For my wonderful reviewers (Elvish will be in all italics, memories in bold):
"My back hurts." Faramir rolled his eyes slightly at Éomer's obvious understatement. On the fifth day of their capture, Mustayo had paid them a visit. This time it was Faramir who was restrained as the dark man lashed Éomer's back. Now the Prince washed the whip-marks with water provided by Mustayo. 'He just doesn't want Éomer dying of infection before he gets his entertainment from our suffering.'
"Maybe next time you should not insult his mother. That seemed to anger him."
"How was I supposed to know he could understand ancient Rhovanion? Besides it was not a really bad insult, I know worse." Faramir rolled his eyes again. "I do! I could have called her... "
Faramir held up his hand. "I will take your word for it. Just, try to keep quiet. We only have to last until King Elessar comes."
"When do you suppose that will be?"
The Steward of Gondor thought for a moment before answering. "He will do nothing rash. Uncle Imrahil, I believe, is in Minas Tirith and will council the King to raise a good-sized army before any attempt at attack is made. It will take anywhere from a few days to a few months."
Éomer groaned. "Great, a few months in here. I will go mad from boredom."
"Are you saying I am boring?"
"What? No... I mean, no you are not... I did not... " Éomer looked over his shoulder and saw Faramir's grin. He groaned again. "I hate when people twist my words."
"I am sorry."
"No you are not."
"Alright, I am not. It is too much fun, and I do not want to be bored either."
Their laughter was cut short when Pelatarn and his dark soldiers entered the cell. Crimson eyes leered down at them. "I see Mustayo has been here. Poor Éomer. It does not seem fair to me that you are hurting and the little Steward isn't. I will have to remedy that." The soldiers roughly pulled Faramir away, Éomer held back as he had been the first time.
Pelatarn clasped Faramir's head and grinned. "Now, you will be a good boy and obey me, or else."
"Or else what?" Pelatarn's thumbnails dug into the Prince's face as he turned Faramir's head to where two new soldiers stood. One held a dark whip, the other wielded what seemed to be a blunt mace. Faramir understood instantly what 'or else' meant.
"Shall we begin?" Pelatarn yanked Faramir's head back to face him, and again held the Prince's gray eyes with his own crimson ones. The dark tendrils snaked out of Pelatarn's hands and invaded Faramir's mind, drawing him into memories of past horrors.
Faramir gasped as he recognized the first time his father had hit him.
He felt his head snap backwards as Denethor harshly smacked him. "Clumsy fool! That was your mother's favorite vase! I can't believe you are so stupid that you cannot even see a table when it is right in front of you! You little half-witted idiot!"
Faramir began breathing hard as he tried not to listen to his father's words, but it felt so real that he had to struggle to stay apart from it. He was right. snarled Pelatarn in Sindarin so that only Faramir could understand. You were a clumsy fool then, and you still are.
Faramir beamed up at his father, having hit the archery target for the first time. Denethor glared at him. "That was pitiful; Boromir hit the target far faster than you." The Steward stormed away, leaving a crestfallen little boy.
You were never good enough. You always failed him.
No. Faramir cried. The man with the whip answered his master's unspoken order and began lashing the Steward.
Your father hated you because you are incompetent, unfit to be his son!
No! I will not listen to you. Again the whip came down, this time harder.
You know I speak the truth!
Faramir was breathing hard from the pain. You... lie! The soldier with the blunt mace whammed his weapon into the Steward's stomach. Faramir reflexively bent over, but his head was still in Pelatarn's grasp and it was wrenched backwards. The mace then hit his wounded back and he cried out in pain.
Éomer struggled against his captors to no avail. "Stop it. Stop it!" His own pain forgotten, the King of Rohan could only watch helplessly as his friend went through worse torment.
Finally, Pelatarn stopped his soldiers and grinned evilly. He pushed Faramir away, the Steward landing hard on his bloodied back. No wonder your father hated you, you are a spineless weakling! I have no doubts that if he were here, he would be helping me! Pelatarn turned and left the cell. "Sleep well, little Steward!" His malicious laughter echoed through the corridor.
Éomer knelt by Faramir who was curled on his side, shaking from the pain. The King of Rohan softly cursed the monsters who had done this to the man who was his brother, not only by marriage, but also in his heart. He didn't know what had been said between Pelatarn and Faramir, because he didn't speak Elvish, but he knew that the dark man's words had hurt Faramir more than the whip.
"Faramir. Faramir, are you alright?" Éomer winced as soon as the words came out of his mouth. 'Idiot! Of course he isn't alright!'
Faramir groaned and painfully moved his head to find where the voice was coming from. His eyes stayed unfocused for a moment before centering on Éomer's face. "Éomer," he gasped out hoarsely.
"I am here, Faramir."
"My back hurts."
Hope you liked the chapter. Also, I don't know if I mentioned this before, but I should probably give you a WARNING: There will be a main character death in this story. And villains don't count since that is too obvious. Bwaaahaaahaaa!
