Death Long Suffered: 13. Relief or Release

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13. Relief or Release

Boromir flung himself into his bed and buried his head in the pillows. After a time, he pulled the coverlet over him and found sleep near. Gratefully, he closed his eyes. When next he woke, he found himself hard. He shuddered at the remembrance of the dream.

"Stop your crying, little brother. The sliver is not in deep. It will take only a moment to remove it." He held Faramir's sweet hand in his own and gently felt the piece of wood. Two fingers pinched onto it and Boromir pulled. The offending sliver was out. Boromir took the wounded finger into his mouth and sucked on it. "There," he said, "does that feel better?"

"Is it out?"

Boromir smiled. "Yes. And now it is time for you to go to bed."

"Tell me a story, Boromir."

"What would you hear?"

"Of Beren and Lúthien."

Boromir began the love story, watching as Faramir's eyes grew heavy and began to close. "You are truly beautiful, Faramir."

His little brother blushed shyly.

"Might I hold your hand for a moment? Make sure the sliver is out."

"Please," Faramir answered in the midst of a huge yawn.

Taking the digit into his hands, he kissed it, to make it better, he told himself. But the sweet taste of it lingered from when he sucked it to close the wound, and his body trembled. He could not help himself, he sucked it further and Faramir smiled.

"That feels nice."

Shifting a little as he sat next to Faramir, Boromir tried to ease the ache in his groin, yet, he did not loose the finger. That might have relieved him even quicker. He sucked gently on the wounded finger, then took another into his mouth as well. Faramir squirmed a little in the bed, but Boromir breathed deeply and continued.

"Is there another sliver?" Faramir asked as sleep tugged at his eyes.

With a start, Boromir woke up. 'Only one eye,' he whispered to himself. 'He is wounded and helpless. I cannot even think these thoughts. He cannot possibly... He would not be able to... He has been raped. I cannot harbor such thoughts. It would kill him if I even touched him in such a way.'

Frustrated, he took his member into his hand and pulled at it furiously. Within moments, he came. Shrieking in frustration, Boromir fell deeper into the pillows. "Why has this happened? What have I done to incur your wrath?' he screamed to the Valar. "Leave me in peace that I might heal my brother." He plummeted into fear and despair.

When he woke, he pulled himself from the bed, surprised that night now covered the land. He pulled on the rope and when a servant entered, Boromir ordered a bath. The servant left and he quickly pulled the wet sheets from the bed and threw them into the cupboard. Soon the room filled with servants running about: two prepared his bath, another set the sideboard with fruit and cheeses, and another made the bed. Boromir bit his lip, hoping the spill from the sating of his lust did not stain the mattress. They left him; he sat heavily on the bed, wondering how he would ever survive.

When he finished his bath and dressed, he walked to the cupboard, took a few pieces of cheese and a hunk of bread and ran down the stairs. He had stayed away too long and Faramir needed him. Somehow, he would put aside these unwanted thoughts and feelings and care for his brother.

~*~

"Do you hear something, Mistress Ioreth?"

"Nay, Faramir, just the little orphan babe. It was born yestereve; the mother died and it refuses to stop crying. I do not think it particularly likes the wet nurse's milk."

Faramir curled into himself and began to moan.

"Faramir? What ever is wrong? Did you eat something that did not agree with you? Is the milk soured? Please, Faramir, tell me what is wrong." When he did not answer, and his eye seemed to roll in its socket, she ran from the room.

Faramir shuddered as the endless crying of the babe tore him limb from limb. He could hardly breathe. "Boromir," he whispered. "Help me, please."

And Boromir stood next to him, there for him as always, holding him close and whispering in his ear and telling him all would be well, as he oft did when they were children that horrid year their mother died.

"Boromir, please help me."

His voice was soft, but Boromir heard. "Faramir. Tell me what is wrong, what weighs so heavily upon you?"

"I cannot. Oh Boromir!" Faramir's cries turned into a long wail. "Boromir," he screamed. "Save me! Save me!"

"I am here, Faramir. I have you in my arms, you silly. Cannot you feel me about you, holding you and kissing you?"

"Yes," Faramir gulped convulsively. "Closer. Hold me closer."

In the midst of Faramir's pain, Boromir's body stilled itself, and for that, the Captain of Gondor was grateful. He held his brother close, his own heart torn in two by the terror he felt in the trembling body that lay against him. "Faramir. What is it? Will you not tell me?"

His little brother shuddered and tightly closed his eyes. "There was a woman. She was with child. She had been tormented. She drooled and gibbered as one mad. She frightened me, Boromir. She was on the table next to mine," Faramir shuddered and dug his face deeper into Boromir's shoulder. "They... Oh, Boromir! They gave her something and it made her laugh, a wicked laugh that sent shivers up my spine. Then they... I cannot, Boromir. The babe. The babe." He wept into his brother's shirt and shook.

"Hush, Faramir. That is a start. You can remember more later. Not now. Close your eyes now and sleep a little."

"But I see her!" Faramir screamed. "And her flopping arm. It moved, even after he cut it from her body. It twitched and then he, he... Oh Boromir. he laid it against me. I did not understand. I could not fathom what he wanted of me." Sobs shook him further. "He took a needle. It was huge, and some sinew and... and..." His voice dropped to a whisper. "He sewed it my arm. He cut my arm and pushed the top inside and sewed it closed. Then the others - they shouted at me to move it. I could not, Boromir, as much as I tried, I could not. They screamed and shrieked and called me stupid. I tried, oh Boromir, I tried so hard to move it."

"Sh. I know you did, Faramir. You always obey."

"They left it there and it hurt, Boromir. It hurt very badly. It would not move, but it pulled on my arm and on the skin and tore at me, but he would not take it off. I begged him, Boromir. I am sorry. I begged. Will you forgive me, Boromir? I could not stand the pain."

Boromir held his little brother close and wept. "There is naught to forgive, dear, sweet Faramir."

"Yes. I begged them. Father would be furious, but it hurt so. Then he-- he cut the babe from her!" Faramir swooned.

Boromir held him tighter and sobbed until he thought he would vomit.

Siriondil entered the room and walked quickly to Boromir's side. "What has happened? Is he worse?"

"Nay," Boromir finally choked out a word. "Nay. He told me about the arm." Boromir whispered, hoping that, even though insensible, Faramir would not hear. "It was as you said. They cut off the woman's arm and attached it to his. I cannot even fathom such a ghastly thing and yet he lived through it."

"And will continue to live, Boromir. And get well. I promise you. Now that he is sharing what happened, he will improve twice as fast."

"How could anyone, even Orcs do such a thing?"

"Did he say it was Orcs?"

"No, but there were more than one. Do you think it could have been Southrons?"

"Nay. You know who it was, Boromir. The Witch-king or one of his minions. No Orc would have the intelligence to try something like that."

~*~

A/N - 1) The Lay of Leithian was a long Elvish lay that told the story of Beren and Lúthien, their Quest for the Silmaril, and their return from Mandos. It was said to be the second longest of all such tales (with the longest being the Narn i Hîn Húrin, the story of Túrin and Nienor). http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Lay_of_Leithian. 2) mattress - it always amazes me that words I think are 'modern' turn out not to be. Mattress was first used in the 1200's.


This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.

Story Information

Author: Alcardilme

Status: General

Completion: Complete

Era: 3rd Age - The Stewards

Genre: Drama

Rating: Adult

Last Updated: 07/26/10

Original Post: 07/03/09

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