Faramir Fiction Archive

The Long Road Home (R)

Written by Minx

26 March 2005 | 14519 words

2. An Ill-fated Encounter

The brew had not been that potent after all. It was understandable, Aragorn felt, frustrated. After all it needed to simmer in hot water for long to take real effect. Faramir was now shivering, and delirious. Every now and then he mumbled something unintelligible, interspersed with cries for his father or brother. And with each cry he intensified his struggle against the hands holding him down, pushing away the blankets exposing him to the chill.

Aragorn laid a palm against his forehead, frowning as he felt the heat radiate from the now pale skin. More cries ensued. Pleas for a father who would never return came out of the feverishly moving lips. Over and over again, Faramir screamed for his father, and then screamed for Boromir telling him he couldn’t see his father.

It took Legolas and Gimli all their strength to hold down the writhing fever racked body of their friend as Aragorn went through their depleting supply of herbs, until he found what he wanted. More water was boiled, all the while the cries resounding through the tiny clearing.

Boromir, help me please… Boromir…

Father…

Gimli had grabbed a wet rag and was trying to wipe the hot face with it. They had tried to wake him up, but the brew had worked enough to leave him at least half asleep.

Aragorn waited till the water had heated enough and then quickly prepared an infusion. Filling the bowl again, he knelt down next to the Steward and taking his head in his lap tried to get him to ingest it. Most of the liquid trickled down the neck onto the chest, causing more whimpers for it was hot. Finally a sufficient amount taken in, Faramir slipped back into quiet slumber.

“Now tell us… after we split up what happened?” Aragorn asked Legolas. Faramir had been moved closer to the fire, still wrapped in blanket and their cloaks. The three friends sat near him, watching him sleep.

Legolas closed his eyes and leaning back against a fallen stump, began reciting his tale in a grim tone.

The parties having separated, Faramir and Legolas began to walk silently along the track left by the strangers. They had reached their camp soon, and were watching them from behind a few bushes atop a small hill above the camp to see whether they looked harmful or not. Faramir had even then been intensely quiet, saying little.

It was a small party barely three men, who had obviously spent much of their time outside. They were large and thickset, and spoke a much coarser version of common tongue than Legolas had ever heard. What happened next had been completely unexpected. One of the men aimed an arrow wildly into the forest as if to test his bow, sending up flocks of birds rising and small animals scurrying. The next thing the two friends realised was a group of rabbits racing through their feet. They had jerked up, Faramir had lost his balance, and even Legolas’ quick reflex action and outstretched arm couldn’t stop his fall. He rolled over numerous thorny bushes, a few large sized rocks, and landed literally at the feet of the men below, winded, bruised and scratched.

The leader of the pack, for he seemed such, pulled him up.

“What have we here now?” he asked leerily, shaking the ranger roughly.

Faramir was still recovering his breath, when the leader looking up spotted Legolas darting through the trees above, and yelled at his men to follow him. Legolas had stayed his ground having no intention of leaving the man there, and had fought skilfully but size had won out eventually, as three men attacked simultaneously.

“An Elf!” the leader shouted.

Elf and man, both captured, stood proudly in front of the leader who now held a wicked looking dagger in his hands.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Faramir demanded, angered by the treatment meted out to them.

“Haldorn at your service,” the man gave a mock bow, and continued, “and my men, Dorgon, Faldor and Taldor.”

“What we want, are your belongings, everything you have,” he said continuing to smile horribly.

“We have few belongings,” Faramir growled.

“Ah, but you will in your camp. Where is it?”

Faramir glared silently.

“Elf, where is this here camp?”

Legolas remained silent too.

“They are from Gondor,” Dorgon said, “ I recognise the clothes.”

“Who are you?” Faramir growled hoping to distract attention from Gondor. No one must know who they really were.

“We are just poor wayfarers,” Haldorn’s voice still held the mocking influence. His clothes were new as though recently brought, and a huge ring glinted off one finger.

Bandits… Legolas hissed softly, almost imperceptibly.

They knew of them, small groups of men who travelled about making life troublesome for other travellers.

“What do we do with them?” Faldor asked, “After we find their camp.”

“Hold them for ransom,” Haldorn announced triumphantly.

With that he swung a bunched fist at Faramir’s stomach taking him by surprise and sending him down on his knees gasping in pain. Faldor had grabbed Legolas meanwhile and was twisting his arm behind his back.

“Elf, where is your camp?” Haldorn kicked Faramir in his chest, and then repeated his action twice. He had continued the kicking for a few more minutes, and then tiring of this had had them bound up, while he and his men ate their lunch.

Faramir lay slumped against the Elf prince trying to get back his breath, ignoring the stabbing pains emanating from all over his protesting body.

“Strength, my friend, be strong,” Legolas whispered. He was angry with himself, as he could see now way out of their predicament. The ropes were tied too tight, and he had little idea how Aragorn and Gimli may be faring. Faramir nodded listlessly.

After the bandits had eaten, they resumed their game, trying this time to hit Legolas so Faramir would answer. It did not work. Legolas endured the beating stoically. Faramir felt as though each kick and slap was being inflicted on him, but managed to stay silent.

He himself received a few more beatings. By now it had become obvious that the beatings were more for the sake of beating and less for knowledge of their camp.

Through a hazed mind Faramir realized that a pungent odour floated in the air. He remembered the drink he’d seen them imbibe with their meals, a local ale that worked strongly and swiftly. Haldorn was shouting now, and Taldor was whipping him with a belt from his tunic, while Faldor kicked him over and over again. Dorgon was doing the same to Legolas, with ferocity, having heard tales of their “powers”, and finding little resistance due to the circumstances.

“Enough!” Haldorn shouted suddenly. His men halted confused.

Haldorn leered down at them, “If we do not get their money, we can still get something else…”

His men waited.

“It is long since I bedded a woman,” Haldorn said slowly, “Not since we entered the forest land.” He licked his lips in anticipation, and both Elf and man froze at his tone even before they had registered his words.

“The Elf?” Dorgon asked warily.

“No, no. Elves have powers,” Faldor whined.

Legolas tried to move as Dorgon was distracted but the ill-treatment had made his movements sluggish. Haldorn had grabbed a rock and aimed it at his head. It struck sending the Elf down.

Faramir yelled when he saw his friend fall, and tried getting up. Instead he was pulled roughly up by Haldorn, who grabbed his tunic with one hand and slapped him across his face with the other. The sharp slap dazed Faramir, as he remembered the hard hand of another man, a frequent occurrence in his younger days. The sudden reminder of Denethor distracted him so much that it took him some while to realize that Haldorn’s smirking face was very close to his. His cracked lips leered out at him as they came down on his mouth.

He jerked violently back reflexively crying out, angering Haldorn. A punch to his stomach ensued. The cry penetrated Legolas’ dazed mind, and he raised himself up as much as his bound hands would allow, “No…” he croaked out.

Dorgon pushed him down and held him there.

“You hold him there, Dorgon, your turn will come,” Haldorn cackled, as he once again pulled the ranger up, this time tearing at his tunic, and dragged him away behind a tree.

The sound of sharp slaps followed, the whooshes of a belt through the air, and the cries of the Steward rented through. Legolas wriggled frustrated enduring more kicks from Dorgon. The sound of clothing being ripped numbed his mind, as he heard the horrified protests of his friend filter through. Legolas shouted and with a burst of energy kicked out at Dorgon screaming madly. Faldor raced up and delivered a kick to his head. The last thing Legolas heard before blacking out was the sound of new voices shouting. Aragorn and Gimli… he thought before darkness enveloped him.

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