A/N: (( and )) are used to denote when Pelatarn is forcning Faramir to relieve his memories. Italics means elvish.
Éomer bit back a frustrated, angry groan as Pelatarn opened the cell door again. 'Haven't you done enough! Leave him be!' He and Faramir had only been captive ten days, yet it seemed like forever to the King of Rohan. Éomer had been forced to watch as Pelatarn had tormented his brother-by-law with words and weapons. Exhausted mentally and physically, Faramir rarely said anything, sleeping whenever he could and eating only when Éomer woke him up. Pelatarn had left him alone for the past two days and Éomer had half-hoped that he had forgotten them.
Unfortunately it was not to be. "Wake up little Steward," hissed Pelatarn as he kicked Faramir in the stomach. Éomer could do nothing as Pelatarn again invaded Faramir's mind, trying to destroy everything he was.
(("Again you disappoint me, Faramir. Why is it that you cannot do the simplest thing I ask? Denethor grasped his shoulders tightly, nails digging into him. "You are nothing but a failure, Faramir, and you always will be."))
Faramir the Failure. It certainly fits.
Faramir hardened himself against both Pelatarn's words and the memory of his father's. I am not a failure. Even though he was expecting it, he still gasped from the pain of the blow.
((Denethor glowered as his son stood before him. "I cannot believe you did not protect Osgiliath from the enemy! No, I can believe it. You failed and Boromir had to save you, again. Had it not been for Boromir the city would have been overrun and we would have fallen to the enemy." The Steward's eyes blazed. "You disappoint me, Faramir."))
Always having to be rescued by big brother.
No.
It is no wonder that he had to, you always fail.
Faramir glared back at Pelatarn, anger burning within him. You may beat me, taunt me, even kill me, but I will never fall into darkness! You will lose in the end
Enraged, Pelatarn ordered his soldiers to strike without mercy. Faramir's head swam in pain, but he did not give in. Had Éomer not yelled out, "Stop it, you are killing him!" it truly could have meant Faramir's death. Fortunately, Pelatarn did not want Faramir dead yet, and stopped his soldiers.
Standing above the bloodied Steward, Pelatarn smiled. Stretching out a hand, the dark man shot out a bit of black magic. It healed Faramir's serious wounds, yet at the same time binding the Steward more to the dark power that was attacking him. As he left the prison cell with his soldiers, Pelatarn grinned evilly. "You will fall, little Steward. You will fall no matter how long it takes, for I never lose."
Éomer hated feeling helpless and hated even more watching his friend, his brother, suffer and being unable to do anything to help. He did what he could to clean Faramir's wounds, but he knew that it was only a matter of time till Faramir either broke from what Pelatarn was doing, or died. Éomer shook his head. 'He is not going to die and he is certainly not going to become one of that monster's mindless pawns! Aragorn and Gondor will come to our aid.' He sighed. 'But I do not think we have much time.'
The King of Rohan froze as he heard a strange shuffling noise. It seemed to be coming from behind the wall in the next cell over. 'The drain?' He had briefly considered it before as a means of escape, but neither he nor Faramir would fit in it. His suspicions were confirmed when a hand pushed out the boards that covered the now unused drain. Hiding himself in the shadows, Éomer watched as a dark figure squeezed out of the hole into the other cell. It turned and seemed to take notice of Faramir's shivering body. Giving a stifled cry, it crawled quickly but softly forward, reaching a hand through the iron bars as if trying to reach Faramir.
Acting swiftly, Éomer twisted the arm behind the figure's back and brought his other arm around its throat, pulling it back against the bars. "Who are you and what do you want?" he whispered. For all he knew this was some sort of dark joke either Mustayo or Pelatarn was playing.
The figure stiffened. When it spoke, Éomer was surprised to hear a female voice. "If I am assuming correctly that you are King Éomer of Rohan, than I think Éowyn has been exaggerating your kindness."
Though startled, Éomer did not let her go. "I am being held captive in my own house and forced to watch the torture of my brother-by-law. Kindness is not a priority right now."
The girl paused and when she spoke again Éomer could hear a slight tremble. "Torture?"
"Why should you care?"
Her voice turned cold. "I love my cousin dearly, I would have you know!"
"Cousin?"
"I am Lady Lothiriel daughter of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, you sore excuse for a gentleman!"
Éomer hesitated only a moment before releasing her. She did sound familiar and he remembered meeting the lady at Éowyn's wedding two years before. As she turned around, Éomer found himself on the receiving end of one of her glares. "My lady, forgive me my rough actions. These past ten days have been... hard."
Lothiriel's eyes softened. The man in front of her certainly looked like he had had a rough time. He was shoeless, wearing only trousers, his hair and beard scraggly, and his eyes showing the suffering he went through. "I understand, King Éomer." Then she looked down at Faramir's motionless body and her anger rose again. "What have they done to him?" she demanded.
The King grimaced. "I am not completely sure. There is some sort of dark magic the leader, Pelatarn, is using against his mind. So far, Faramir is resisting but has been hurt terribly as a result. Today was the worst. I do what I can, but he may not last much longer if this keeps up." His chocolate brown eyes found her cinnamon ones. "Is there any plan from Gondor that we should prepare for?"
The sad look in his eyes made Lothiriel's heart skip a beat. She wished she could give him the news he wanted, but she could not. "Not as of yet, my lord. We were sent by King Elessar to observe the situation in Edoras. Arwen leaves tonight to report back to Minas Tirith."
"Please, my lady, call me Éomer."
"If you will call me Lothiriel."
Éomer nodded, wondering vaguely why he felt so light-headed when this lovely, if dirty and grimy, woman spoke to him. Then he frowned as what she said registered to him. "Wait, Arwen? Aragorn sent his own wife along with the daughter of one of the most powerful men in Gondor into enemy-held territory? Has he gone mad?"
Lothiriel gave him an annoyed look. "We both have warrior training and can take care of ourselves. And besides, Éowyn is here too, as she was the one who brought up the idea in the first place."
How come he wasn't surprised? "How is she?"
"She feels ill in the morning, but I would feel the same way if I woke up knowing my husband and brother were being held captive by a worker of dark magic."
"Your husband let you come too!"
Lothiriel rolled her eyes. "That was hypothetical, Éomer. I am not married."
"Oh." Before Éomer could feel too embarrassed, Faramir groaned, turning both of their attention to him.
Lothiriel reached through the bars to touch Faramir's face but Éomer caught her hand before she could. He again found her glaring at him. "Why did you do that?"
"I told you that Pelatarn seems to invade his mind. We cannot risk that Faramir know you are here, he does not seem to have any control over what Pelatarn sees."
Though upset, Lothiriel agreed that it was for the best. He questioned her about his people and his sister until she realized that she had stayed too long. "I should go now." She gave one more look at her beloved cousin. "Farewell Faramir." Before reentering the drain she gave the King of Rohan a formal nod good-bye. "I will return again. Until then Éomer." And she was gone.
Éomer smiled. "Until then, Lothiriel."
Lothiriel tried not to think about the tightness of the drain. 'I hate small spaces, I hate small spaces, I hate them!' Ever since she could remember, Lothiriel had never liked being in tight quarters. Though she lived by the sea, she rarely sailed because of the little room onboard the ships. The only reason she had agreed to go into the drain was that she was the only one who could. She loved her cousin too much to let her phobia keep her from helping him.
So as she crawled through the drain, Lothiriel kept her mind busy by thinking about King Éomer for she felt that thinking about Faramir would bring her to tears. 'Humph, some king, attacking the person who was trying to help him. Then again, I didn't exactly make an appointment.' She rubbed her throat, thinking about how scared she had been as the strange arm had encircled it. 'He is certainly still strong, that should be helpful if he is able to escape. Not too bad looking either.' Lothiriel frowned and began arguing with herself. 'Not bad looking? First of all, it was somewhat dark and I couldn't see him well. Second, he was dirty, unshaven, and might I add rude. Well, only at first when he didn't know who I was. The beard wasn't that bad either. And those eyes... That's it, think about something else. Like what I am going to say to Éowyn.' She tried not to wince at that thought.
The sun was setting as Lothiriel walked back to the house. Careful not to pass any enemy soldiers, she arrived just when Hild was setting the table for supper. The moment she stepped in the door, Éowyn came over. "Did you get in? Did you see them? How are they?"
Hild placed a calming hand on the White Lady's arm. "Let her sit and rest. Supper is ready anyway." Sigel and Fréaláf were already sitting and waiting eagerly.
Lothiriel had barely eaten two bites when Éowyn insisted she tell them what happened. The Lady of Dol Amroth looked over to the two children, happily munching on their bread. She could not give details in front of these innocents. How could she tell Fréaláf that his hero the king was running out of hope? And if she told Éowyn about how bad it had gotten for Faramir... Lothiriel suppressed a shudder. No, she would have to soften the details. "Both are alive, though I do not think they are getting enough food. And their captors are certainly not being kind to them. At first they were upset that we came, but they were relieved that a plan was in motion. Of course, they give you their love, Éowyn."
She looked around the table to see if they bought the very watered-down version of the story. By the somewhat relieved looks on Hild and Éowyn's faces they did, but one look at Arwen told her that the elf could see right through the deception. 'Later.' Lothiriel promised the Queen with her eyes. 'I will tell you later.'
Later came sooner than Lothiriel thought. Soon after Sigel and Fréaláf were sent to bed, Hild followed, tired from the tension of the day. Since it was Éowyn's turn to clean up (the three had decided to help with the chores while they were staying at Hild's house.), Arwen went outside alone to set out for Minas Tirith. Lothiriel quickly followed and found the Queen waiting for her a few feet away. "Arwen." She paused, deciding how to continue. "Arwen, I may have exaggerated how well Éomer and Faramir are doing." The elf nodded, having expected this. "Éomer is well I believe, but Faramir... " her voice caught for a moment. "Faramir is not." As Lothiriel described what she had learned, Arwen's eyes grew harder and more worried. "You must tell the King and my father to hurry. It would be best if they set of as soon as you arrive. I do not know how much longer my cousin can withstand this demon."
Arwen nodded. "I will hurry at all speed and urge my husband to quick action as well. Stay out of danger, you cannot help them if you are caught as well." She frowned. "I would advise not telling Éowyn of this unless it is needed. I fear what she would do and my heart tells me that there is more at stake than just her life should she be placed in danger."
"What do you mean by that?"
The Queen laughed, though without a trace of humor. "I am not sure myself. Just, be careful."
