These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain
Chapter Twenty Five - I am in blood stepp’d in so far that,
I am in blood
Stepp’d in so far that, should I wade no more,
Returning were as tedious as go o’er. - Shakespeare: Macbeth. Act iii.
Now the time had come to use it, Faramir feared the spider venom would prove hardly less fatal his dagger. Yet, it represented the King’s only chance of leaving this place alive, slender though it was. Knowing it was vital that no puncture wound was visible; Faramir decided the back of the King’s neck would be the most suitable spot to insert the needle. It was doubtful, given Aragorn’s condition, that another small wound would be noticeable; or even, given their terror of the fever that they would give the body even the most cursory of inspections; he dared take no risks, though.
Again, Faramir knelt beside the King, this time daring to touch him with ungloved hands. Swiftly he lifted Aragorn’s head and pushed aside the tangled and filthy hair. Although barely conscious, the King caught sight of the needle and became aware that further pain was about to be inflicted on him. He struggled feebly. He was so weak now, though, that Faramir had little trouble in restraining him.
“No, no, please, no!” Aragorn moaned.
That the strongest and noblest man on Arda should have been reduced to this pathetic condition was truly appalling. That he should have played a part in wounding him, even more so; Faramir thought sadly.
“I have to do this!” Faramir murmured. He wanted so much to tell Aragorn how much he loved him and his anguish at having to treat him so ill. He wished he could explain what his plan entailed, but he could not delay. Someone might overhear; or his resolve might weaken, should he allow his harsh mask to slip. Taking a deep breath, he plunged the needle into Aragorn’s flesh.
The King gave a cry of pain and then went limp. What little colour he had, drained from his face. His ragged breathing ceased. When Faramir felt the side of his neck for a pulse, he could detect none. The Steward’s heart lurched in fear. Tarostar had told him the venom produced this effect. What if he had used too much, though and Aragorn really was dead? Faramir pressed his ear to the King’s chest in a vain search for a heartbeat. He did not undo Aragorn’s shirt, since it appeared to have adhered to his skin due to dried blood and pus. He dreaded what wounds he might uncover should they escape from this place alive.
Forcing himself to push his dark thoughts aside, Faramir threw the needle into the filthy bucket. He now steeled himself to put the most daring part of his plan into action.
He noisily rushed up the stairs and burst into the dining room, where Fosco, Hanna and Dervorin were still drinking copious amounts of wine. Elbeth was sitting on the floor playing with Aragorn’s priceless brooch.
“Elessar is dead!” the Steward announced. “I just now went to look at him and he is not breathing.”
Hanna started to laugh wildly and raised her glass as if in a toast. “Good riddance!” she tittered.
Elbeth burst into tears.
“What are you crying for?” Hanna demanded. “That usurper murdered all my kinsfolk! I only regret I never got round to having a bit more fun with him, I was looking forward to taking his manhood!”
“I liked him. He was my friend!” Elbeth insisted.
“Go to your room and stay there!” Hanna retorted, slapping her daughter viciously across the face.
“If you must beat her, do so where none can see!” Fosco said harshly, while a servant let the protesting Elbeth away. Dervorin and Fosco started to pace the room; their wine forgotten. Hanna remained seated at the table.
“Trust the usurper to escape us!” Dervorin said grimly. “What shall we do now about the marriage contract?”
“How will we dispose of the carcass without catching the contagion?” Fosco fretted. “We can do nothing until that threat is removed.”
“I could do it,” Faramir offered. “I will take no harm from the fever. I would not have you risk yourselves, my friends.”
“It will be a difficult task for one man with an weakened arm to dig a deep enough grave,” Fosco protested.
“I saw several disused wells on the way here,” Faramir replied. “The body could be thrown down one of those and no one would ever find it. It would be better than burying it where wild animals might uncover the grave.”
“You have inherited your father’s wisdom, Lord Faramir,” Fosco enthused. “That is a wise plan indeed. It would be prudent to wait until nightfall, though. You must be careful not to be seen. Peasants are roaming these woods ever since Elessar passed his foolish laws to allow it. All that will change soon! The servants will place the body in a sack help you get it on to a horse.”
“My thanks,” said Faramir. “I will enjoy disposing of the remains of the one who caused me so much suffering. As we were unable to force him to sign the document, I will endeavour to see the marriage goes ahead and my brother’s heiress gets her rightful dues. I will have some influence over the Elven sorceress, for she knows her son’s accession depends on my goodwill.”
“It was a fortunate day indeed when you decided to join us! I will see the corpse is brought to you as soon as it gets dark,” Fosco promised, clapping Faramir on the shoulder. “Have some wine and we will drink to your success.” He sat down again, beckoning a servant to fill his glass.
Faramir drained his glass but waved away the servant who was about to refill it. “I had better keep a clear head for later. I will make up for it when I return, though,” said Faramir. “Maybe you will have that girl you told me about taken to my room tonight?”
“You won’t regret it. She will show you more exotic delights than you will ever have experienced before,” Fosco assured him. “How do you want her prepared?”
“Just tell her to bathe and wear clean clothing.” Faramir replied, struggling to hide his disgust at the very thought of being unfaithful to his wife and sampling vile perversions of the marital act. These men were the lowest of the low to so demean their serving maids.
“Would you not like her as soon as she is ready?” Fosco enquired, glancing across to the Lord of Ringlo Vale. Dervorin had now returned to his place beside Hanna and was sliding his hand down her ample cleavage. She giggled and half-heartedly tried to nibble his roving fingertips.
I will save that pleasure for later when I return. I might not wish to leave once she starts to pleasure me! Do you wish me to collect the body myself seeing as I have had the contagion?”
“Indeed not, Lord Faramir,” Fosco protested. “You could injure yourself bringing it up the stairs. Two of the servants can be persuaded to do it. If they refuse I’ll threaten to lock them in with the rotting carcass!”
“They will need quarantining afterwards,” Faramir warned, inwardly groaning at the further rough treatment that was most likely to be meted out to the King. “I will go and change into warm clothing now. It should be dark soon.”
“A servant will tell you when all is ready,” Dervorin replied. “ I think I will retire too. Come, Hanna!” He rose to his feet, pulling a giggling and obviously tipsy Hanna with him. Her gown was now off her shoulders and almost down to her waist, displaying a large expanse of curvaceous bare flesh.
Faramir followed them from the room. He made his way to his bedchamber and sat down on the bed, debating what to do next. He could only hope that Aragorn would neither come round, nor be further injured when they moved him. If he could only succeed in escaping with him, he would ride as swiftly as he could to the cave where he had concealed his supplies. He could only hope that they could remain there undetected. He feared that it was already too late and he was indeed taking a corpse for burial, albeit a more dignified one, than the traitors had intended.
Then, there was the problem of Elbeth. As long as she remained with the rebel lords the King would never be secure, neither would Eldarion. Therefore, Faramir’s only options were to either take her with them or to kill her. Slaying her would be by far the safest and easiest option. She was too dangerous to live. How could he deal with a sick man and a demanding child who would most likely betray him, however inadvertently? With a mother like Hanna and uncle like Fennas, she was most likely to grow up as evil and deranged as they! Elbeth was his biggest obstacle now, alive or dead. Once her loss was discovered, the Steward’s deception would be uncovered. His absence could be explained by some mishap befalling him, at least for a time. She, however, was their most valuable asset. Once they discovered her body they would know that he had betrayed them.
Faramir shuddered and gave a start. To what level had he sunk that such thoughts should even cross his mind? His soul was lost indeed that he could contemplate such an act! How could he kill his own niece? What manner of a father was he to think of harming any child? Within less than twenty-four hours he had tortured, drugged and attempted to kill his liege lord and had thought of murdering an innocent child! He had become what he most despised and was no better than one of the Dark Lord’s minions!
Elbeth would have to come with him, whatever the risks. He could only hope she would come willingly. If she refused, he would have to use the spider venom on her too, and smuggle her out and hide her somewhere before Aragorn was brought to him.
If only Boromir had adhered to the Númenorean standards of chastity and fidelity! Denethor would never have let slip the high moral standards of his people or even have dreamt of taking his pleasure with such as Hanna!
Faramir cautiously opened the door of his chamber.He could now hear a mixture of giggles, grunts and groans coming from Dervorin’s nearby chamber. Faramir hoped a mixture of inebriation and lust would keep the lovers occupied for some time.
After making certain that no one was following him, he decided to try to discover where Elbeth was. She was not difficult to locate. He could hear her sobbing and banging on a door to be let out as soon as he turned into the next corridor.
“Release me!” she screamed, ”Or when I’m the queen, I’ll cut your head off!”
Faramir remembered Boromir threatening to execute his tutor for refusing to let him miss lessons to watch the soldiers parading through the city after a rare victory. The reminder that she was not of Hanna’s blood alone heartened him.
The key was in the lock so he unfastened the door and went in. It seemed that despite her youth, Elbeth had been given a huge and elaborately furnished bedroom to herself.
“Uncle Faramir!” she exclaimed,” I don’t like being shut in here. Let me out! And it’s not fair you didn’t help Strider!”