Faramir Fiction Archive

The Price (R)

Written by Minx

28 February 2003 | 34809 words

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.

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