Faramir Fiction Archive

The Prize (NC-17)

Written by Sairalinde and Anorienbean

29 July 2006 | 48931 words

Characters: Haldir/Faramir
Rating: NC-17
Beta: sileya
Feedback: Yes, please to sairalinde@hornofgondor.com or thechroniclesofosgiliath@yahoo.com.
Warnings: Mention of past abuse.
Summary: Faramir is given to Haldir of Lórien in payment for an insult to the Elf by Denethor. Alone and afraid, he realizes that things aren't always what they seem.

Chapter 1

Faramir was soundly asleep one moment and being rudely shaken awake by his brother the next. Shoving at his brother’s hands, Faramir growled tiredly under his breath. “What is it, Boromir?”

“I’m so sorry, little one… so sorry, please… you have to wake up before father sends someone else after you… someone not nearly as kind,” Boromir said shaking his brother awake again.

Faramir’s eyes opened blearily for a moment and then closed again as he loosed a heavy sigh. “By the Valar, who has he insulted this time?”

“Faramir, this is serious this time,” Boromir said as his brother sat up.

Faramir could see the alarm and fear in his brother’s eyes and immediately felt coldness grip him. This was not like the other times. Though the first thought to come to mind was that every time had been serious to him. “Serious? Who did he insult?” Faramir asked throwing back the covers and sitting up. The floor was cold where his feet touched it and he shivered.

“The visiting Elves… I… Faramir I’m afraid that this time it is bad…”

“The other times weren’t?” Faramir asked as he stood up and looked at his brother who seemed more worried than any other time before. For a moment the thought flitted through his mind that this same conversation had taken place so many times before and he concluded what a sad state of matters that was.

“Well, yes but… they mean to take you WITH them!”

“With them, but… Gods, what did he DO?” Faramir walked unsteadily toward his wardrobe and Boromir moved ahead of him to start gathering clothing for his little brother.

“With them. He apparently insulted their commanding officer in Lórien… it is a long tale that I don’t even have the half of, but as usual father offered you to… to…”

“To be their whore. You can say it, Boromir. No harm in speaking what is only the truth,” Faramir snapped as he drug his nightshirt from over his head.

Boromir winced at the coarse word he hated in association with his brother. “They said that you would be a companion to some Marchwarden of theirs whom father somehow unwittingly insulted apparently,” Boromir frowned. He hated this. His brother was barely old enough to be a soldier and he had no way to protect him against what his father forced him to do.

“Companion?” Faramir snorted as his brother handed him his tunic. “I find it funny that people tend to place such dignified words in the place of the ones they truly mean such as slave or whore… not even courtesan? Well I suppose not, since I’m no woman.”

“Don’t jest about this, Faramir!” Boromir snapped trying desperately to think of some way to get his brother out of this, short of starting a full out war with Lórien. He watched silently as his too slender younger sibling dressed.

“Well it’s true isn’t it? Father makes a mistake, insults some pompous bit of royalty, or an important noble or enemy even and its time to throw his youngest to them as sacrifice, a piece of meat to appease the hungry lions,” Faramir argued as his brother helped him lace his tunic. “Only it is no sacrifice at all to ‘father’.”

Boromir stared at his younger brother unable to disagree with his assessment. He didn’t like any of it; he hated what his father used Faramir for. It had begun three years earlier when Faramir was training heavily to join the army. Faramir had grown to be a very handsome young man and somehow their father had come to the decision of using his youngest as a bartering chip rather than a soldier. He used Faramir’s being handsome and youthful to his own advantage and in the most degrading manner.

Every time Denethor insulted someone, he would use Faramir to smooth over the problem, by offering him to them ‘for a night’ where they could do whatever they wished with the youngest son of the steward. In the last year or so, Boromir began to notice that the more important nobles seemed to purposefully urge Denethor to lose his temper enough to offend them, just so they could spend a night with the stewards son. That thought made his blood boil in his veins but there was nothing he could do about it for now.

“They are very angry?” Faramir asked suddenly starting to feel nervous. None of the others wanted to take him WITH them before, though he couldn’t say he didn’t like the idea of getting out of Gondor and away from his father, THIS was certainly not how he wanted to do that. What if they intended to use him and then… discard of him? None would even know of it. The only one who would care would be Boromir, but still the thought scared him to his core.

“Very… and… and it’s looking as if I may never see you again,” Boromir added sadly. He wished with all his heart that he could do something to save his brother from this, but even he had failed to make his father see reason.

Faramir looked up at his brother from righting his clothes and felt the same sadness hit him with a sharp pain in his stomach. Even if they didn’t kill him, he still may never see his beloved brother again. All because his father couldn’t seem to hold his tongue with diplomats and was too spineless to make more enemies than he already had.

“Never? Surely he has put a time limit? He always has… .why take me WITH them? I don’t understand it,” Faramir said stepping into his boots. He wondered how his voice could sound so calm when he felt his entire body shaking. He tried to hurry his dressing because he knew from almost three full years of experience that they had little time left. Their father would not give him long to wake and get dressed.

“Because their Marchwarden isn’t with them, and they said he was so gravely insulted that if he came to Gondor it would be with a contingent of Elves… they threatened war and father…”

“Buckled,” Faramir completed the thought with a sigh.

“I’m sorry… Gods, I wish there was something I could do to help you…”

“Short of killing our father?” Faramir laughed humorlessly and shook his head. “It isn’t so terribly bad sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Boromir asked shocked.

“Sometimes they are kind… sometimes, not always,” Faramir said with a shiver remembering the more unkind ones his father had insulted in the past. His single night with the Haradrim had sent him to the Healing Houses for almost three weeks.

“You can’t say you enjoy it,” Boromir asked backing away from his brother unsure how he felt about that.

“I didn’t say I did! I just said sometimes they are kind and allow me to at least have some release… or… are more gentle than others. I have to take some measure of comfort from those things or I would go mad,” Faramir explained, realizing that his brother was becoming worried that he was enjoying himself. For a moment he thought of how insane it was to actually discuss something like this, but it was the life he’d had thrust upon him.

Though it was true that sometimes it wasn’t as bad as others. There were a few times that perhaps he hadn’t felt quite so dirty afterwards, but they were in fact too few and far between. Most were so angry with his father, that they mistreated him more than they might normally treat another, just to hurt Denethor. Though he suspected if they’d known how little Denethor cared for his youngest son, they might not have taken such joy in the punishments they doled out.

Finally, with all of his clothing in place, Faramir ran his hands thorough his hair and looked at his brother for what could be one of the last times.

“You are certain that he didn’t put a time limit?”

“I don’t know… I know you are to go with them… but maybe it is only for a fortnight?” Boromir said shakily. He had tried his best to work this out with his father, the Elven delegation was small and he’d suggested letting them ride out toward Lórien to tell their leaders of the grave insults… but then ambush them on the road. Their father had vehemently been against that plan, saying that the Elves were powerful warriors and what if one of them got away? They would most certainly be at war then… and the other Elven realms were sure to join them, Gondor couldn’t possibly survive such an onslaught when they are battling the dark forces that spilled from the black gates daily.

“Father should hope so, or he should avoid any sort of diplomacy while I am gone or he will end up in a war,” Faramir mused dryly as he looked at his brother.

“You’ll be back… you have to… it’ll break my heart otherwise,” Boromir said sadly.

“I know… mine as well, but even if I manage escape, Boromir, I will not come back… not to this,” Faramir whispered in return.

Boromir nodded in understanding. He could hardly bear the thought of losing his little brother, but if he did manage to gain his freedom he did feel it would be best for Faramir never to return to Gondor while their father still lived.

Hugging one another briefly, Faramir took one last look around his room thinking that he may never see the meager chamber again, before Boromir escorted him downstairs to the great hall.

Any hopes for a fortnight were dashed away when Faramir entered the hall. Denethor with his lips set in a hard line, simply presented the Elves their ‘prize’ for their Marchwarden and said nothing else.

Feanor watched as the two brothers entered the room and a calculating smile spread across his face. The young man was handsome, that would definitely be a plus in his favor, he thought. Haldir should promote him readily enough now. In truth, he couldn’t stand his arrogant commander, Haldir rarely, if ever, bestowed praise on him and winning any sort of promotion from the Marchwarden was nigh impossible he thought. //Unless you are his brother.// The fact that Rúmil, so much younger than himself had been promoted so quickly in the ranks had angered him greatly but there wasn’t much he could say about it. With this lovely prize though, and his staunch defense of his commander’s honor, he was certain that Haldir would finally see his worth.

When the young man with long copper colored wavy locks and large blue eyes stood before him, Feanor almost felt sorry for the wretch. His own father giving him away like this, and the fact he was to be handed over to none other than Haldir… seemed a horrible fate for one so lovely. But if it assured him of promotion and getting into Haldir’s good favors, it was well worth it.

When Feanor ordered that Faramir’s hands be bound behind his back, Boromir protested vehemently but his protests fell on deaf ears, both the Elves’ and their father’s.

Denethor simply stood near the dais without an ounce of shame evident on his face for the fate he so easily handed out to his youngest son. Faramir had stood proudly before the delegation however and honestly wouldn’t have expected his father to suddenly grow a conscience, let alone a spine. So, he simply held his hands behind his back and allowed himself to be bound. He had learned early on that struggling only made things worse.

Faramir found the situation almost ironic. He had always wanted to be away from Gondor, away from his father and away from his ‘duty’ or whatever it could be called, but escape had been impossible. Denethor guarded Faramir more closely than some of Gondor’s greatest treasures. He tried twice early on to escape but his father’s guards caught him before he had gotten far, and he had been so severely punished he hadn’t tried for a third time. Of course his father had been smart about his punishment, instead of having Faramir flogged for his disobedience where marks would make him an unworthy prize, Denethor selected one of Faramir’s favorite servants and forced him to watch.

Perhaps he would get an opportunity to escape on the way to Lórien or once they arrived there? That was the only hope he could have now that he was bound and his fate had already been sealed.

When more than one of the Elves looked at him lecherously, particularly their leader Feanor, Faramir’s heart began to sink. He was beginning to worry that this may be worse than his time with the Haradrim. For the first time since he had somewhat started to accept his ‘role’ as his father’s whore, everything had suddenly changed and he felt the icy grip of fear slide into the pit of his stomach.

NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]

Enjoyed this story? Then be sure to let the author know by posting a comment at https://www.faramirfiction.com/fiction/the-prize. Positive feedback is what keeps authors writing more stories!