Faramir Fiction Archive

The Price (R)

Written by Minx

28 February 2003 | 34809 words

Chapter 8

Haldir steadied himself to handle the weight of Faramir’s inert form, as the dark head fell against his chest, one arm snaked around his shoulder, the other lying limply at his side. He caught up the prone figure, and scooped him up in his arms, observing with growing concern the way the beads of sweat stood up on the pale forehead. The cheeks were discoloured with bruising, as were the swollen lips. Dark circles were etched deep underneath the closed eyes, and the torn clothes partly covering him up merely served to hide from the elf’s eyes, the more grotesque signs of injury on the rest of the body. But he knew they were there, having seen them earlier.

Faramir’s pleading eyes, and quivering body came back into the picture as he remembered how the young man had been forced into degrading himself. The son of the steward of Gondor, a ranger, albeit still in training, a young man of high breeding and good blood forced literally onto his knees begging to be made love to, to be humiliated in order to save the life of one he loved, and this after being defiled repeatedly and abused horrifically by one considered a sworn enemy. The anger surged through his veins afresh, as he hugged his charge close, noticing the shivers that had begun racking the slight frame.

Boromir came into view dragging Fenekor’s bound and still unconscious form behind him, heedless of the thumps created by the knocking of his head and back against the stone floor, “Faramir,” he stopped.

“He has merely fainted, he is exhausted and cold, and his injuries continue to plague him, I feel,” Haldir tried to reassure his friend, “Come let us leave.”

“In our haste we have forgotten an extra horse,” Boromir muttered, “Mine is the stronger, he will take Fenekor’s weight. Will you carry Faramir?”

“It will hurt,” Haldir said staring down at the sleeping man in his arms.

Boromir nodded, his eyes troubled at the thought of all his brother was having to endure, and he suddenly gave one fast furious kick to the trussed up form at his feet, causing the unconscious man to grunt in his sleep. He dragged him roughly up the steps, and across the stone floor above out into the open. Throwing the huge Harad man over his horse, struggling a little with the bulk as he did so, he waited for Haldir who came up at a more sedate pace so as to not jolt Faramir and cause him more pain. The cool air outside however stirred the prone figure, bringing out a small whimper of pain, as grey eyes opened and stared out confusedly.

“B-Boromir,” he called out softly.

“S-sh, he is here, do not worry,” Haldir soothed him, still holding onto him. When Faramir began to writhe in his arms, he set him down, but continued holding him up, as Faramir seemed unable to stand without support.

“Yes, young one, I am here,” soothed Boromir coming up to his other side, and slinging an arm around the slender waist, “Come we are going home.”

Faramir sighed softly, still leaning against Haldir’s chest.

“Haldir will carry you,” Boromir told him.

“I – I can ride,” Faramir protested softly, his eyes still seemed dazed as though he felt he was not yet fully awake.

“It would be best not to, you will not be able to sit astride a horse for long.”

Faramir flushed at the not so subtle reminder of what he had been through, but he knew his brother was right. Merely stretching his leg a little sent shooting stabs of pain through his lower body. He knew he was bleeding again, for Fenekor had been brutal with his hands, tearing through tender skin and half torn muscle to re-open old wounds and cause new ones. He shuddered as he remembered the intrusions; the pain caused the first time, increasing each time after that. Fenekor’s grubby hands, he remembered seeing them up close each time they had landed across his unprotected face. Fat hands, with pudgy fingers, chipped fingernails caked with dirt, touching him where none had touched him before. Entering him forcibly over and over again, fingering him, scratching him. He never realised when his shudders turned into sobs of agony, and Haldir wrapped comforting arms around him, and stroked his hair softly, while Boromir tightened his hold, and the three of them stood there, the elf and the older man offering him support and comfort, but it was not enough.

Memories ran a jumbled course through his head, pleasant days under the warm sun in Ithilien, the forests, the green grass, the river Anduin, the retreat in Henneth Annûn, returning to Minas Tirith looking forward to seeing his brother, hoping his father would look upon him with love now that he was a soldier, seeing the stern impassive look on his face as he reported to him and realizing some things would never change, receiving a summons from him and wondering if the change he wished for had come, and then his world had fallen apart. In one afternoon, the scales had fallen from his eyes, he was weak, his soldiering skills had been of no aid to him, his perusal of the heavy tomes in the vast libraries had been to no avail. For nothing could have stopped what had happened. There was no choice. What choice could there be? His father had commanded, and it was his lot to obey.

But did he do what he did for his father’s love or for the sake of his land?

He felt himself being pushed towards Haldir’s mount as she stood by patiently nibbling at grass that felt soft and fresh to his bare feet. He was tugged onto the back of the mare, pulled up by hands hooked under his limp armpits. The jerk caused him to nearly cry out again, only extreme self-control made him stifle the sobs as his injuries flared up yet again, protesting the aggravation. He found himself pulled across a blanket on the horse’s back, being held in place by the soft hands of Haldir, that pressed gently down on the small of his back, setting up yet another sob, as the touch centered on the opened wound from his whipping. His sore stomach and chest pressed onto the rough blanket protected only by the torn tunic covering him.

He moaned in pain, stopping only when soft hands caressed his face. Soft hands he reminded himself, not rough, dirty ones, but soft ones. Then he was pulled up into a sitting position with Haldir’s arms wrapped around his chest and waist, gasping with the agony that flared through him with each movement. He was so sore, even this half-sitting position was a trial, each time his much abused lower body came in contact with any surface it hurt, and he found his head lolling backwards, even as he sat atop the mare, in front of the tall elf, his legs chastely held together, dangling over the blankets covering the equine back.

“It will hurt,” that was Boromir’s voice, edged with distress and sorrow, “But it will hurt more to be lying across on your back or stomach or to sit astride.” Haldir pulled his head against his chest, one hand wrapped around the lower back and waist, tightening around bruised skin.

Boromir was right of course. But he felt helpless there and the cool night air swirled through his bare lower legs, sending a slight shiver through him. Haldir quickly covered him up with a cloak, and he found he felt even more fettered that way, but could do naught about it. It worsened as they began moving. With each step, he was jolted, rattling his aching bones, forcing his tired muscles to adjust to the movement, and worst of all forcing his rear to come into constant contact with the horse’s back. Haldir tried to make it easier, by forcing the mare to slow down, and by attempting to make the jolts less, by pressing him closer so as to reduce the impact of the movement, but to no avail. It felt to him as though repeatedly, he was being sent a new stab of pain as if to remind him of what had happened. He clawed desperately at the soft tunic he leant against, the feeling of the rigid muscles that farmed the other’s chest offering him solace. He felt weak, so weak, and so tired. Haldir kept murmuring to him, soft words he could not decipher, whether from tiredness or from his lack of knowledge of the tongue they were spoken in, he could not say. But he derived some comfort from the soft voice, and from the grip around him, for they helped banish the thought of a rough, leering voice and rough hands that held up his waist before the pain flared through his lower body each time. The memories of the assaults refused to go away. They kept returning. The slightest touch, the slightest movement, now that he was awake, he remembered all clearly. But he desisted sleep, for then he would dream those memories. In the end, all he could do was to let the tears fall from his eyes, wetting the soft tunic his head rested against, causing the hold on him to be tightened, and the other’s chin came to rest on his head.

Haldir held his breath each time his mare moved too suddenly, he felt himself being thrown up and down for the surface was uneven, and he felt Faramir being jolted up and down, and felt the tremors that ran through the injured frame, each time. The young man squirmed in his position unconsciously as his much abused rear was brought into contact with the horse’s back, and that he was in pain was obvious as each time he gripped Haldir’s shirt and tugged at it in desperation.. He murmured a few soft words into his ears hoping to soothe him. Faramir’s eyes were heavily lidded, but that he was awake was easily borne out by the fact that he made no sound, controlling himself from even the softest moan. Haldir quietly hugged him closer still, letting his arms wrap around the small frame, and rested his chin on the soft hair wishing that he could simply lift that face and kiss away all the worries, but knowing that that would not be possible. That Faramir let him so close was surprising in itself, and he was glad hat the young man held so much trust in him. He felt the tears wet his tunic, as he sang tunelessly in elvish, and then he bent his lips down onto the mop of now unruly and dirty dark hair, wishing his charge would sleep so as to not endure this pain.

Boromir rode a few paces ahead, with Fenekor still lying unconscious in front of him. He had no qualms about making his horse take uneven rutted paths. They were in half forest and half scrubland, and the ground was littered with stones. The more it jolted his prisoner the happier he was. It might hurt him a little too, but he found that helped him focus. Every now and then he looked back to see how his brother was doing, and the difficulty the younger man was in was so apparent that it nearly broke his heart. He wanted desperately to hold him in his arms to assure him he would protect him, he would never let him get hurt. And then he would mock himself, he is already hurt. “Someone is coming,” Haldir had urged his horse forward, causing Faramir to cry out at the sudden movement.

The horses neighed irresolutely, and Boromir could almost smell the fear that his steed felt, and he soon understood why when he saw the cause push their way through a group of bushes.

“Orcs!”

The attack was sudden and the numbers large. Within seconds they found themselves surrounded by a host of the gruesome creatures, each leering at them as they inched closer and closer. Boromir found his horse rearing up in fright, and struggled to hold him down, Haldir fared better with his mare, keeping her calm, as they inched away backwards, but knowing it would be of little help as the orcs began to circle them.

“We must fight!” Boromir shouted desperately, “Faramir –” the desperation in his voice grew as he worried for his brother.

“Yes,” came the soft voice, as Faramir straightened up and looked back at him through clear grey eyes, “We must fight.” Whatever happened to him, he would not let Boromir get hurt, His brother was here without escort because of him, he could not let anything happen to him. If Boromir had not come to rescue him, he would not be in danger like this.

Haldir nodded to Boromir as both man and elf slipped off their respective horses.

“Stay here!’ Haldir commanded his young charge, handing him a knife for safety, knowing that he would have no weapons on him. He patted his horse on the rump indicating to her to flee.

“No,” Faramir whispered, “I will help you, watch out!” the last as one of their attackers neared weapon brandished in the air. For a while all that could be heard through the glades was the ring of metal against metal. Faramir fond his mare rearing irresolutely as Haldir left her side to fight. He slipped off before he could be thrown down, and sank to his ness from the exertion face flushed and panting. A huge shape loomed over him, a leering smile, an evil smirk, and he automatically lunged his knife in its direction. Ugly, dark blood spilled onto his fingers as his assailant fell, and then one more loomed over him, to receive the same treatment, as Faramir employed the quick reflexes his days with the rangers had polished. Out of the corner of his eyes he could make out other fighting shapes, could hear Boromir’s triumphant yells each time he felled one of the orcs, could see Haldir gracefully ducking and weaving against another. Te orcs might have outnumbered them but they were not intelligent fighters. Both horses had reared away whinnying incessantly, too scared to stay but too loyal o go too far, ready to spur off the moment an orc tried to touch them.

Faramir stayed in his half kneeling position fighting off each of the fell creatures that neared him, feeling himself pushed to the ground by one, feeling scratches from their long nails, watching with apprehension the look in one attacker’s eyes, as his ragged tunic tore across the front revealing his bare skin underneath. He felt hot breath, and saw the lustful look in the eyes of the orc. He shut his eyes to that thought and shuddered as the foul beast touched him. He swung wildly, plunging the knife into the other’s stomach watching as lust turned into shock and then horror in the other’s eyes, before they turned completely unseeing. The creature fell across him, and he struggled to move him off, but his body was weak, and he found himself lying underneath the bulk of the creature panting heavily, pain clouding his senses.

It did not take long for the attack to disperse, and Haldir and Boromir soon found themselves sin command of the situation. Before long, their attackers had become the attacked and were soon retreating away into a clump of forests. Boromir’s horse shied away in fright as a straggling bunch of orcs ran towards him on their way to escape, but Boromir and Haldir had other concerns at that moment. They had seen the small figure dwarfed underneath one of the dead orcs, and to extricate him took some effort on their path.

“Faramir!” Boromir stared in horror at the pale face of his brother, who lay still, his tunic now literally hanging in rags around him, ugly black blood covering most of his body. Grey eyes flew open, as the ragged breathing evened put a little, and Faramir looked back into the two pairs of concern filled eyes that stared down at him.

“Are they gone?” he asked softly.

“Aye, but you should have stayed on your horse,” Haldir said softly.

“She threw me off,” Faramir frowned, “are you all right, did you get hurt?”

“No,” came the replies for barring a few odd scratches both man and elf had escaped unscathed.

“Come,” they helped him up, and headed back for their horses, which stood together seemingly shivering.

“Fenekor –” Boromir started as he took in the sight of his steed’s bare back, “where -?”

Haldir wordlessly pointed at something on the ground, and Faramir gave a small soundless cry.

Etched deep into the ground were the signs of someone having been dragged off towards the forest clump the orcs had disappeared into.

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