These Characters are the property of the Estate of J. R. R Tolkien and New Line Cinema. This story has been written for pleasure and no profit has or will be made from it.
Warning – This chapter contains torture and may distress sensitive readers. It was not easy to write as I think this part of the story is the darkest I have ever written.
Chapter Twenty Two – The unkindest cut of all.
This was the most unkindest cut of all;
For when the noble Caesar saw him stab,
Ingratitude, more strong than traitors’ arms,
Quite vanquished him. - William Shakespeare (1564–1616), Julius Caesar, act 3, sc. 2
“Hurry! It is cooling fast!” Dervorin said impatiently. “Maybe we should let Lady Hanna try her methods of persuasion instead?”
“My arm is still weak after all the ill treatment I suffered.” Faramir said, by way of excuse, taking care to avoid Aragorn’s reproachful gaze. He could see that where his lord’s shoulder had been bared, the flesh was bruised and discoloured. Causing him further pain seemed cruel beyond measure. He dared not be overcome with compassion. He must harden his heart and focus on achieving his mission whatever the cost. The Steward struggled to remain impassive as he battled with a tumult of emotions. How could he inflict such pain on anyone, never mind his King and dearly loved friend? To refuse would reveal his true intentions and condemn both Aragorn and himself to certain death. He resolutely hardened his heart. He had chosen this path and would have to follow it now to the end, however bitter. ”I have never branded an animal before,” Faramir said coldly.
“Maybe it would be better if I were to do it?” Fosco suggested. “I know you once supported the usurper so this must be hard for you, Lord Faramir.” He moved towards the Steward to take the brand from his hand.
“It needs applying for at least three seconds,” Dervorin informed them,” You do it, Fosco, if we wait for Lord Faramir to decide whom he truly supports, we will be here a very long time. It was a mistake to invite him here.”
“You dare to question my loyalty, Lord Dervorin?” Faramir snapped. In his heart, he tried to send a silent apology to his King. He raised the brand and brought it down on Aragorn’s shoulder. A stench of burning flesh combined with an agonised scream of pain from the King assailed his senses. Faramir forced himself to count to three.
Fosco snatched the brand away and flung it back into the brazier. “Careful now, you don’t want him dying on us before he signs the document,” he cautioned Faramir. “I told you Lord Faramir was loyal to us, would you insult a valuable ally?” he demanded of Dervorin.
“You have finally convinced me of your loyalty, Lord Faramir, though you should have branded his face,” Dervorin sneered, “Why not let everyone see that the once proud King Elessar is now no more than one of my bullocks!”
“Sign the paper you fool!” Fosco ordered, waving it under Aragorn’s nose. “At least put your seal on it! Or do you want us to brand you again?”
“Let’s strip him now and have some fun!” Hanna suggested gleefully.
The servant moved towards Aragorn and shook him. Getting no response, Dervorin reacted by punching the helpless man viciously in the belly.
“You are wasting your time,” Fosco shrugged. “The weakling has fainted. There is no point in trying to persuade him further tonight. Leave his clothes until he is aware of the humiliation of losing them. We will seek our beds now and try again tomorrow to beat some sense into the fool.”
He led the way out of the cellar. Faramir was the last to leave. He stole a last glance at Aragorn before the torch was extinguished. The King lay senseless, his noble features contorted with agony .His shoulder was now disfigured with the cipher of Ringlo Vale branded on his flesh.
“Are you certain I cannot change your mind about the girl I offered you, Lord Faramir?” Fosco enquired, ”I am certain you would find her a most entertaining companion to celebrate your joining us with!”
“No, thank you, not tonight. I would like time to try to think of a way to get Elessar to sign, since he is proving so stubborn. I had hoped my presence would suffice to persuade him.” Faramir replied, trying to hide his disgust that the serving girls who ought to be under their master’s protection were being thus abused.
“Maybe after your deeds of tonight, he will change his mind,” Dervorin replied. “ I am certain we will succeed tomorrow though, for no man could endure the pain we are going to inflict on him then!”
Hastily excusing himself and overcome by nausea, the Steward hardly reached the privy in time to lose his supper. Still retching slightly, Faramir made his way to his room and locked the door. Throwing himself on the bed, he buried his face in the pillow, forcing himself to control his emotions. During his years as a soldier, he had seen and done much that had sickened him. This, however, was far, far worse. He had only used violence to fight for survival when he had needed to choose between killing or being killed.
Harming an unarmed man was outside every known code of honour. It shocked him to discover that he was even capable of such a deed. Branding helpless victims was the behaviour of the minions of the Dark Lord, not an honourable soldier. Yet, if he had refused, Aragorn’s one hope of rescue would have been lost. He desperately prayed to the Valar to forgive the evil he had done in hope of achieving good. Maybe by some miracle he could free Aragorn from this place, but he could never now be free of the actions of this night. Kind and compassionate though Aragorn was, a King could not let such a deed go unpunished
Aragorn’s warning had been only too true. Tonight, he had destroyed his own soul. When he had agreed to play the traitor try to save his lord, he had expected it would be dangerous and known it would be unpleasant. However, to have to sink to such deeds of depravity as this went far beyond what he could ever have imagined in his worse nightmares.
He became aware of a terrible searing emptiness inside him. Aragorn had unsurprisingly severed the Thought Bond. He knew now what Arwen had meant about the sensation of having one’s soul torn asunder.
Faramir poured the icy water from the pitcher on his washstand into the bowl. He then pulled off all his clothing and began to wash himself. He felt as if every inch of his body were covered with some nameless filth, but however hard he scrubbed, he felt no cleaner. Eventually, he gave up his hopeless task and dressed again in clean garments.
The heartache was almost more than he could bear. How he wished he were at home with Éowyn beside him! He longed to feel her arms around him and benefit from her strength and practical common sense. Part of him envied her for not being Númenorean. She could never feel the pain of a severed thought bond, though at the same time, she could never know its beauty and joy.
He forced himself to try and rest, trying to preserve his sanity by filling his mind with images of his beautiful wife. He dared not picture her with Elestelle, though, so closely did they both associate their daughter with the King. Then, would even Éowyn ever want to set eyes on him again, after what he had done? He turned his thoughts back to Aragorn. From what the treacherous lords had said, this was his last chance to think of a way to save him before they slowly tortured him to death. Overwhelmed and exhausted, Faramir finally fell into an uneasy sleep.
***
When Aragorn regained consciousness, he was alone in the darkness; the silence broken only by the sound of his own laboured breathing.
His shoulder throbbed painfully while his ribs and belly felt bruised and sore. Sweat poured from his brow, making him suspect that he was becoming feverish. Despair seized him. Faramir had willingly joined in torturing and humiliating him.
How could a bond that was supposed to endure for a lifetime, be so heartlessly cast aside after a few short months? Those of Númenorean lineage were noted for their staunch loyalty and depth of love for their friends. However could he have been so misguided as to have loved Faramir so dearly? He regarded him as the son he had always yearned for. Yet, still he could not bring himself to either curse or hate his betrayer.
Tonight, Aragorn had done something he would not have imagined he would ever have to do, broken a Thought Bond. It was usually fatal to sever such a link, but after such a betrayal, breaking it would have little or no effect on Faramir. He had broken the bond by the force of his will, before his heart broke. Maybe that would have been better? There was nothing in store now but ever increasing pain followed by death. He would give back the Gift sooner than risk betraying his wife and child to the clutches of these monsters.
Aragorn’s thoughts turned to Arwen and the child she had born him. He could not hold back the tears. His loving, devoted and beautiful wife had given up everything for him. He had hoped in return, he could give her many years of happiness as she ruled at his side and they raised their children together. After less than four years of marriage, he would leave her a widow and in dire peril from their enemies, if she did not fade first from grief. Aragorn tried to reach out to his Queen with his mind and tell her how much he loved her. He discovered he was too weak now to reach her.
The King’s body throbbed in agony. He had unwittingly placed his wife and child in grave danger, his best friend had betrayed him and his country was at the mercy of traitors. He had tried his utmost be a good King and this was his reward.
The door opened quietly and the now familiar form of Elbeth, tiptoed into the room. Setting down her candle, she hurried to Aragorn’s side. He tried to blink back his tears, but it was too late. She came to kneel beside him and wiped away his tears with the sash of her nightgown. Tenderly, she kissed his brow. Her innocent devotion made him weep all harder. Especially, knowing as he did, that she was surely destined to be as much a victim as he was. Aware, he had not long left and not wishing her to see him in an even worse condition, he reached a decision.
“Why are you crying, Strider?” she asked, “ Has someone hurt you? Let me kiss it better!”
“You already have, Elbeth,” he assured her, “I am sad, as I will be leaving soon and shall not see you again in this life.”
TBC