Faramir Fiction Archive

The Price (R)

Written by Minx

28 February 2003 | 34809 words

Chapter 9

Denethor sat watching the closed door, after one of his captains had departed. The spy had been caught, but his ire was high. To have had a spy in such inside ranks. The aide to one of the top army commanders – a spy! He had known the man had not grown up in Minas Tirith but his grandmother had been a native of the city. He was in fact, furious, that so many of Gondor’s secrets had been at peril simply because they had a mercenary in their ranks. He’d ordered him clapped in chains. He would take a decision when he was calmer. There might yet be some use salvaged from this terrible situation. Harad had made no overtures over their man’s death yet, and it seemed to Denethor that they welcomed it. He would have for sure if he’d been in the same position. A rebel commander was no loss. But what price would Fenekor extract. He could still use his help. He welcomed it. With Harad’s main spy in his custody, and Fenekor’s aid, there was no better opportunity to strike than the present.

Now, all that remained to see was what Fenekor would want. He would have to tread carefully here. Especially if it involved Faramir. A few nights of pleasure were nothing, but if he had long term plans for the boy, he could not keep such doings under wraps for long. He knew there would be little approval from his councilors or the people if they found out the steward’s younger son was busy keeping a Haradrim captain’s bed warm. And Boromir would probably revolt. He could silence Boromir. But people were not easy to silence. Already there was much gossip about Faramir’s ‘illness’. And the citadel was rife with rumours of his kidnapping. Well, that would explain his state when he returned, Denethor thought grimly. He had no doubt his son would be in a worse condition than the last time he had seen him. Fenekor’s cruelty was known. And his younger son was a spineless wimp. A fool. The type that simply asked for Fenekor to get progressively violent.

Denethor found that by channeling his anger towards its favourite cause, he was actually calming himself greatly and spent much time assuring himself that it was Faramir’s fault that he had been singled out for special treatment by the Haradrim. After all, Minas Tirith had its fair share of brothels. One could get what one wanted there. Fenekor’s love for soft, pliable men, that he could watch break under him was evident. It didn’t take more than one glance at his worthless younger son to show he fitted the bill. The fool!

As he sat going through his reports he found himself trying to justify the steps he’d taken. It is not my fault, he finds him attractive. It is not my fault. It is Faramir’s fault alone. But each time he saw his son’s battered face, and body and his hands clenched the papers tightly, as he tried not to think of the fact that his son could be going through much worse at that very moment.

He had sent a small troop of soldiers after Boromir but he knew they might not reach in time to prevent the boy from getting hurt worse. So he poured himself a large glass of wine hoping it would dull his senses and banish the thought of what could be happening to Faramir or for that matter to Boromir who had simply shot off after him without adequate protection.

“They took him,” Boromir whispered.

“What do we do?” Faramir’s hoarse voice came out distraught.

“What can we do?” Boromir demanded, “He deserves it. He deserves worse!”

“I know he is a terrible man, but – but – they are orcs,” Faramir said.

“Fenekor is no worse!” Boromir snapped.

Faramir flinched at the sharp voce, his head was pounding, his back hurt, and he could barely stand. Boromir noticed the paling of his already wan features, and immediately softened.

“You are worried I know, even if he has treated you so ill. But there is nothing we can do, we cannot go after them. We must get back now.”

Faramir never knew how he managed to make it back to Minas Tirith. If the ride earlier had been torturous, now it was ten times worse. His exertions against the orcs had tired him out more than he thought, and his body made its displeasure evident by screaming in protest. The pain kept him conscious, and permeated every fibre in his body. Despite the cool night breeze he was sweating profusely, and the riding motion was making him nauseous. He was on Boromir’s horse now, that young man having decided he wanted his brother near him. He clutched the other’s tunic with all his strength, trying his utmost not to make the pain evident. His clothes hung in tatters about him, and so he was wrapped up in Haldir’s thick cloak, and he took a simple comfort from the strange mix of smells arising from it. He thought he smelt the golden wood in it, a strange leafy, woody smell, so he concentrated on that trying to forget the pain.

Boromir held his brother close, his heart heavy with sorrow. He knew Faramir was hurting and was stubbornly showing no outward sign of it. But he had known his brother all these years, and he knew that those grey eyes would be clouded with unhappiness. He felt the damp sweat clinging to the younger man and felt the slight stiffening motions his body made every few seconds, each time their horse moved too quickly. They were going at a slow trot, and the ground was relatively smooth, but it did nothing to ease the discomfort.

They entered the city quietly, the disarray in the citadel not having been allowed to permeate to the remaining levels of the city. The horses were left in the stables, and Boromir swung Faramir down and held him in his arms, refusing to set him down, despite his entreaties.

“Hush, we are almost there. I am taking you to my room. You must sleep. I will look after you, do not worry,” he said hurriedly, relieved at being able to return home with no further incident.

Surprisingly they encountered no one along the way, and Boromir correctly deduced that the commotion must have died down somewhat. When they neared the citadel entrance, Faramir entreated him to let him down again, and this time Boromir complied. He knew Faramir was afraid they would encounter Denethor. Entering the citadel by a side door, holding Faramir up, with Haldir’s help, he called out to the servant who stared at him wide-eyed.

“Please tell my father we have returned.” Faramir stiffened slightly, his grey eyes filling with fear and worry.

“Yes, my lord, lord Faramir -?”

“He is fine. A little injured that is all,” Boromir snapped back, “Please let my father know we will be in my room.”

“Shall I send a healer up?”

“Nay,” Faramir said, keeping his voice as close to normal as he could, “I have merely hurt my foot.” Which was true, Fenekor had ruthlessly twisted his ankle, while dragging him into the inn, the finger marks bruising his skin deeply, and the fight with the orcs had worsened it.

The servant nodded and hurried away, while the other three progressed slowly, as Faramir began stumbling. The long ride had cramped his muscles, and he was cold, despite the fact that he had wrapped on the cloak tight so as to hide the state of his clothes.

Once upstairs, the cloak came off, and Boromir tried to help him remove the tattered clothes.

“I need a bath,” Faramir muttered.

“There is water drawn out for me, it will still be warm if I know the servants,” Boromir said, “There will be enough for you to clean up a little.” He led him to a small chamber where a bowl of warm water had been left, and some towels. When Faramir returned he looked a little better, but still quite terrible. They helped him into bed, and then went about tending to his injuries. In the light of the lamps, he looked even worse than he had in the dimly lit inn.

Haldir could clearly see each and every bruise and welt standing out as he helped Boromir tend to the injuries for the second time in a day. Faramir had pulled on an old robe he’d found, and when Boromir tried to remove it the young man’s first reaction had been to stop it. Then he’d taken it off himself, and lain back against the pillows, Haldir holding him up so as to ensure his back wouldn’t hurt. Boromir cleaned up the re-opened wounds, and wrapped bandages wherever necessary. He covered the bruises with a salve to reduce pain, then motioned for Faramir to turn around, giving his sore back the same treatment. Then he reached for his rear, and gently rubbed the salve in, over the torn flesh, his expression a mix of anger and sorrow causing Faramir to cry out in distress.

“It is bleeding,” Boromir said softly, his eyes tearing up at his brother’s reaction. Faramir sobbed into Haldir’s shoulder and the elf found himself stroking the young man’s hair and kissing it lightly, hoping that would give him peace. He realised Faramir was feeling embarrassed, and wished the drugs they had given him would take effect soon.

But Faramir didn’t fall asleep even after Boromir had finished his ministrations. He lay on his side, curling up as he felt the heat caused by the salve spread through his body like a fire. It was comforting but hurt him a lot. A loud moan escaped from his lips as Boromir’s hands flew over a particularly nasty bruise, and he felt Haldir pull him closer. He snuggled into the embrace, resting his battered face against the other’s chest, feeling the well-developed but lithe body underneath, taking in the same woody scent he had smelt in his cloak. Haldir’s lips were resting on his head, and he found himself remembering the moment when he had rested his lips on the elf’s.

He had been scared and at first he had thought he had been scared of kissing another man after Fenekor had brutalized him, but then he had realised he had been scared of being pushed away. When Haldir had kissed back, he had joyously accepted it, reveling in the tender feeling that had acted as a balm after what he had been through. He felt himself redden as he remembered how easily he had offered himself up to Haldir. What would the elf think of him? Somewhere deep inside he had liked the idea of being with Haldir, but his recent experiences with Fenekor had still been fresh in his mind, and he had been scared. And Haldir had looked away when he had silently pleaded with him to do as Fenekor asked. And much as he had wanted Haldir to make love to him, he had not wanted to have that happen because Fenekor had ordered it for his voyeuristic pleasure. But he had still done it, he had submitted. Because of Boromir. He hoped Haldir would understand that. He did not want to be seen as cowardly and weak.

But you are, his mind spoke up, and the tears continued to fall unchecked.

Boromir finished his ministrations and then came and sat on the other side of his brother.

“There, you can sleep now,” he said soothingly, “I will be right here, so will Haldir.”

Faramir turned his face to him, tears still staining his swollen face ”N- no, you must get some rest, you have to be at the council in the morning, it is almost dawn now.”

“I will not attend the council,” Boromir said firmly, “Haldir must, I know, so I will be here with you, all day and night and the next day too, till you are well.” He bent and lightly kissed a scratch on the worried forehead that was turned towards him.

“No, you must not do that. Father will be angry. And I will be fine. I can return to my room.”

“No! You will stay here. Your room is too isolated, that is why no one saw Fenekor carry you away.”

Faramir winced at hearing that, but still continued, “Fenekor will not return now, he cannot. The orcs –“

“I hope the orcs do to him what he did to you!” Boromir said his eyes flashing with anger. Haldir felt Faramir stiffen in his arms, and then start shivering as the memories assaulted him. Was it only the day before that Fenekor had kissed him in front of his father, and then given him his brutal introduction to the seamier side of life? Was it only the last morning that Fenekor had forced himself on him not once but twice, and he had been powerless to prevent it? Was it merely a few hours since he had been kidnapped and been humiliated yet again?

“I am sorry, Faramir,” Boromir said immediately, “I keep talking, I should not – oh Faramir, I am so sorry, my little one. I know he hurt you, child, I will never let anyone –“

“You don’t know anything,” Faramir sobbed, his sheer exhaustion getting the better of him, “You don’t know – he – he –“ Faramir pushed himself away from Haldir and Boromir, and tried to sit up, tears flowing down his cheeks. He pushed the sheets off, unmindful of the cold air biting at his body through the thin cloth of his robe. He stumbled out of the bed, pushing away the outstretched arms that were put out to hold him back. What would Boromir understand? He would never be forced to become a pawn in his father’s machinations. Fenekor had said his father had not protested. And Denethor himself said he’d let the orcs have him. So what if Fenekor was gone, there would be others. He nearly fell out of the bed, his mind in complete disarray, the sheets tangling around his legs, and landed on the hard floor in an ungainly heap, as his weary body refused to obey him. Pain assailed his cramped muscles, and he found himself sprawled out on the floor, unable to get up, silent tears still streaming down his face. Haldir and Boromir were at his side in a trice. He tried to pull away from them but could not. His sobs came out in racking gasps as the horrific images of his trauma went rushing through his head. The leering face, groping hands, the whip flying through the air, the sneering expression of the Haradrim as he rendered the gory descriptions of what he’d face in his camp, and worst of all his father’s calm face as he shut the door to Fenekor’s room before Faramir found his entire life turned on its head forever.

He lay curled into himself, feeling totally pathetic as his chest heaved up and down, ignoring the chill of the cold stone on his flesh. Boromir was frantically saying something to him, his face bent towards his, he was shaking him by the shoulder, not roughly but all the same it hurt him. Then Haldir said something, very quietly, and Boromir moved away, got up and walked out of the view. Someone’s arms wrapped around him, ignoring his feeble attempts to ward them off, strong arms, a smell of the forest, and he knew it was the elf. He wanted to get away, to crawl away somewhere and drown in his misery, but he had no strength, he could not even lift a finger. He was picked up, and placed on the bed once more. He was placed on his side as before, but all he could see was those same images over and over again. Then someone placed something against his lips, and forced something wet down his throat, while the strong hands continued to hold him, stroking his arm careful to avoid touching the bruised spots. It was the last thing he remembered, as he leant against something, no, someone, and let a blackness descend upon him.

“He is asleep now,” Haldir whispered, trying to ease himself down onto the bed. He was half sitting, half lying with his arms around the young man. Faramir had unconsciously snaked an arm around him, and his head leant against Haldir’s chest, as he slept.

“Let me help you lay him down,” Boromir offered, his face still troubled by his brother’s outburst. But trying to move Faramir only made him moan in his sleep, and afraid that he’d wake up, the two friends decided to let him stay as he was. Instead Haldir slid onto the bed, and continued to hold the sleeping figure close, motioning to Boromir to draw the blankets up around them.

“Leave him be like this, it helps him sleep,” he told Boromir, and then observing the distraught face of the other, quietly said, “He was tired, and I think overcome by everything that has happened. You cannot expect him to learn to cope with it overnight. He has already borne up admirably. It is too much of a strain on one so young.”

“I know,” Boromir whispered softly, stroking his younger brother’s cheek, taking care not to hurt him, “I wish it had never happened. But he is correct; I will never comprehend what all he has gone through. When I saw him lying on the ground there, it was terrible. And he would have been through worse. And when that monster talked of forcing me to watch, oh Haldir, what he must have gone through!” Boromir sank his head in his hands and his shoulders shook.

“He will need you, my friend, and he will need your strength,” Haldir said softly, “now I think you should get some sleep too. You are very tired, even if you do not plan to attend the council tomorrow.”

“No, I will stay up,” Boromir said resolutely, “I know you will attend tomorrow, so you must rest.”

“I shall be fine, I have spent more hours awake than this in my patrols. I wish I could do without, but attend the council I must, for I do after all represent Lórien here,” Haldir replied sighing, as he looked upon the figure in his arms. Faramir looked so young, with his slight frame, and the sudden gauntness to his face added by the tribulations he’d been through, made him look like a sick child.

A knock on the door prevented Boromir from replying, and when he went to the door to open it, he found a servant outside, with a message from his father, summoning him to his study. Sending the servant off he turned back to the bed.

“Go, I am here. This time I will not leave him alone, no matter what,” Haldir said with a firmness that surprised even him.

Boromir nodded “I will tell him we are back and return, immediately. If he wants anything else it can wait till later.”

He walked wearily out, shoulders slumped in despair, leaving the elf and his brother alone. When he returned, as promised after telling his father they were back, both were sound asleep, Haldir leaning against the raised pillows and Faramir leaning sideways against the elf, a blanket tucked under his chin. Haldir’s eyes were open, but the straight unseeing look told Boromir that the elf was asleep. Faramir still lay wrapped in his arms, sleeping peacefully, so Boromir picked a spare blanket and settled down on a chair for the night. He had told his father that they had found Faramir that Fenekor had been taken by orcs, and that they were all back.

His slurred voice and bleary eyes had been enough for Denethor to know he could get no more useful information from him so he had dismissed him to mull over what he had learnt. Denethor decided he could not do much immediately given that it was not even daybreak yet.

Haldir awoke as the sun crossed the horizon, having slept barely an hour, but still feeling sufficiently refreshed. He looked around the room and saw Boromir sleeping curled up on a huge chair, and then realised that Faramir was still in his arms, securely snuggled up against him. The young man had curled his body up as if to fight a stomach cramp, and one leg now lay sprawled over Haldir’s thigh, while his groin pressed into the elf’s stomach underneath the blanket. Haldir suddenly realised his arms had slid down and now rested on Faramir’s thigh and behind, while the man’s arms clutched at his chest, and. He could feel the other’s warm breath on his left nipple, and he hurriedly removed his hands, and tried to shift the man away, surprisingly succeeding in doing so without waking him up. He found himself slightly flushed as he suddenly touched his stomach finding it to be warm, savouring the lingering touch of the other upon him, and then blinked angrily as he found himself dreaming of Faramir’s warm breaths against his neck, of kissing the other on his mouth. A sensuous mouth that currently looked swollen and mangled.

Ai, what thoughts, has he not been through enough, that I start thinking such of him? he berated himself, but he still could not stop feeling the touch of the leg over his thigh, of the other’s maleness against his stomach, the kiss they had shared under duress.

He shook himself angrily; he must stop thinking like this. Faramir trusted him! If he were to think of him like this, why he was no better than Fenekor. The thought of Fenekor made his blood boil, and he hissed angrily. Boromir awoke at the sound, blinking as he tired to make out his surroundings.

“Haldir, you are awake?” he inquired softly, “Thank you my friend, for helping my brother sleep peacefully.”

“Aye, he needs it,” Haldir said softly.

“The council will begin soon, you should get ready,” Boromir said.

“You will be here?” it was as much a statement as a question.

“Yes, I will not leave, I am not really required there,” Boromir said lamely.

“My lord steward knows?”

“I will have a message sent to him,” Boromir said quietly, sliding onto the bed beside Faramir, and tucking the blanket securely around the prone figure.

Haldir nodded, it was pointless asking Boromir what his father would think. He just hoped Denethor would not create a problem. He said nothing however but simply squeezed Boromir’s shoulder in encouragement and left the room. He decided he needed a cold bath, a very cold bath. It might bring his senses back on track. And prevent him seeing the solemn face of a young man, grey eyes radiating an intense sadness, an unmarked face at close quarters, as close as though they were kissing. He shook his head angrily once again as he passed down the corridor angrily muttering to himself, much to the amazement and almost fright of one of the servants passing by.

Boromir sent off a servant with a message to his father and then sat by Faramir’s curled up body, watching the sleeping face, noting how it had changed. How weary and sad his brother looked. He had always had an unhappiness in his eyes, but now his very face radiated a deep-rooted sadness, the lines, the dark circles, the shadows. He was stroking the stray hair away from his face when a knock sounded, and the door opened simultaneously to reveal his father’s stern countenance.

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