Warning: This chapter contains gratuitous naked Faramir.
Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing and make no profit.
A/N: To answer various questions: Chicki45 – Saruman and the other wizards wont be in this. They only came to Middle Earth after the Last Alliance, to keep an eye out for Sauron's return, and in this world there was no need for them. Ithlien – damn, now I have an idea for an Éomer/Lothiriel subplot. To everyone else - thanks for reviewing. Have some naked Faramir as a reward.
The days that followed brought no answers. He tried, once, to strike up a conversation with the man who brought him food and gave his leg the occasional cursory check. He was not even entirely sure where he was, or what day it was – but even the simplest of questions were answered only with a stony glare, and silence.
Next time they fed him, he was gagged and blindfolded once the meal was done. That night he could not sleep, never knowing if he was alone or not. The gag was taken away at his next meal, but the blindfold stayed. He slept fitfully, waking from his dreams imagining he'd heard someone enter, that he could feel their eyes on him. In truth he had no idea, and he started to lose track of time, days and nights blending into each other, in the darkness. Perhaps that was the point, to keep him confused, docile.
Sometimes he dreamt of Gondor, of his brother. Other times the old dreams came back, and he dreamt of a wall of water, racing towards him with no chance of escape. The drumbeat, and the downfall… He woke up shivering in the dark, wondering if it was perhaps a better idea if he just didn't sleep.
Despite his best intentions, he eventually fell asleep again, only to be woken by a bright light and a soft touch. "I don't think this is necessary, really." she said, and when his eyes decided to focus again he saw Éowyn, smiling softly at him. "You're not going to cause any trouble." She stepped back, and nodded to the two guards who had followed in behind her, lugging a large pail of water in between them. "Up we go." she added cheerfully, and they set the pail down and moved to either side of Faramir, pulling him to a standing position. Even though he was mostly supported by the guards, and they had propped him up against the centre pole of the tent to boot, his wounded leg complained, and he couldn't help but wince.
At another nod from Éowyn, one of the guards took out a set of keys, jangling, and bent to take the chains from his hands and feet. It was stupid of him, but he couldn't help it; as soon as the chains were taken away he tried to make a run for it, and only barely managed to take one step before the pain in his leg and the firm grip the second guard had on his arm made escape rather impossible. Éowyn glared. "Were you not listening, princeling? You are not going to cause any trouble." The guard seemed to look to her for some kind of signal, and then he was dragged back up to the centre post again, although the chains were not replaced.
The daughter of Éomund circled him. "Even if you had managed to make it out of the tent, what then? All you would have accomplished would have been to give my brother an excuse." She did not say an excuse for what, but Faramir thought he could guess. She was right, of course. He should have waited, tried to get a hold of her, the one person in this camp who Éomer wouldn't risk, not even to keep him. From behind, she reached around him, and he half-expected the blindfold to come on again, but instead it was a strip of leather, wrapping around his throat. It was not quite tight enough to choke, but tight enough; there was metal there too, and he heard the jingle of chains as she fastened it in place.
"If I were you, Faramir, I would try not to pull at that." She stepped away, smirking; he traced the lines of it from leather back to metal and the complicated lines of what was some kind of lock. Instinctively he pulled at it anyway, testing the strength of the bonds and it tightened, and did not loosen again. Shocked, he looked up at her to see that slow, wicked smile, and he thought that he was beginning to understand what motivated Éowyn Éomundscild. Nothing as simple as revenge, that drove his father, or loyalty to her people, as Boromir was moved by loyalty to Gondor. It was power that she wanted, and power that made her eyes darken like that as she watched him struggle.
"Clean him, and be quick about it. Aragorn's cur will be here soon, and he'll want to see our prize." It was directed at the guards, but she had slowed her words and spoken clearly for Faramir's benefit. It was hard enough for him to stay upright, leaning on his good leg and trying not to pull at the collar, let alone attempt to hide his shock and dismay; she saw the look on his face and smiled wider. Either she was lying just to get a rise out of him, or the 'visitors' they'd been speaking of all this time really were from Arthedain.
He cursed silently. He'd never quite believed his father when he claimed that the North-kingdoms were after the throne of Gondor; as second son, he was often sent to deal with them, and had never gotten any hint of anything of the kind. Aragorn did seem to speak for the entirety of Arnor recently, yes, and they'd certainly refused to help Gondor in this war in any way, shape, or form, but that didn't mean that… What if it was true? What then?
The guards were stripping off the tattered clothes that he'd worn ever since the battlefield, throwing his old things, once carefully tailored and emblazoned with the White Tree, into a pile at Éowyn's feet. When that was done, the bucket of (cold) water came into use; he shivered miserably, although he was glad that they at least washed out his wound again; from this angle it looked as if it would scar, but heal. She watched, as they scrubbed him down, and he flushed under her gaze. Damn it, this was set up to humiliate him and he didn't want to let her know how well it was working.
To finish the disgrace, after they dried him off she brought out new things, and had them dress him in the green and white of the Riddermark. The chains went back on before the collar was removed, and he collapsed back to the ground almost gratefully. There was a commotion outside, and Éowyn hissed something rude in Rohirric. "Early." she spat, and glared at the guards. "Leave the princeling for now." They shuffled out, Éowyn stalking after, and Faramir was left alone to ponder his probable imminent doom.
(Éomundscild =Éomund's Child)
A/N: In the next chapter, Aragorn's messenger and Éowyn get together for a nice, friendly, chat. Only without the bit where it's nice and friendly.