Faramir Fiction Archive

The Prize (NC-17)

Written by Sairalinde and Anorienbean

29 July 2006 | 48931 words

Chapter 2

The trip to Lórien was slow and arduous. The Elves would not allow Faramir to ride a horse, instead they’d attached a leading rope around his neck, and he walked beside their leader’s horse. Many times he fell, a few times he was dragged until he managed to get to his feet again. They seemed to find it amusing each time he fell, speaking of the gracelessness of Men, and the simple idea that he was the steward’s son playing the role of slave seemed to amuse them as well. Little did they know that he truly was his father’s slave….or did they know, after all? Had they heard the stories as far away as Lórien?

Falling for the third time in as many hours, Faramir was dragged over the grassy plain for a few minutes before he managed to scramble back up again. The rope around his neck cut into his skin and burned anew. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he didn’t react at all when Feanor tugged in the slack on his lead and almost caused him to take another tumble to the ground. The hatred that formed in Faramir’s heart for their leader, Feanor, grew more and more each day.

As they walked he listened to the Elves’ stories about this Marchwarden, Haldir, whom he was to be ‘gifted’ to, and the stories grew more frightening each time. He had always imagined Elves to be fair creatures until now. The way the other Elves spoke of this Haldir almost made him imagine him with the blood of thousands on his hands, with eyes filled with the fire of hatred for all and a heavy hand. In fact, it sounded as if Haldir was almost as bad as the Dark Lord himself!

He truly feared that he would not survive a week with this Elf they spoke of, he sounded positively horrific. Each day as he stumbled along beside Feanor’s horse; Faramir felt his hope of escape dash away, besides where would he go? He couldn’t or rather wouldn’t, return to Gondor, and for the moment he had no hope for escape. Even if he were unbound, he wouldn’t be able to run in the exhausted state he was in. Especially against horses - he’d be cut down before he even got started.

The Elves apparently did not know that he could speak their language, and he had been careful to conceal that fact from them. He overheard them say that they would camp tonight and be on the border of Lórien by midday the next day. Tears of joy almost welled up in his eyes just for the fact that at the very least he might not have to walk tomorrow…though if what they said was true, he might not be able to.

They allowed him to sit down near the fire, and one of the Elves handed out small pieces of a wafer-like substance. The gray-eyed Elf started to hand a piece to Faramir who hadn’t eaten in two days, but Feanor slapped it away.

“Don’t feed him. He can eat tomorrow in Lórien,” he snapped in Elvish.

“He’s a Man, Feanor, if he dies from lack of food and exhaustion, he’s of little use as a prize for Haldir…”

“He won’t die, it is only one more day.”

The other Elf looked ready to say something in response, but sighed and walked away to settle down next to his comrades.

Meanwhile, Feanor poured a cup of water, and despite himself, Faramir knew he was looking at the cup covetously. “You want water?” Feanor asked in the common tongue.

“Please?” Faramir croaked, unable to help himself from begging.

Faramir flinched an instant later as the cool water hit his face. He simply bowed his head slightly and licked the water from his lips. He felt grateful for that much — his mouth was so parched. “Thank you,” he managed softly, drawing a laugh from Feanor.

“Oh, he’ll do nicely…I think Haldir will love having someone like this to grovel before him…he does it so well, does he not? Maybe keep our commander off our backs for a while, eh?” Feanor said to the others in Elvish, and a few murmured either approval or some disapproval.

One of the Elves stood up, obviously fed up with Feanor’s teasing of the young Man and crossed to Faramir with his own water skin. “Not even Haldir treats enemy prisoners this badly, Feanor, and you well know it!” The dark-haired Elf snapped. “Here, drink, at least,” he whispered so Faramir could understand.

Feanor’s eyes were burning holes through the other Elf, but he didn’t say anything. As soon as the dark-haired Elf held the water to Faramir’s lips, he didn’t care at all about his situation, just that he had fresh water he desperately needed. He smiled gratefully at the Elf who helped him, but the dark eyes turned away from his and soon he was left sitting alone again.

That night Faramir hardly slept at all, his arms ached as if they were being pulled from their sockets from being tied behind him for so long, and his legs felt as if they were as weak as water. He simply lay against the cold ground wishing he had his cloak that Feanor had taken and tried not to fear the coming day, but it was no use. The closer they got to Lórien, the more fearful he became. This was certainly like no other time before. Even though the Haradrim had nearly killed him, it hadn’t been like this. This constant building fear wasn’t something he’d known before; there had been no time for fear, only pain.

Late into the night he found himself recalling the very first time his father had offered him as a ‘gift’ and how frightened he had been. This was almost worse because he had so little warning then, now he’d had all these days of laborious travel and frightening stories filling his head…as if he were a condemned soul being led to his death. Perhaps he was. There were moments he actually hoped he was.

Arriving on the border of Lórien the next day, Faramir almost wept for joy just knowing that soon he could stop walking. When they entered the woods, however, a number of archers descended from the trees, and he found himself staring wide-eyed at all of the Elves, wondering which one was this Haldir he so feared.

He soon discovered that their Marchwarden was not on duty, and arguing ensued between the Elves who had brought him and the wardens. The words were flying so quickly, Faramir was unable to understand them, and then suddenly the words died away. Feanor drew his knife, and for a moment Faramir feared he’d kill him, but then realized he hadn’t been given to their commander yet. They couldn’t kill him now!

Before he could even flinch away, the knife whipped down the front of his tunic, rending it in half and exposing his chest to the cold winter air. He shivered and staggered back slightly as all the Elves watched. The wardens who had joined them looked disapproving, but Faramir hadn’t time to think of that before his breeches were cut from him as well.

“Haldir should be able to see what a fine specimen we have brought him,” Feanor announced with a debauched grin.

One of the wardens, however, stepped forward and jerked Feanor back before his hand could travel down Faramir’s body, as it looked poised to do. Then somehow matters deteriorated into him being tossed between the different Elves like a child’s plaything. With his hands bound as they were, all he could do was stumble from one Elf to another and fall against them. He was naked, cold, tired, and more than afraid.

He saw one tall slender blond Elf look at him with what could only be disgust and turn away. The next time he was spun and thrown against another Elf, he saw the blond running away into the woods. Obviously at least one Elf was above this display.

Faramir could hear the Elves arguing over the fray, and one of the wardens pulled him close and yelled some words in Elvish that his befuddled mind couldn’t understand at all. Feanor screamed something in return, and suddenly Faramir was jerked painfully from the warden’s arms.

Feanor held the lead rope around Faramir’s neck wound around his hand to control him, but one of the other Elves grabbed onto it as if to jerk Faramir away from the evil Elf who’d brought him here. He felt as if his neck might snap, and the raw skin burned even more.

Again and again Faramir was jerked around like a rag doll, and after what seemed an eternity, he stumbled forward blindly and slammed squarely into a broad chest that was heaving from running. His cheek was pressed against the Elf’s chest, and he could hear the heart thundering there. Unable to gain his footing, Faramir sank to his knees and bowed forward, his face almost touching the ground as he dragged in a ragged breath.

“So he already bows before Haldir!” Feanor shouted with a loud laugh.

//Haldir?! Oh Gods…Gods, just let him do whatever he wishes to me and then kill me.//

Haldir had been in his talan, talking to Rúmil and Orophin as they shared the noon meal. Long before Orin, the Elf who had run from the fray near the border, was in sight, Haldir and his brothers had heard him.

Stopping only to grab his cloak before sprinting down the winding stairway of his talan, Haldir, always the fastest and strongest of the three, met Orin under a thick cover of mallorn trees several hundred yards from his talan. The gasping Elf had managed to convey that there was trouble with Feanor at the border, that he was scuffling with the Marchwardens, and he had a Man with him…a Man who looked exhausted and was bound with ropes around his wrists and another around his neck, a Man Feanor was delivering to Haldir, but who was not an enemy.

Without letting Orin finish his tale, Haldir’s face had flushed, and he’d run quickly to the border, his anger at Feanor already taking hold. Feanor was a conniving, selfish Elf who stood no chance of advancing in rank as long as Haldir was his commander, and it seemed that this time, the foolish Elf had finally crossed the line, scuffling with the Marchwardens who guarded the border.

While few but his brothers knew Haldir well, the Elves under his command both revered and hated him. In his view, guarding the borders of the Golden Wood, keeping their Lord and Lady, their family and friends and their homes safe, was all that mattered. He had little time for friendship or idle chatter, and no one but Rúmil and Orophin ever got to see him smile or relax his stiff and demanding demeanor, and then only if no other Elves were around.

The sounds of fighting grew louder as Haldir drew closer, and almost before he knew it, he was on the outer edge of a circle of Elves, which parted before his grim command. His eyes sought out Feanor and Malin, one of his most devoted Marchwardens, who were coming to blows before his very eyes.

Before Haldir could speak, however, a Man, hands bound and a rope knotted tightly around his neck, was shoved in his direction and fell to his knees before him. The Man wore not a stitch of clothing, and though Haldir could not see his face, he saw the naked body before him was trembling and dirty.

Without a word, Haldir stared at Feanor, his eyes alone freezing every Elf before him. Keeping their gazes locked, he saw fear flood Feanor’s features and knew the arrogant Elf had every reason to be afraid. His fingers deftly unhooked the clasp of his cloak, and without looking down; he wrapped it around the Man before him. “Stay here,” he said softly before moving forward and stopping mere inches from Feanor.

“What have you done?” Haldir’s voice was deceptively calm though his face was still flushed with anger and his eyes were cold.

Feanor tried to back away, but found long fingers wrapping around his arms from behind, keeping him in place. He dared a glance over his shoulder and saw Rúmil, who was little better than Haldir in situations like these. “I…I brought this Man to you from Gondor. As…a gift. A prize. The steward insulted you, and…”

“And?” Haldir moved closer and curled his fingers around Feanor’s tunic, lifting him so the other Elf’s feet barely touched the ground. Not a sound could be heard around them despite the dozens of Elves who were watching closely, each knowing better than to say or do anything that might anger Haldir further.

Feanor’s heart was pounding in his chest as he wondered if taking the young Man from the steward had been the best idea after all. “And…I demanded retribution for his insult. He…he offered his son to be your…your companion, as an apology.”

“So you just took him?”

“I… well, yes…”

“So,” Haldir said, still speaking slowly and calmly, as if Feanor were an Elfling who could barely understand his words. “Since when do we take prisoners from races we are NOT at war with, Feanor? Because I, for one, have not been informed of this new rule.”

Feanor was shaking now, even more so than Faramir. He could tell that this wasn’t going at all as planned…and he seriously doubted bringing this Man to Haldir was going to earn him a promotion after all. “I…thought…I thought you would be pleased…”

Haldir lifted Feanor up another inch. “Do I look pleased, Feanor? Do I look happy that you took a prisoner from a city we are trying to keep peace with?”

“Please, Hald…sir, please. I’m sorry…I…” Before he could finish his thought, Feanor noticed that Rúmil had quickly moved from behind him. //That can’t be good…// Haldir easily launched him into the air, and he was helpless to do anything but scream as he came to rest in a decidedly ungraceful heap at the foot of a tree. Before he could even catch his breath, Haldir was before him again, eyes no longer cold, but blazing with anger, and he was dragged to his feet again without word.

“If you have started a war with Gondor over this,” Haldir said as he slammed Feanor’s back against the tree, “I will make you wish you had never left Lórien, Feanor. Keep that in mind.” Without releasing his quarry, Haldir looked over his shoulder and found Rúmil. “Take him to the prisoner’s quarters and guard him, Rúmil. Do not let him speak to anyone until I give you further orders.”

Rúmil nodded and wrapped his fingers around Feanor’s arms in a tight grip, amazed as always at the change in his brother before his troops. This was not the Elf he had been chatting with over their meal only moments before, and he, too, slid easily into the role of Marchwarden, leaving the role of brother far behind as Haldir insisted they do while on duty.

“You are a fool,” Haldir hissed at Feanor before releasing him into Rúmil’s custody.

Turning toward one of Feanor’s captain’s, Haldir nodded toward the Man who was still on the ground where he’d left him, Haldir’s cloak clutched firmly around his body, still trembling. “Did any of you hurt him?”

“No, sir,” the frightened captain shook his head. “Though…”

Feanor glared at the other Elf, but yelped loudly as Rúmil tightened his grip.

“Yes?” Haldir didn’t bother looking in Feanor’s direction.

“He has walked all the way from Gondor and has had little to eat or drink on the journey. He has, in fact, had only a bit of water for the last three days, and no food.”

Haldir crouched next to the man on the ground and tried to see his face. “Rúmil, I think Feanor should live under the same conditions until I figure out what to do about this situation. No food, no water…and take the bedding and the blankets from his quarters. Let him experience what my new ‘companion’ has experienced since he was shown the hospitality of the Elves.”

Afraid to touch the Man just yet, Haldir nodded toward Rúmil, who drug Feanor away at once. “The rest of you…go to your talan. I am not pleased that you let him do this… especially that you let this man practically starve. I thought better of most of you than this. Now…take your leave, before I really lose my temper.”

The Elves scattered at once, even Orophin, who had watched the entire scene quietly from the outside edges of the circle.

When Haldir was alone with the man, he rested one hand on his shoulder. “What is your name?” he asked softly.

Faramir was shivering uncontrollably as he lay on the ground. He kept his head down submissively, but when he heard Feanor scream he looked up to see the Elf flying backwards through the air and another Elf advancing on him. He realized in horror that the other Elf was Haldir. His fear of the Marchwarden grew even more, and he dropped his head back down not wanting to be caught watching.

He found that he couldn’t seem to process enough of the Elvish that was being spoken or rather yelled around him; his mind was just too weary to even attempt to translate it. When the noise of the fight seemed to die down, Faramir felt a hand touch his shoulder and he flinched. In his fear, he didn’t notice the compassion in the Elf’s eyes nor hear the softly spoken words. Automatically and without his mind fully engaging to realize how fruitless it was, he scrambled up, throwing off the warm cloak in his fear and bolting away from the Elves and into the trees. His mind didn’t even think about how cold it was or that he was naked, only that he was terrified of what would become of him - he had to get away.

The anger Haldir felt at Feanor grew as the frightened young Man bolted away, and he wondered just how far they’d gone in their treatment of their ‘gift’ to him. //So help me if they have injured him, they will pay tenfold…// Grabbing his cloak, he stood for a moment, helplessly watching the man run away, knowing that chasing him would only frighten him more. As the bitter wind picked up, however, Haldir knew the man would not get far with nothing to protect him from the elements and took off after him, though not trying to overtake him just yet. “Wait! You’ll freeze! By the Valar, STOP!”

Faramir could hear the Elf who had knelt down beside him take flight behind him, and he knew as his mind began to overrule his terror that he would be no match for him in his current state. Hearing the words shouted to him, Faramir feared stopping, but he had no choice, his legs were too tired, his lungs burned, and his head was pounding with each step. Before he knew it, he slumped down next to a tree, holding himself upright with a firm grip on the smooth bark and waited for his new 'master' to either collect him or punish him for trying to run.

Haldir easily caught up with his ‘prize’ and stopped a few feet away from him, seeing that he was truly terrified. //And no wonder…he probably thinks all Elves are like Feanor. Gods, when I get my hands on him again…// He couldn’t help but notice the clear blue eyes that stared at him wearily and thought that never before had he seen a Man so fair. “You’ll freeze,” he said softly as he held his cloak back out to the shivering form that seemed to be clinging to the tree with all his might. “Here… take my cloak.”

Faramir watched with wide eyes as the Elf approached and carefully held the cloak out to him. His mind was torn with the image that had been implanted there by the Elves who'd brought him to Lórien and the image that was before him. The Elf was beautiful. That threw Faramir; he was certain the others had called him Haldir, but this is was not what he had expected. For the moment he pushed those thoughts away and reached out a trembling hand to take the cloak held between them. "Thank you, master," he whispered softly. When he released the tree to pull the cloak around him though his legs finally gave out without the support, and he collapsed forward into the Elf's arms. He looked up to apologize for his behavior and for probably dirtying Haldir's clothing just before his eyes rolled back in his head and he fainted from exhaustion, no food, and hardly any sleep for the last several days.

Haldir blinked in surprise as he heard the word ‘master’, but before he could protest, his arms were full and the shivering young man had collapsed against him. He saw the clear blue eyes he’d just been admiring stare up at him for a moment before they closed, and the body in his arms went limp. “Gods, what have they done to you?” Carefully gathering the man in his arms, he tucked his cloak tightly around already ice-cold skin and held Faramir to his chest, hoping to at least share his own body heat. He quickly made his way back to his talan, holding the young man close, and minutes later, he was making his way up the winding staircase.

When he reached the top, he removed his cloak and winced as he saw the bluish tint that colored the tips of his charge’s fingers and toes, and try as he might, he couldn’t help but notice the lithe muscles that lay under smooth, pale skin. After a moment, he dragged his eyes away guiltily and laid Faramir on the bed, where he piled several blankets over him and gently rubbed his hands, hoping to restore the circulation.
“Can you hear me, pen velui (lovely one)?” he asked softly. “Squeeze my hand if you can…you don’t have to speak.”

Faramir was lost in a world of darkness, completely oblivious to what was going on around him or even happening to him at the moment. He could feel blessed warmth though and burrowed against it and then suddenly he felt the warmth disappear. He moaned in protest, but then he felt warmth, not nearly as comforting as before, surround him. Distantly he could hear a voice speaking to him, but he couldn't seem to bring himself awake long enough to respond. When it said to squeeze his hand, he did so weakly, realizing just then that his fingers were numb with cold. //Maybe I'm dying? That might be for the best.//

Smiling as he felt the fingers around his own squeezing every so slightly, Haldir closed his eyes in relief. At least the man could hear him, so maybe there was hope. The man before him was young and obviously exhausted, and Haldir’s heart went out to him, wishing he’d never had to experience the kind of treatment Feanor had no doubt doled out to him on their journey from Gondor. He continued gently rubbing the icy fingers, and letting his hands move along the young man’s hands and forearms, hoping to give him at least some measure of warmth. “I’m so sorry this happened to you,” Haldir whispered softly as his hands continued to move over frozen skin, in a tone of voice none of his troops ever had or ever would hear. “But you’re safe now, and Feanor will be punished for hurting you. Just relax, and when you wake, I will have food and drink…and we will talk…first about this ‘master’ thing, before we discuss anything else, I hope.”

Faramir sank further into the darkness, his body aching from cold but slowly starting to warm. He wasn't sure if he was dreaming the touches he felt, but he was grateful for the comfort. He loosed a soft sigh as he snuggled under the covers over him even more, having no clue that Haldir was the one watching over him and touching him so gently.

Haldir smiled as he watched his companion burrow underneath the covers, charmed by the soft sigh that fell from his lips and the way his eyelashes curled up over his cheeks. //He is certainly lovely…I wonder if his father is missing him already? Surely he would feel the pain of losing such a beautiful son.// Settling back in a chair by the bed, Haldir pulled the one remaining blanket up over him and reached out to brush the hair back from the Faramir’s forehead. “You are safe,” he assured the young man one more time before leaning his head back to rest.

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