Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, its characters, and lands, are the property of Tolkein Estates and New Line Cinemas. This story was written for my enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, not for profit.

WARNINGS: This chapter includes content that may upset sensitive readers, including, but not limited to, torture, extreme pain, graphic imagery, etc. Rated T.

Chapter Eleven- An Old Enemy

Faramir watched Aragorn disappear into Ithilien, and closed his eyes in a prayer for his safety. He'd planned before on showing the King the outpost at Henneth Annun, but not in this way. He feared little that Aragorn would not find the place, for he had been a ranger since before Faramir's birth, and the simple instructions Faramir had given him would be more than enough.

He feared that his captors would not keep their word.

The man's hand tightened slightly around his neck, and Faramir took his eyes off the wood around him as his hands were bound tightly behind his back. I gave up my freedom, he thought bitterly, and my life for my liege lord. Do they think me a man of such little honour to go back on my word now?

The ropes cut into his wrists, and he bit his lower lip against the pain. There was no need for them to tie him; he would not attempt to escape. He'd given his word, and he'd always made a point in his life to be honest. But, of course, they wouldn't know that, and they had good reason not to trust him, after his near successful escape with Aragorn earlier that day.

He was shoved roughly back inside the cave. They had let go of his neck, but now two of the men gripped his arms, one on either side of him. Down the halls they went, spinning Faramir every once in a while to disorientate him.

Once they reached the narrow hallway between the rows of cells, they shoved him back into one with such force that he staggered against the wall. "You've sold yourself to us," the leader, the one who had impersonated him, snarled, "And now we do what we wish with you, Steward. Your life is worth nothing to us. Much we've suffered at your father's hand."

Faramir opened his mouth to answer them, but he found that there were no words to say, so he shut it again, wisely.

"I am Calemon," he said, "Formerly the Captain of the Ithilien rangers, that is, until his lordship put you in my place. Long have I awaited the day I could have my revenge on you," his voice came out as a hiss.

Faramir remembered hearing about Captain Calemon, who'd mysteriously disappeared a few days after it was anounced that Faramir would take his place. Anborn, his lieutenant, had spoken of him as a 'shady character, with a mind for trouble, and a thirst for battle,' none of which described Faramir at all. He'd heard that Calemon often ordered floggings, and sometimes even executions, for offences which Faramir would consider worth no more than a lecture. From what he'd heard, Calemon was capable of performing some terrible acts of cruelty.

He met Calemon's eyes, firm and unwavering. "Well, I suppose that, now, you need wait no more," he retorted, keeping as calm as he possibly could.

This composure of his angered Calemon. Though the former captain tried not to show it, Faramir saw in the way his eyes narrowed and his glare sharpened, obviously trying to intimidate Faramir.

The Steward kept his eyes locked on Calemon's, betraying no emotion, save the trademark stubborness of the House of Hurin. Though inwardly he was quite afraid, he did not show it.

The two kept eye contact for a few moments, while the room seemed to hold its breath in anticipation as the tension between Steward and outcast built up. Faramir knew he'd have to make himself last as long as he could to give Aragorn a good chance of escape. This seemed to be an ideal way to stall.

At last, Calemon broke the tension, rushing forward and striking Faramir on the side of the head with his stiff leather gauntlets. Faramir reeled and fell, propelling himself upright again before Calemon could deal him a kick in the gut. "You would dare defy me, Steward?" asked Calemon, his voice honeyed over with sickly sweetness, "I suppose you would. Even now, when you are entirely in my power." As if to prove his point, he dealt Faramir another blow.

But the Steward saw it coming this time, and ducked, causing Calemon to spin in an entire half-circle before regaining his balance. A sound rose in the highwayman's throat that sounded half like a snarl and half a growl. Calemon did not like to be proven wrong. And when he was, he found that he took out his anger on the nearest direct object, which was, at the moment, conveniently for him, Faramir.

Faramir was taken aback, and caught completely off guard, by Calemon as the renegade hurled himself at him, knocking him immediately onto the floor and putting his foot on Faramir's chest, grinding his boot heel into his ribs.

Faramir, the wind having been knocked out of him as he'd hit the hard, stone floor, could hardly hold back a yelp of pain. This seemed to please Calemon, who put his full weight into his heel.

Faramir gritted his teeth defiantly, closing his eyes as he heard and felt his ribs crack beneath the pressure. Pain shot through his chest, coursing through his body, a blinding pain, like someone was repeatedly stabbing him with a dagger. It came up and choked him, and he fought against the cry of agony that threatened to escape him.

At last, the pressure on his chest was relieved a bit as Calemon stepped back. He took a shaky, painful breath, opening his eyes slightly. "I see that the brave captain has cracked," Calemon sneered, "Both figuratively and literally."

He chortled at his own joke, and Faramir felt anger rise inside him again. "I'm afraid you are quite mistaken, Calemon," he wheezed, for if breathing was painful, speaking was agony. "You may have broken my bones, but I am not broken. Not yet. And I will never break for the likes of you." He braced himself for what would come next.

And he was not surprised when Calemon pulled him off the ground and slammed his anterior against the cavern wall, wrenching his arm behind him and twisting it. "Then I will enjoy breaking the rest of your bones," he hissed.

Faramir bit his lip, closing his eyes as the muscles and tendons in his arm were stretched to their limit. Calemon was well skilled in the art of making one's victim in as much pain as possible, Faramir deducted, much to his chagrin, noting that he was driving his broken ribs against the stone wall even as he attempted to break the Steward's arm. His prospects looked grim indeed. He could only hope that Calemon would wish to play with him long enough for Aragorn to escape.

Something snapped. It wasn't his bone, but it was enough to bring hot tears of pain springing to his eyes. Faramir ground his teeth as it was twisted further, holding back the cries that threatened to escape him.

Then Calemon stopped. "I could twist this arm right off, my lord Steward," the last three words were spat out contemptuously, "But I won't do that. I think this will have taught you well enough not to underestimate my cruelty."

Faramir turned his face away from the wall, reddened and strained with pain, and fixed his tormentor with a glare. "It has indeed," his voice was stiff and drawn, but cold as ice, "But it did not raise my opinion of you. You are still a deceitful, murderous snake in my eyes." He could barely move his damaged arm, and his damaged ribs burned with a dizzying fire, but, somehow, he managed to stay upright and keep eye contact with Calemon.

Once again, his stubbornness in not showing his pain infuriated the highwayman. But Calemon's only reaction was the one Faramir expected; he called for two of his men, who, one on each side, took a hold of Faramir's arms and held him still.

Calemon rolled up his sleeves, clenching his scarred hands into tough, horny fists. "Very brave, Captain, very brave," he sneered, his voice oozing with false sweetness, "But your bravery will cost you. Dearly, I may add."

With those words, he plunged his fist into the hapless Steward's gut. Faramir gasped in stunned agony, but barely had time to regain himself before the renegade landed another punch at his side. "You will break, Steward," Calemon hissed, giving him another, and another.

Faramir's head swam, and he felt his eyes closing, but before he drifted into blissful unconsciousness, the beating stopped. He realized he'd held his breath for the entire time, and let it out in a ragged, painful sigh, drawing it back in in much the same way.

Then Calemon had grasped him by the collar of his shirt, and through his half-closed eyes, he could see the man standing incredibly close, and he felt his hot, fetid breath on his face as Calemon spoke.

"I am a 'kind' host," he said, with the same silken tone as before, "And so I will give you time to come back to your senses before the our next meeting. So that you can feel the pain all the better." He laughed slightly, but a derisive laugh, not one of humor, making a signal to the guards who held Faramir against the wall.

They threw him down onto the ground, and as Faramir struggled to regain his feet, not wishing to give them any show of weakness, he heard the door on the cell slam shut and the wooden bar slide into place.

He gave up trying to move, and lay there, his eyes open and looking at nothing in particular. Now they had him out of the way, and could plan whatever they wished to do to Aragorn. He was trapped in the hands of his old enemy, and, this time, there was no sword in the privy to free him.

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To Be Continued...

A/N: I am SO sorry about the wait! And my other stories... well, let's just say that Real Life has to come first sometimes.

Really, really sorry about this. But I have to say that I have not abandoned this story, nor my others.

'Darkness Falls,' and the second in the series, 'Darkness Reigns,' are both fully outlined, and I just am working on putting the outline into words.

I have, amazingly enough, started work on Chapter Six of 'In His Stead.' I have had major writers' block on that one... my Faramir-muse has been a little finnicky lately.

My updates will not be as frequent as they have been, because Real Life, as I've said before, take precedence, though I wish it were the other way around. Probably every two weeks at most there will be an update on at least one of my stories, but no promises.

Sorry again, and I will try to reply to all reviews I can.

Namaarie,

Luthien