A/N: Thanks for reviewing guys! I'm sorry, but I can't really respond today 'cause I updated pretty late, but I hope that you all enjoy this chapter. : )
Uncertain Fates
One of the Shadow Elves poised his bow and arrow, ready to shoot Faramir—possibly dead; but Faelivrin stopped him.
"No, we will not aim to kill; I am sure that that is not what Selwyn wants."
"What difference does it make?" the elf argued. "He will die anyway!"
"That is not our decision to make; we will let Selwyn deal with him. I am sure that he will be punished severely."
The elf finally nodded in agreement,
"Then what do you suggest that we do?" asked Mordecai, who wanted nothing more than to spit upon Faramir's 'dead' body.
"We will trap him," Faelivrin explained. "With our daggers."
Mordecai smiled; he liked the sound of that idea.
0-0
Faramir was out of breath and so he stopped to rest for a few minutes; he knew that he couldn't rest long for he was certain that his pursuers were still searching for him.
He hoped that he would elude them to the point where they would have no choice but to turn back and forget about him; but even though he thought so, he still did not know for sure whether they had found Sherah's body or not.
He hoped that they hadn't found him yet, for if that was the case then he would undoubtedly escape.
Just then, something sharp whizzed right past him, just missing his right arm; Faramir stood up, and nervously looked to see where the object came from; but because it was so dark, he could barely see anything, let alone a shadow.
Suddenly, something shiny caught his eye; it appeared to be stuck in a nearby tree. Faramir did not want to linger, but yet he was curious to see what the shiny object was. When he reached the tree, he saw that it was a dagger; a little more than half of the blade was stuck in the tree.
Although he was in a desperate run for his life, Faramir couldn't help noticing how well carved the hilt was; it had some unknown elvish symbols on them, which he of course did not understand, but that did not make it any less beautiful.
Faramir resolved to take the dagger, for he figured that it could be of help to him; even though he couldn't help being fearful, considering the fact that the dagger was aimed at him, and the elvish symbols gave him the idea that they had indeed found Sherah's body, and that he was in fact being hunted down by the Shadow Elves, and Lord knows what else.
Once Faramir had taken the Elven dagger, he mustered up all of his remaining energy and broke into a run; he didn't know how much longer he would be able to go at that speed, but he hoped to put some distance between himself and his pursuers.
0-0
Faelivrin emerged from the bush which he and the others had been hiding, and with a gesture of his hand, beckoned them to follow him.
They moved swiftly, like ghosts in the night. They were very careful and made sure that they did not do anything to alert Faramir to their presence.
Suddenly, Faelivrin drew another dagger which had been attached to his belt, aiming perfectly, he flung the deadly weapon straight a Faramir's left arm.
He had waited for Faramir to near a tree so that he could have something to pin him too.
They were close enough to hear the Rangers' sudden yelp of pain as the dagger pinned him—and some of his arm to a tree.
Despite the pain he was feeling, Faramir managed to collect his thoughts: to him it was not over yet, but he knew that he had to remove the dagger before his captors arrived, or it would very well be over.
He was right-handed anyway, so that mad it easier to try to remove it. He was glad that it had not pierced his sword arm, for if it had then he would have a sorry chance of defending himself.
Despite how hard he tried, he found removing it impossible, and he began to get more and more anxious as he heard his captors closing in on him.
"It works every time," Faelivrin boasted to the others.
As Mordecai looked upon the man who had murdered his master, he began to seethe with anger.
He reached Faramir before the others, and he roughly yanked out the dagger, causing Faramir to cry out once again.
"You filthy scum; you will pay for what you have done!" Mordecai spat.
When the others reached Faramir, they grabbed him roughly by the arms, and despite Faramir's attempts to free himself, dragged him all the way back to the camp.
0-0
When they finally returned to the camp; Faramir's face had been badly scratched, for he had been dragged over the sharp rocks and stones, for they acted as though they were merely dragging a dead animal.
Faramir now was too weak to stand; and he dreaded what was going to happen next. The Elven-men that had dragged him all the way back to the camp dropped him down in front of someone.
Faramir could barely raise his head, but he somehow managed to do it; when he did, he found himself staring into the fiery eyes of none other than Selwyn.
Selwyn did not even bend his head down to look at Faramir, his eyes just looked downward. Faramir could see the fury in the elf's eyes, and he knew that his punishment would undoubtedly be severe.
"So you act your part as a slave, but you wait for the opportune moment to escape, and when your 'time' comes, you kill Sherah, take his weapon, and attempt to run to…I don't know where; you have to be the most foolish human that I have encountered in all of my two thousand years."
Faramir could hear the mounting rage in his voice, and winced as Selwyn gave him a painfully hard kick in the ribs.
"You have only made things worse for yourself, Gondorian," he spat.
"I did what I had to," Faramir returned, defending himself.
"We shall see about that," he said sharply; and with a gesture to the elves and soldiers of Harad standing by, he said: "Give him his fair punishment, as is due for all escapees."
And after that being said, he walked off, leaving Faramir to be punished.
0-0
An hour later, a bloody Faramir was dragged back to the camp; his head hung limp and he showed no sign of movement, the only thing that he did was leave a trail of blood behind him.
This time, the elves didn't even put him in a ten. Instead, they just dropped him on the ground and let him lay there until Selwyn saw it fit to have him moved elsewhere.
And also another thing that Faramir would not get would be the outstanding medical attention which Tatiana and Morwen so genuinely gave, instead he was alone; everyone in the camp hated and despised him—even those who did not particularly like Sherah.
They just hated Faramir because he was Faramir, Captain of the Ithilien Rangers, second son of Denethor, the Steward of Gondor.
Now as Denethor slept in the comfort of his somewhat kingly bed, his son was out in the cold. The thought of his son being left out in the cold never came to Denethor's mind; in fact, that night he had no worries.
The last thing that had been on his mind that night was the annual dinner which was to take place in but a few days; the brother of his late wife, Finduilas would be there along with some others.
In other words, he never once thought of his son that night before he went to bed, for he did not want to think on such things.
0-0
Back in Ithilien, the rain began to fall; the Elves, orcs, and the men of Harad, took shelter in their tents but Faramir lay where they had left him: a limp form drenched with rain and blood.
Selwyn was robbed of his sleep; he was thinking about how Sherah would no longer be with them. Faramir had not only robbed him of Sherah, but he had also robbed a sister of her brother.
Needless to say that Selwyn didn't think about how many families he had torn apart by one swift blow of his Elven sword—he had closed that door of emotion long ago, for he was the heir of the Shadow Elves. When his father died, the responsibility had been placed upon him and a reluctant Morwen, and there was no escaping it…at least he saw no escaping it.
He had come to accept this as his life; he no longer thought about what his life would have been like if his father had not founded the Shadow Elves, for he thought that it was too late for that, and it was only right that he fulfill his duty and honor his father.
But Morwen was not like that. She had never been like that. She had opposed or attempted to oppose just about everything he did; no one could anger him like her, but yet he would rather die than raise his hand against her, for not only did he love her; her face resembled that of someone much dearer to his heart, yet he had not known her long enough: His mother.
He had a locket which she had given him; in it contained a lock of her hair and a picture of her, so that he could remember her always.
He has always worn the locket ever since that day; but it was very hard to see, considering that he had most of it tucked inside his tunic.
In many ways, his personality resembled that of his father, after whom he had been named: proud, arrogant, and relentless.
He remembered his father's story of how he came to serve Sauron; for before Selwyn I died, he had told the story to him and Morwen as often as he could manage.
Although it was known, it was never voiced out; Selwyn was his father's favorite child, he loved Morwen too, but saw her of lesser worth. He knew that his son could grow up and be just like him—even do as he did…
Selwyn closed his eyes as he remembered the final goodbye that he had said to his mother, before he was forcefully taken away by the Shadow Elves: Destined to become one of them.
Since then, his conscience had just about been seared with a hot iron when it came to outsiders—especially Gondorians, so he felt no sympathy for Faramir.
In fact, he had walked by the Ranger, as he lay bleeding in the rain, but all that he had done was ordered an elf to stand guard and occasionally check his pulse; if it was weak to the point of life and death, only then could he receive medical attention, but even then nothing special, just basic herbs to keep him alive.