Author's Note:

Here is Chapter Eight of 'Sulaeke'. A lot happens in this chapter, and I really need to know what you think. Remember though: no flames. Enjoy!

Sulaeke: Chapter 8

Faramir sat in silence for a moment after he had opened and read his letter. What was he supposed to do? It was usually Boromir who got this sort of thing.

He left his bedroom, walked down the hall and knocked on Boromir's door.

"Come in!" he heard his brother call. Faramir pushed open the door and stepped inside.

"Uh, Boromir? I need your advice on something."

"What?"

Faramir handed the letter to Boromir and waited as he read it. Suddenly, Boromir began to laugh.

"What's so funny? I've got a stalker!" Faramir snapped, taking the letter back.

"So, who is she, Faramir?"

"I don't know her personally. She's the sister of one of my soldiers. But, Boromir, what do I do with it?"

"Just ignore it, Faramir. It's nothing," Boromir said, his smirk never fading.

Later that evening, Faramir headed down to the bar on the fifth level. He felt like he needed a drink. Or two. Or three. He couldn't stop thinking about that letter. Why was it bothering him so much?

He turned a corner and entered the bar. He got a drink for himself, and ordered drinks for his soldiers as they arrived.

Pretty soon, Faramir couldn't see straight. He didn't usually get drunk, and although he was enjoying himself greatly, he supposed the alcohol was having a stronger affect on him than on the others. He pondered giving Thorgad the rest of his money and leaving for home.

He looked over and saw that Aglaron was approaching him. He looked to be very drunk as well.

"So, what did that letter my sister sent you say?"

"Nothing," Faramir responded. He didn't want to get into that right now.

"You know, your father is quite a guy, sending troops out again just a few weeks after they got back home."

Faramir looked down at his glass, swishing its contents around uncomfortably. He didn't want to talk about his father, either.

"I don't like him." Aglaron looked at Faramir expectantly.

After a short pause, Faramir said, "Everyone has their own opinion, I suppose." He really did not like the direction this conversation was going.

"He's not a very good steward."

Faramir could feel himself growing irritated. "Maybe you should keep your opinions to yourself."

Aglaron frowned. Faramir stood up and walked toward the door. Suddenly, an alarmed voice called his name. He recognized it as Thorgad's.

"Faramir, look out!" Out of habit, Faramir drew out the small knife he kept on his belt and whipped around. He was shocked when the blade made contact with something.

Aglaron had been holding his knife as well, but it slowly slipped to the ground. Faramir jumped backward in horror, pulling his knife out of Aglaron's stomach. The older man toppled to the ground.

Faramir's head felt stuffy, like he was in a nightmare. After a short pause, he collapsed to his knees, clenching his fists so tightly he could have strangled something. He looked at Aglaron. He was on his back, blood seeping openly from his wound. Faramir thought he was going to throw up. How could this have happened?

He felt Thorgad grab his arms from behind and pull him away. He was saying something, but Faramir couldn't register a word.

Someone rushed over to Aglaron's side and attempted to stop the bleeding. Faramir wished Thorgad would stop talking. His head was throbbing and the room was turning strangely fuzzy. He wanted to leave, but he couldn't. He needed to help Aglaron. He couldn't just let him die there.

He tried to stand up, but Thorgad held firmly onto his arm. Letting Faramir see what he had done couldn't help the situation any.

Sadaeth hurried about the kitchen, snatching ingredients out of the cupboards for dinner that evening. Their father was already gone, so she didn't need to cook as much. Ever since her mother had died, she had done the cooking. Not because she wanted to, but because the other three members of her family were better at poisoning people than at feeding them.

Suddenly, she heard a knock on the door. She left the kitchen and answered it to see a 30, maybe 40-year-old soldier standing there.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"Is your father here?" he queried.

"No, he is away on military business. Why?"

"I'm afraid that Aglaron suffered a… a serious injury in a fight in the bar."

Sulaeke had just come into the entryway. She had apparently heard what the man had said.

"What happened?" she asked urgently.

"He is -" the man paused and hung his head. "He is dead."

Sadaeth felt as though she had had the wind knocked out of her. Her mouth was open wide in shock. The man was lying – he had to be.

"How?" she choked out.

"He attempted to attack Lord Faramir. It was self-defense."

She could hear Sulaeke's sobs behind her. The man who had delivered the message stood there uncomfortably. Sadaeth wanted to dismiss him, but she couldn't bring herself to speak again.

"We will send out a messenger to retrieve your father," the man offered. Shuffling his feet, he stepped back and dismissed himself. Sadaeth shut the door behind him.

For the first time in her life, Sulaeke felt true rage – toward the one person she never thought she could dislike in the least: Lord Faramir.