The morning dawned grey and rainy. Men grumbled as they attempted to coax the fire to life. Faramir pulled the covers up over Boromir and sat on the end of his pallet, thinking that they should wait for the rain to stop before setting out. In Boromir's weakened condition, being cold and wet would only exacerbate his wound, and, if Faramir were completely honest, he longed to see the elf again.
A knock at the shelter post and Faramir was invited to share a meal in the leader's tent. A last check on Boromir showed him sleeping peacefully, so Faramir stepped quickly through the rain.
The tent was large, roomy enough for a long table, a small fire ring against the back stone wall for heat, and storage for weapons and food. Dregan's quarters were beyond the long linen curtains that partitioned the shelter.
At the far end of the table, the elf sat at Dregan's right, eyes downcast, hands in his lap, noose tight around his neck. His face showed only the faded marks of the earlier blows. The beating last night must have been all to his body then, Faramir thought, remembering what those sounds had wrung from his own body. I want to see. His face flushed red.
Heavy clouds promised a long day of inactivity. When the men had eaten their fill, belts were loosened and bodies rearranged on the rough benches or on the floor near the fire. A deck of cards and dice were produced and there was general ribaldry as the games began.
"You find my elf pleasing," Dregan mused, pushing the food around on his plate. "Have you knowledge of the Firstborn?"
"I've rarely seen an elf in Gondor and know every little of them," Faramir admitted, his eyes never leaving the elf.
Dregan broke off a piece of crust and held it in his open hand. "Ask for it," he whispered.
The elf stiffened and raised his head, eyes ablaze, jaw set. Faramir held his breath at the beauty of his rage and the inevitable clash of wills.
Never.
"Ask," Dregan whispered again. "Ask or you'll go hungry again today." Faramir shivered at Dregan's quiet authority, his certainty that he would be obeyed. So like Boromir ran through his mind, so like I wish to be.
As though it cost him dearly, the elf hissed out "please" between clenched teeth.
"Mine," Dregan smiled, "you are mine."
I eat only for strength against you, never because you command it. How I long to rip the fingers from your hand and feed them to you until you choke.
And never yours. Chains and branding and starvation do not turn my heart toward you, only blacken it with hate and the cry for vengeance.
The elf's eyes squeezed shut for a moment, but then he leaned over gracefully and nibbled at the bread, licking Dregan's palm clean of crumbs. Faramir stared as the elf's long throat worked convulsively to swallow around the obstruction of the too-tight noose.
Dregan toyed with the end of the elf's long blond hair. "He is beautiful, even beaten, is he not? It pleases me to possess an elf. Gives me great standing in the land. Others wonder how I captured him, how I keep him, what I do with him."
Faramir let out his breath slowly. "He is a remarkable creature.
Dregan gave another proud smile and turned the elf's face to him. "The country folk think elves have magical powers, so they both fear and admire him. Wealthy travelers want to possess them and offer up much gold to buy this one from me." He gave a harsh laugh and stroked the elf's cheek, brushing a finger across the darkening bruise. "I take their money, but never give up my elf. Everyone who sees him tells of the greatness of Dregan; those who touch him come back to pay tribute."
The elf flinched and closed his eyes again.
Don't dare presume you own me. One being does not own another. How glad I am that foolish men who make their claims on land and people are given only a short time on Middle-earth. We could not bear you very long elsewise.
Telling people I am a conjurer, selling my body to make you rich, using me to spread your filthy name. You should pray to your gods to die before I am free, else I will torture you for all your remaining days.
What would it be like to own an elf? Faramir considered it carefully. A being both beautiful and strong, one others would admire, would covet and respect the owner for being able to possess and control. One would be envied in public, as one is who owns the fiercest hunting hound, the most spirited stallion, the sharpest fighting sword. One would be known far and wide as a powerful man. And in private.... In private, bending the elf to one's will, commanding him to provide both pleasure and obedience. To be able to stroke that golden hair, that smooth, luminous skin, at will. It would give any man confidence, stature throughout the land, respect amongst men. Even a second son. Especially a second son.
He gave a small shiver, then shook his head to clear his mind of such traitorous thoughts. He glanced up to find Dregan smiling at him. His fingers curled around the elf's throat, caressing it sensuously and then gently loosened the knot. Faramir was mesmerized by the slight pleasure on the elf's face and the deep breaths he took. Dregan smiled again, as if at a private joke, and continued to feed the elf, requiring him to take each piece of food from his fingers.
When I am home, when I am back in Lorien's woods, when I can eat and sleep and bathe and breathe free of the taint of men.... If I ever see Lorien again..
When at last the food was gone, Dregan stood and pulled the elf up by the arm. Only then did Faramir realize that the elf was bound in chains: manacles around his wrists were fastened to links around his waist, and a tether connected them with the manacles binding his ankles. The elf sneered at his expression of surprise.
What did you think, stupid boy, that I sat beside this monster by my own choice? That feeding from his hand like a dog was something I wanted to do?
"He is exceedingly difficult to tame and requires frequent reminders of to whom he belongs," Dregan explained, and motioned to one of his soldiers. "Collar him, then take him outside and secure him. I have something to do."
The elf pulled away with a musical clank of his chains as the soldier approached with the iron collar and tether. With his arms crossed, staring down at the elf and waiting for him to follow orders, Dregan reminded Faramir again of how Boromir controlled his men, how he himself wanted to become.
The elf stared back at Dregan, defiance radiating from every muscle. Faramir grudgingly admired his courage and thrilled a little at his insurgence, but he wanted Dregan to make the elf submit, to study how it was done.
How I wish to kill you where you stand. You, your soldiers and this soft young man whom you are seducing to stroke your pride, spread your evil fame, line your pockets with gold. You do well now to keep me bound in heavy chains and under guard, for when I am free, your throat will be the first one slashed.
But like the night before, the elf looked away first, his body reflecting his resignation.
My time will come. And it is not now. Please, Elbereth, help me stay strong until you release me from this torment.
The soldier quickly fastened the iron collar, with its long chain leash, around the elf's neck and led him out into the rain. Faramir looked at Dregan.
"He is chained to a tree as a lesson in submission, a lesson he repeatedly requires," Dregan explained with a slight shake of his head. "Today, some time in the cold and rain might remind him that his rebellion brings only pain and suffering, but his obedience is rewarded with warmth and comfort.
"Please stay with my men, if you like. Bring a plate of food to your brother when he wakes. The elf will help you change his bandage later."
For the rest of the morning, Faramir passed the time in the company of bandits, enjoying their card games and their stories. With their easy acceptance, Faramir grew more confident and assured. He had the makings of a good soldier, a good leader, he thought to himself, unconsciously straightening his shoulders and sitting a little taller. He had never been tested, always under his father's iron rule and forever in Boromir's shadow, but maybe he should start demanding some respect.
After the mid-day meal, during which Dregan did not join them and the elf was left in the rain still chained to the tree, Faramir slipped into his own shelter.
"Boromir?" he called softly. His brother stirred, roused himself. "I've brought you some food and a waterskin. Are you hungry?"
After a little soup, Boromir fell back on the pillows, barely keeping his eyes open. "Tell me about where we are."
Faramir related the events since their encounter with the orcs. For reasons not completely clear in his mind, he made no mention of the elf slave; he wanted that for himself just a while longer.
"We are safe here, then, for another night, for I'm not sure I can ride without a little more rest." Boromir's eyes began to blink slowly and close. "Be sure you do not reveal who we are. Do not drink, for it loosens your tongue. And watch what you do, as common thieves are by nature dishonorable and very sly; you have no experience with them."
Faramir rather bristled at this. A few moments in Boromir's presence and he went from confident nobleman to unschooled lad. A niggling voice reminded him that Boromir was never anything but kind and fair and if it sounded as though he was issuing orders, well, it was nothing more than his usual manner of caring for his brother. But Faramir, having so recently enjoyed being treated as an adult by Dregan, allowed indignation to come to the forefront of his mind. Boromir was making judgments on those he hadn't yet met, who had been generous with food, shelter, assistance, especially to him. They lived more honorably than some of the Gondorian nobility that Faramir knew and they possessed something no one in Gondor did. Surely that separated them from common thieves. He stalked back to Dregan's shelter with no small fury and hurt in his heart.
In his absence, the bandits had brought forth kegs of ale and pouches of pipeweed. Game stakes were higher and voices were louder; laughter and shouts punctuated by the thunder. Faramir peered through sheets of rain but could no longer see the elf against the tree. Disappointed, he found a place at the table and helped himself to a tankard of ale. Then another, and by the third, Faramir's good humor was restored. The fourth blurred his vision a bit but the world was making more sense in his mind. Faramir needed an elf. With an elf, he'd be respected, feared, admired. Not Boromir's little brother any longer, not the Steward's slightly disappointing second son, but a man in his own right. He leaned over to reveal this to the bandit next to him but was distracted by Dregan's touch on his shoulder.
"I have something you might enjoy," he said. "Come with me."
Stepping behind the curtains that separated the leader's sleeping area from the main hall, Faramir stumbled and would have fallen if Dregan had not caught him by the elbow to steady him.
Like a vision from last night's sweetest dreams, the elf lay on the leader's wide, fur-covered pallet, hair damp from the rain, pale skin glowing in the candlelight. Chained by his wrists to the iron headboard, he was on his back, one long, slender leg drawn up as far as the manacles on his ankles would allow, his face turned away.
"Most beautiful this way, is he not?" Dregan breathed. "I marvel anew each time."
Faramir's mouth was dry, he struggled to swallow, and slow, deep shudders of excitement made it hard to walk.
Dregan guided Faramir to the edge of the bed and they both sat. "You are a man of refined taste, I think," he continued, forcing the elf's leg flat and earning a rage-filled stare for it. "Touch his skin, as soft as the best silk. And his hair, smooth as water. Feel him here. And here. Bones like porcelain, fine muscles, slender build, but never forget that he is an elf. His taking is more precious than that of a woman, for it is not given but must be won by a determined man."
Must be won? How is this a fair contest? I give nothing to you; that's is why it is called a taking.
Faramir was speechless, moving his hand as if in a dream. The elf was exquisite. He carded the long blond hair, traced the bruises on his rib cage, ran his hand down and back up the long-muscled thighs.
The elf, wary and resistant, shifted slightly in anger but there was nowhere to go. His fists opened and clenched in the chains as he endured their unwanted touches: Dregan's long, possessive strokes and Faramir's more tentative ones.
If you only knew that this is by far the worst torture you could visit upon me. That I can withstand the beatings, the whippings, the cold and the starvation, but this humiliation is nearly more than I can bear. This is what brings me to tears, to my shame, and to the edge of my endurance.
"See how his nipples react to your touch, so responsive, and how lightly he is furred," Dregan continued. "Elves are so different than man, Faram, something you will soon know. Even the hair at his sex is not like our woolly pelts, but soft and fine. His length is delicate and slender, his sac smooth and tidy, not like those of men, not like your long, hard cock and full, heavy balls, am I right, Faram?"
Every finger will first be cut off, then your hands at the wrists. I will feed you your manhood as I peel the skin from your back and gouge out your eyes with my dagger.
"Would you like to take him, Faram?" Dregan's low-pitched voice could have been speaking inside Faramir's mind. "I don't share him with just anyone, but you are like me, a man who appreciates his beauty and can control his rebellious spirit. When you return to Gondor, you will spread the word about Dregan and his elf. Tell the nobility and the royalty and the wealthy merchants that Dregan owns an elf. Let them come and look, but you will know something they do not: how the elf feels beneath you."
Refuse, please say no. Say that you won't take one who is beaten and bound. That slavery is wrong. Give me hope that a nobleman is better than a common bandit. That a man from Gondor values honor above all and that your honor will not allow it.
Faramir nodded, unable to look away from where his hands were touching, excitement rising like a flood in his veins, willing to agree to anything. "Yes," he whispered, "yes, I want him."
The elf jerked away as far as his bindings allowed, gaining only a slap from Dregan for his troubles. "Remember to whom you belong," he threatened. "You will do as I say."
Forced taking – something only men could be capable of. You think you conquer me, mark your domination, your property through this hateful act? You find your pleasure only through another's submission, something you will not get from me. Only your chains allow you to touch my body.
Dregan rolled the elf onto his stomach and Faramir sucked in his breath. Long, slender legs, firm, round buttocks, smoothly muscled back. The stripes from yesterday's lashing over older, softer marks, made beautiful patterns, and Faramir traced each with a finger, fifteen red lines from waist to neck. High on his shoulder blade was an elaborate "D" branded into the creamy skin. The hardness in Faramir's leggings threatened the lacings; to mark an elf so that everyone could see his sign of ownership.
"I must have him." Faramir was unconscious that he spoke it aloud.
Dregan smiled again. You are all alike, he thought to himself, so easy to lead along my path. "He is clean and oiled. The rope is gone from his throat so that you may hear his pleasure. I'll unbind one ankle and then you need only to bend him to suit you. Take your time with him, young Faram, and remember the generosity of Dregan."
Faramir barely noticed Dregan slipping through the curtains. To take this elf. His length surged and throbbed against the tight confines of his leggings. He quickly stripped off his clothing and returned to the pallet, straddling the elf's thighs.
He traced again the red stripes down the graceful back, pressing slightly to watch the elf silently pull away. A dark pleasure and possessiveness arose in Faramir at the sight. The bowed head buried in the pillows, muscles tensed for resistance, slightly trembling, but body bound, forced to submit to his touch. He had to grasp the base of his own cock and squeeze hard, unwilling to spend so soon.
This is what it felt like, Faramir suddenly knew, to command men, to demand their obedience, to reign supreme. As the son of the Steward, he deserved this, was entitled to it; it was his right to take it.
He ran his hand more firmly down the elf's back, forcing a muffled moan and a stronger jerking away from his touch. He found he quite enjoyed the small acts of defiance; made it easier to give in to the desire for dominance over the elf. But it was a dangerous desire, a sweet addiction that could not be assuaged in anything less than taking the elf hard.
Touch me not, young nobleman. Resist Dregan's call, for he will bind you to himself as surely as I am bound here. His voice is no longer in your head. Make me believe that you, like another Gondor man I knew, have the honor that he did. Free me now and retain your innocence, your integrity, freedom from the taint of the dark forces.
Although he refused to beg, the elf very softly uttered a single plea. "Please."
The strong hands stroking his back suddenly stilled, the body tensed. The elf couldn't see the man's face, but hope rose in his heart. Had he reached him? He cautiously turned his head to the side.
Faramir felt a sudden, fierce rage at the request. Slaves had no right to ask for anything and the elf's soft voice stirred the conscience that he had quite forcibly silenced.
"Although your desires matter little to me, what is it that you want?" Faramir spoke harshly, staring at the elf's face. The elf blinked, his utter stillness conveying his surprise at the response and his sudden desperateness to make his plea heard.
"Please take me with you, do not leave me here with these uncouth bandits. You're of a fine family, you can appreciate that I do not belong here, but would be happy to serve a nobleman," he whispered. "You could have that."
My words sicken me, yet if they convince him to take me with them when they leave, it can be no worse than my miserable existence here. Freedom may yet be mine.
But Faramir, even as inexperienced as he was in ways of the world, could feel the elf's tense muscles, his loathing of the hands that stroked his body, of the touch that was prelude to his taking. His rage heightened at the elf's lies. Here was another who sought to order him about, wanted to control his actions, to make his decisions for him. Well, this was not about what the elf wanted, it was Faramir's turn to get what he wanted.
The elf might have seen the fist descending but he could not move fast enough to avoid it. Faramir's knuckles split the skin over the elf's cheekbone. Good, thought Faramir, a matching bruise to the one Dregan graced you with earlier. Maybe you will learn to obey the men who own you.
Bloodlust now rose in his heart and the alcohol coursing through his veins urged him to wait no longer in taking the elf. He pulled the elf's hips up as far as the chains would allow, pushing his free leg up under his chest. Where he might have taken a moment to prepare him, despite Dregan's assurance he was ready, now Faramir accorded the elf no such comfort.
No, please, please don't. I cannot bear it from yet another man. Please. You've killed the hope in my heart, please leave my body alone. Give me time to gather my strength, rebuild my defenses.
He pressed the elf's face into the pillow, holding him still with one inflexible hand on the back of his neck. Mounting the elf, he used the other hand to align himself with the elf's entrance and shoved in hard.
It hurts, it hurts. Stop, stop. Let me go. Elbereth, forgive my weakness but I cannot survive this any longer.
Soft, incoherent sounds. Writhing of the slender body, not in passion but in an attempt to repel the invasion. Futile efforts to crawl away from Faramir's powerful thrusts. The silky skin, the lithe, tight body struggling on his cock, the blond hair spread out over the pillows.
It was sensory overload for Faramir and he dug his fingers into the elf's narrow hips, dragging him back and holding him in place. The elf had no leverage to resist and was forced to man's rhythm, whimpering softly and trying to find a less painful position.
Faramir was mindless with desire, with drunken power, with the sheer rightness of what he was doing. He slapped the elf's buttocks, pressed hard on his bruised ribs, pulled his head up by a handful of hair, thinking that never had he felt such passion. The elf was hot and tight and velvety, rocking under Faramir, in thrall to his every move. He possessed an elf. The thought pushed him to the brink of trembling desire and then he could hold on no longer, his sac tightened painfully, and his seed began spurting in long, hard streams deep within the elf's body. Before he had quite finished and nearly unconscious from the force of his climax, he pulled out abruptly from the tight confines, eliciting a pained cry from the elf. With one final, hard convulsion, he shot the last of his seed across the elf's back.
I hate you and all your kind. Your dirty, stinking, orc-spawned kind. I will kill you gladly, piercing your heart with an arrow, pulling it out and pushing it back in slowly until it gushes forth with your life's blood and you draw your last breath.
When he came back to himself and could breathe more normally, Faramir spread his rapidly cooling semen over and around the lash marks, up to the brand, marking the elf as surely as Dregan did. He pushed the long tresses away and turned the elf's face to him.
Do not look at me. I am not ready to face you yet.
Instead of the elf's usual impassive mask, all the rebellion and fire appeared to have been beaten (or fucked, Faramir flinched guiltily) out of him. There was nothing left but pain and fear and desperation. Bruises and tears marred his beautiful face and there was a strangely vulnerable, fragile expression in his eyes.
Not an imperious and cold elf, it came to Faramir in a moment of clarity, but a sad, scared creature a long way from home, enslaved by cruel, callous men, of whom Faramir had just so willingly proved himself one. One who never gave thought to the elf's comfort, his enjoyment of the act, to his release. He flinched away from Faramir's fingers.
Leave me alone. You had my body by force, I couldn't stop you, and the pleasure of joining has forever been taken from me, I fear, but you cannot touch my heart. That much I can protect, though for how much longer, I cannot be sure.
Faramir started to speak, but did not know quite what to say. Residual alcohol and feelings of pleasure and dominance warred with compassion for the elf. His mind refused to coalesce around a coherent thought. The elf shook his hair free from Faramir's loose grasp so that it fell to hide his face.
Dregan slipped back into the room as silently as he had left it. "Faram."
Faramir looked at him blankly for a moment, then said, "I can't see his face, his hair is too long."
Dregan laughed, saying, "Your wish makes it so. Tonight."
Faramir shook his head, unable to make sense of what he felt or what he wanted to say and less sense of Dregan's response.
"Go out and join the men. Have another drink. I'll see to the elf."
Elbereth, I beg you. A sign, please send a sign that my time in this miserable place might some day end.
Faramir nodded and dazedly slipped back into his clothes, the look on the elf's face nagging at him, marring the pleasure of the act. As he emerged from behind the curtains, a space at the table was made for him, men clapped him on the back and a mug was thrust into his hands. The alcohol welcomed him back into its embrace and tried to banish the elf's face from his memory.
It was not until after the last meal of the day that Faramir thought to see to Boromir. How could he have forgotten the very reason they were here?
Dregan appeared at his elbow as though he could read Faramir's thoughts. "Not to worry, my young friend, we have looked in on your brother and he is fine. Go to him now, take him something to eat, then come back for the elf to attend his wound. Show your brother all you are capable of."
Faramir gave Dregan a grateful smile, thankful that he could sort out and make sense of Faramir's confusion. He really was a good friend, guiding and teaching, just like Boromir. He started to feel better, very good, really. He had handled himself and this whole situation well. Held his ale and earned Dregan's approval. Proved himself a man worthy of taking an elf. Now he was arranging his brother's care and would get them safely home. Yes, he really was worthy of respect and he would speak to Boromir about the necessity of an elf.
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