felt safer among so many people. The man would not do anything in public, would he?

He stared idly at the produce for sale on the stalls, even purchasing some fruit even though food was the last thing on his mind. After a time he started to regain some control of his emotions, the gentle bustle of the market place had helped him to relax. He was just about to return to his study in the citadel when there was a surge of people towards him as someone pushed through the crowd. Faramir panicked as a feeling of claustrophobia swept over him when he realised he couldn’t get out of the crowd.

Suddenly he felt a sharp pain across his arm, and he felt himself falling forward. A hand reached out towards him, but as he reached out to take it, it seemed to move lower, brushing against him almost intimately.

A few minutes later he was still shaking inwardly at the memory of the touch, it was almost as if the hand had pressed down lightly upon his groin. He felt as if he recognised it, that he had been touched that way before. He could not longer separate out reality from the realness of his dream.

A couple of women from the nearby stalls had helped him up and fussed over him until the king could arrive. Faramir had protested, but lost as they tended to the knife wound on his upper arm.

He had not been stabbed, the wound was a shallow one, a mere slice, not designed to hurt. Perhaps it had been meant simply to send a warning, but it had still caused a lot of blood to spill and so would need to be bound.

Aragorn whisked him off quickly to his quarters as soon as they reached the citadel, where he made Faramir take off his tunic so that he could clean and dress the wound, making the younger man even more self-conscious in his current mental state.

“Tell me what happened,” Aragorn gently pressed, hoping that the younger man would finally open up to him a little, aware that Faramir had only been giving him the bare minimum of details on everything that had happened over the past few days.

Faramir struggled to keep calm as the king carefully tended to his wound. Having Aragorn in such close proximity in his current state of undress was almost too much to bear. He was not sure when his feelings for the older man had come to this, he suspected maybe he had always loved him, right from the very first moment he had heard him call his name.

He explained how he got wounded and was most likely pushed down in the crowd, but failed to mention the touch he had clearly felt on his groin. It had clearly been no accident, but Faramir felt awkward talking about it to the king. If he did, he would probably have to tell Aragorn of everything else he had carefully avoided mentioning, such as the card he had received with the rose. If he told Aragorn about them now, he would also have to admit his attraction to the older man and he did not think he could survive the humiliation and having the king reject his feelings.

But then, as Aragorn’s fingers fluttered over his skin, he was aware of his heart beating faster and as loud as goblin drum. The older man could not have failed to notice, it was likely he already knew of his feelings for him. Maybe he should just confess everything, Aragorn would have to see the seriousness of situation then, and then he might be safe.

“Do you not think that this could be a separate incident from last night?” Aragorn asked gently. “I mean it could just have been a random thief breaking into your room last night and today a disgruntled civilian may have pushed you seeing how crowded the market was, someone you have ruled against perhaps?”

Faramir felt like crying. He had thought that Aragorn finally believed what he had been saying, that everything stemmed back from when he first felt he had been watched just a few months ago, but it
appeared he had been wrong.

“It was the same man, Aragorn,” he replied without a waver of doubt in his voice. “Why do you continue to choose to disbelieve me? Do you think me mad perhaps?”

“He is dangerous. I have seen what he will do to me and gods help me, I am scared. Now if you have finished dressing my wound, I have work to do.”

As he moved away, Aragorn reached out to grab his arm but he pulled away and left before the older man could utter another word.

Aragorn ran a hand across his face, unsure of what to do. The young man looked so distraught over what had happened, but it was obvious he was hiding something. It was not that he did not believe Faramir, not after the last couple of incidents, it was just that he had to be sure in his mind that the two incidents had been related in order to give him an idea who it was
they were looking for.

He would give Faramir time to calm down a little, he reasoned, before going to speak to him again. He could not help if the ranger did not tell him the full facts, no matter how unpleasant they were.

The figure watched as Faramir worked crouched over his desk. He watched his skilful fingers as he carefully wrote each letter as if he was creating a masterpiece.

His captain looked so beautiful as the sun shone down upon him, making him look almost like an angel. He almost regretted that soon, there would be no sun to shine down upon them, but he had no choice. Faramir had failed to listen to his warnings, and he had to get him away from the king before it was too late.

A noise outside the window gave him his chance, as Faramir’s curiosity got the better of him, causing him to wander over to the window to see what the commotion was.

He picked up a huge book and crept up behind Faramir. He swung it down just as the ranger turned back round, the corner of the heavy book coming into contact with his captain’s head knocking
him unconscious as he banged his head on the table as he fell to the ground.

He gently picked up the unconscious man, cradling him in his arms. He carefully placed a kiss upon his brow where the book had struck, silently asking for forgiveness.

Faramir would forgive him he knew, just as soon as he realised that he was right. They were meant to be together, and they would be soon. Together forever.

Faramir was huddled naked in a corner of a cellar when they found him, his wrists and ankles bound tightly, cutting into his pale skin. Red marks ran across his back where he had been struck, and although they had been tended to, they still looked red and raw. He was staring at the floor, too far gone to even acknowledge their presence. It was almost as if he had returned to the same absent state that Aragorn had first coaxed him out of after he had almost died upon the pyre.

Aragorn carefully untied his bindings, and with tears in his eyes, carried him carefully to the Houses of Healing.

“I… I still can not believe it was one of my own men,” Faramir said, when he finally spoke about his ordeal a few days later in the comfort of his own quarters, his voice strained with disbelief. “I trained him myself.”

Aragorn watched the internal struggle as Faramir tried to come to terms with the fact that someone, he had trusted, and who held him in such high regard could have done such a thing to him.

“He idolised you,” Aragorn replied. “I have kept you here, away from your men and he felt abandoned. This war has left many people scarred, he was not himself.”

The king watched as Faramir reached out for the water which had been poured for him, grimacing as he did so from the pain that shot through his back and shoulder. He had never seen the younger man look so tired and broken, not even when they had first met.

“Faramir I, I was so scared that I was not going to find you in time,” blurted out Aragorn, suddenly needing Faramir to know how he felt about him. “I can not believe it took that for me to realise how
much…”

He trailed off as the younger man looked at him and shook his head sadly.

“Please stop. There are some words best left unspoken,” Faramir said quietly, his heart breaking as he denied himself the words that he had long wished to hear. “You promised me when I returned to you in the Houses of Healing that you would not let any one hurt me again. Yet when I came to you, you chose not to believe my words. You let me down. I would have given you everything Aragorn, but now I have nothing left to give.”

“You are right; I have spent too much time away from my men. As soon as I am fit enough to ride I will return to Ithilien and take up my post there.”

The tone in Faramir’s voice left no room for argument. Aragorn could only watch as the man who held his heart limped away from him; the ultimate punishment for breaking his vow.

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