This chapter contains a shocking violence not suited for younger readers. Read at your own risk.
This is not, by ANY stretch, a happy chapter.
Chapter 7
"Get out!" Aragorn growled at Elladan and Celeborn.
"Brother, you-"
Aragorn whirled Elladan, his eyes hard and glared. "Get. Out." He repeated, running hand through his mussed hair and toppling a nearby table in his rage.
"We are not leaving."
"You are not needed." Aragorn growled, strode quickly into his bedchambers and slammed the door.
The two elves heaved heavy sighs and took seats in the receiving room, determined to wait until Aragorn was ready to speak to them. His rage would fade when he had a few moments to relax, to gather his thoughts.
In his chambers, Aragorn finally collapsed, his heart racing. He had never been so angry. He had never felt so helpless. The King was nothing more than a pretty figurehead to look at while everyone worked frantically around him. As a Ranger he'd had more freedom. How he missed that life. As a Ranger he could have – Aragorn stopped and turned to stare at the wall, and the secret passage concealed behind it.
As a Ranger he would be free to seek out those who had taken his wife, rather than be bound to the duties of a King. Aragorn strode quickly to his dressing room and knelt before a long unused bundle of clothes, piled behind the elegant silks and velvets worn now as representation of his office. He pulled out the rugged leather and shed his Kingly attire. Soon, he was dressed as a Ranger once again and he sighed as the comfortable familiarity returned to his senses.
Sliding his elven knife into its sheath and strapping Anduril to his hip, he pressed the lever that would allow him safe passage out of the Citadel – and even the City – without anyone ever noticing he'd gone.
He gripped the candle tightly as he stepped into the darkness. When the passage slid shut behind him, he was truly alone, and bathed in the shadows again, looking every bit like an Arnorian Ranger.
------------------------------"My Lord!"
"What is it?" Faramir looked up, eyes red from exhaustion, and stared at the Citadel guard.
"The King!" The terror in the guard's eyes send a tremor of horror down Faramir's spine and he leapt to his feet. "He's been assassinated!"
"What?!" Faramir cried, bringing anyone in the outside halls rushing into the office. "No! You must be mistaken! Take me. Now!"
The Chamberlain, two council advisors and a host of armed guards parted when Faramir arrived. They had not touched the body of the King, who lay face down in a luxurious fur rug near the crackling fireplace.
Faramir's breath caught, hoping that his eyes deceived him. He found himself quickly kneeling at his King's side, bowing his head. "No."
"This dart was found embedded in his back," The guard held out the poisonous object and Faramir nodded absently. "We've captured the assassin and await your order."
Faramir flattened his hand against the King's head and slowly rolled the dead man onto his back. As a guard knelt down to assist, Faramir noticed that the man was not wearing the famed Ring of Barahir that Aragorn hadn't removed from his finger since the Steward had known the man. Faramir's chest tightened and they finished rolling over the dead man, to find that it was not the body of the King, but of a servant dressed in the King's clothing.
"Where is the King?!" Faramir growled. "This man who lies dead at my feet is not King Elessar." He turned to the Citadel Guard who stood rooted in place. "You find him, or I will banish each and every one of you, and your families, from this City!"
Eowyn, who had followed Elladan and Celeborn into the King's chambers, stepped towards her husband and rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. She could see him succumbing to the stress for which he had relieved his King of command, and didn't know who was left in the City to hold it together if Faramir were to loose control.
"He's left to search for Arwen," Elladan said slowly. He knew his brother all too well.
Faramir held his head in his hands. "Oh surely you jest? This situation has just gone from worse to unbelievable."
"I'm leaving the City to find my sister." Elladan straightened. "I will return with the King and Queen, or I will not return at all." He whirled on his heal and strode out of the room, leaving the remaining occupants to stare quietly after him.
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Fire's burned brightly along the shoreline as the Southron Prince smiled. From his vantage point on the flagship of the Corsair fleet, he could see Lossarnach, and those who sought to defend it, loosing the valiant struggle to keep their harbor safe from the invading enemy. He smiled widely and spoke into the wind, "It is good that I've made this alliance. My brother would never have considered it, but that is why he is dead, and soon, I will rule over my own people and those of our ancient enemy!"
"Lord Prince?" A Corsair captain interrupted his thoughts and the Prince whirled on the man.
"What is it?"
"She has been brought aboard."
The Prince clasped his hands together with glee. " Wonderful. See to it that she is locked in my chambers."
The Wild Men stepped up to the Prince and smiled smugly. "We told you we could do it. All too easy."
"It took you long enough."
"We were," One of the men smiled, remembering their little detour, "detained."
"No doubt between the thighs of some tavern wench." The prince muttered in disgust.
"We've held up our end of the deal," The other man said quickly. "Now you hold up yours."
"Yes, indeed. I should have had more faith." He removed a small coin satchel from his waist and tossed it at the barbaric men. "Your payment in full."
The two men clawed at the contents while being escorted to the boats that would return them to land.
The Prince turned in time to see the Queen of Gondor being taken below the deck to his chambers. He smiled widely. "It is time."
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"You will tell me what I want to know or you will die slowly and painfully," Faramir stood over the bound assassin, hands clenched into fists so tightly his knuckles were white.
Those of Aragorn's council, not otherwise detained, stood around Faramir, watching as he continued to issue threats to the obviously black Numenorean assassin.
"My people have long been at war with your King. What makes you think I will speak of my plans or of the plans of my superiors?" Blood trickled from the corner of the man's mouth and he choked as Faramir's fist connected with his stomach once again.
"Tell me or you will die."
"I will die regardless." The man stared ahead until the door to the private cell opened and the Chamberlain walked through. The Gondorian man masked his surprise quickly enough but not before Faramir noticed the look that passed between the two men.
The assassin took advantage of Faramir's look of disbelief to wrench a sword from a Citadel guard's hand. Before he could thrust the blade into Faramir's chest, however, a guard lunged and removed the assassin's sword arm. The resulting cry as tThe sword fell to clang loudly on the floor was the only sound as silence filled the room.
Faramir stalked toward the Chamberlain and clutched his blade, his eyes blazing. "What do you know of this man and his actions?"
The Chamberlain stared horrified at Faramir, "No-nothing, My Lord."
Citadel guards pulled the fallen assassin to his feet and dragged him back into his cell. When the metal doors slammed shut, the black Numenorean laughed. "You cannot avoid it. The war will slip through the gates of your city like the plague that sacked Osgiliath in the third age! Then the mighty Gondor will finally fall!"
Faramir gripped the rungs of the cell tightly and leaned close. "The remnants of your pitiful armies cannot hope to conquer the White City. Your plan has failed."
Faramir did not miss the glance the assassin shot at the Chamberlain but he continued his taunt regardless. "You have killed the King of the Haradrim for us. Rid us of a tedious alliance at best."
"I will tell anyone willing to listen that you hired me to do so."
Faramir scowled. "Then perhaps you will not live through the night and we will have to find another," He glanced quickly at the Chamberlain and then back at the assassin, "to give us the information we desire."
"My Lord!" A guard rushed down the steps. "The City is under attack! Banners of the Haradrim have been sighted advancing across the Palennor!"
"Ah, valar!" Faramir groaned but even Eowyn was frightened by the cold set of his eyes as he quickly, and without thought, issued orders. "Mobilize a first line of defense and set a watch on the gates. Gather the Captains in the courtyard. I will be there momentarily!"
Faramir turned to the Chamberlain, "Return to your chambers. You will be questioned when I return."
The Chamberlain nodded nervously and rushed out of the dungeons without looking back.
Faramir turned to a guard. "Follow him and see that he obeys my instructions."
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"Cursed woman!" The Southron Prince backhanded Arwen and she landed with a yelp of pain onto the bed. "Enough with the sea-sickness. I have an heir to Gondor's throne to plant inside your belly!"
Arwen looked at him horrified as she fought another wave of nausea. As soon as she'd set foot on the Corsair ship and felt the wood rock beneath her feet, an unsettling feeling had come over her and she'd begun to retch up what little food she had been given since her capture. Struggling with her captor did little to help with the nausea.
"Oh yes, precious Queen, by the time I'm finished planting my seed, your King will be dead – and an heir of Southron blood will be growing inside your belly. And he will ascend the throne of our most hated enemy. My brother, our King, is also dead and I am now the undisputed heir."
Arwen shook her head and crawled backward as he advanced, laughing, making a game of her fear. She kicked at him and he merely laughed.
"I will never lay with you." Arwen cried when he finally reached her and held her hands above her head. "You will not have me." She kicked at him with her unbound legs, smiling in smug satisfaction when each kick landed solidly against his large frame.
"Oh yes you will. Willingly or no." He backhanded her across the face with such force that she was knocked breathless onto the cushions of the bed. "I've always wanted to take an elf to bed." Before she could regain her senses and further resist, he wrapped leather straps around her wrists and tied them to the posts of the bed, effectively ending her protest. "I wonder if your kind are as insatiable as is rumored." He tore at her clothing, leaving shreds of fine silk dangling across her body.
Arwen kicked at him but barely connected as he stood and looked down at her with an amused grin. He slowly unfastened his breeches and readied himself before her eyes.
"My husband will never stop hunting you!" Arwen cried as he gripped her ankles and wrenched apart her legs. "No! You cannot have me!"
The pain in her wrists as she pulled against her bonds was nothing compared to the terror in her eyes as he held her legs so tightly she could not pull away.
He knelt between her thighs and leaned over her, his breath hot in her ear. "Just think, your majesty, as I take you to my bed, your husband is being forcibly removed from his office." The unmistakable glee in the Southron Prince' gaze was not lost on Arwen and she whimpered from the crushing sensation of his weight pressing her into the cushions. "He will be killed this very evening by an assassin's dart."
She continued to struggle, shaking her head in denial but when large hands landed on her hips, pinning her to the bed, there was no movement that she could make to stop the inevitable.
"No!" Arwen screamed in denial and she squeezed shut her eyes in pain as she was torn in two by his violent invasion.
"Oh yes," The Prince cooed, showing no mercy in his invasion of her body. "He will be quite dead, if he is not already. Soon, the City will be in a panic. Being assailed from all sides as my army begins its march to victory. Dol Amroth has fallen as has Lossarnach and soon shall the White City."
She struggled against him, tears pooling beneath closed eyelids as her senses were overwhelmed with grief. Her body ached and the urge to hurl what little she'd ate for dinner was a constant pressure in the back of her throat. He couldn't be dead. There was no way someone could reach him in the White City. He would come for her. He would.
Arwen whimpered in pain as the Southron Prince took her with a violence she would never forget and she resolved to kill this man in the most violent of ways should the opportunity ever present itself.
When his hands ripped at what remained of her clothing, she struggled harder, determined not to let him see what belonged to her husband alone.
"Yes, Yes," he grunted, "Struggle for me sweet little elf. Show me how spirited our son will be!" His head dipped to bite at her porcelain skin and Arwen's head tossed to the side, denying him access to her lips. He growled and gripped her hips even tighter, holding her still as his body violated her in the most intimate of ways.
"No!" Arwen screamed and closed her eyes when she felt a familiar warmth flood through her stomach. "No!"
With a satisfied grunt, he rolled off her and stood, eyes raking across her perfectly smooth body lying tied beneath him.
Weakly, she crossed her legs and twisted her hips away from him, denying him further access or even the sight of his violent possession of her.
"Hmm, very warm and tasty." He fastened his breeches about his waist once again and knelt beside her to press a kiss to her bruised cheek. "I shall enjoy many more evenings in your bed, my Queen."
Arwen steeled herself and opened her eyes. Though tears flowed from the corners of the ebony stars, they were hard and cold as ice as she stared at this man. "I am the Queen of King Elessar of Gondor. Though you may unwillingly take me to your bed, my heart will forever belong to him."
The man stood, laughing and walked out of the chamber, leaving Arwen, clothes hanging in shredded tatters around her body, exposed on the bed of furs. In between her sobs, she managed a small smile as she glared at the door. "The son I bear will not be of your blood, of that you can be certain."
TBC