Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings or any of its characters.
Faramir stalled as long as he could after he and his rangers returned to Gondor. On a quest to get information about the enemies moves, they had been ambushed by orcs. Rather than risk losing his men, Faramir called for a retreat.
Inwardly cursing, Faramir wondered what his father would say. He knew he faced some sort of punishment for abandoning a quest, he just didn't know how severe it would be. Denethor was prone to violence, and he had never spared Faramir. At just 18 years of age, Faramir's back and chest were already covered in scares, none of which were won in battle. He tried to tell himself to be more like his brother. Boromir had always been favored by their father and their kingdom. The first born, the golden child. Despite all of this, Faramir felt great admiration and affection for his older brother. Which was why Bormir had no idea about the beatings Faramir had been subjected to.
Taking a deep breathe, the young man turned his steps towards his father's chambers. It was never a good sign when he summoned Faramir to his private rooms rather than the throne room. Faramir would be paying for his weakness in the field. If only he could have been born strong.
Arriving at his father's door, Faramir took a deep breath and knocked softly. "Come in." was all he heard. Summoning his courage, the lad opened the door and stepped into the candle lit study. Denethor was sitting ominously behind a large wood desk. Faramir had to fight to maintain eye contact, and he inwardly winced as he caught sight of the huge whip in the corner. It was the kind of weapon nobody in their right mind would use on a human. It was meant for stubborn livestock, a true torture device.
"Kneel," Denethor commanded in a tone of steel. It was not uncommon for their meetings to begin this way. Although only the steward, Denethor liked to be reminded of his power. Faramir sank to the floor, finally breaking eye contact.
"Do you even understand what you have done?" Denethor demanded, in an even icier tone that before. "Father-"
"Do not address me such," His father interrupted, furious.
"Sire," he began again, "I was worried the casualties would be too great. I did not deem it worth it to continue."
"You are weak, captain, war comes with casualties. You are meant to be leading Gondor with strength and courage. Instead, you retreat at the first sign of danger. I don't want to hear one more word out of you."
As instructed, Faramir said nothing, staying on his knees in front of his father's desk. He began to mentally prepare himself for pain as the steward rose from his chair and picked up the whip from the corner of the room. As Denethor walked around the desk and approached him, the poor boy tried to master his breathing. It would do him no good to show fear now.
"Get up. Take off your shirt and bend over the desk."
Faramir did as he was told, familiar with the routine. His father would never have him ruin his nice clothes, and always made the younger man bare his back. Heart beating fast in his chest, Faramir laid over the desk. Praying it would end soon. The first strike landed on his back, leaving as track of blood. He winced but did not cry out. Denother struck again at the same spot. Something sadistic inside the steward prompted him to cause his son as much pain as possible. He continued to hit the same strip of skin over and over again. Still fighting hard not to yell in pain, Faramir held on to the far end of the desk. Each strike felt like fire. By the sixth blow, Faramir could no longer contain himself. He let out a strangled cry of pain. This only made Denethor hit him harder, tearing his skin mercilessly. No beating had been quite this bad before. Now crying out at every blow, Faramir wished he could die right then. Nothing that awaited him in death could possibly be as bad as the pain and humiliation he was facing now.
Preoccupied, neither of the men heard footfalls approaching the office. They didn't even hear the door open, all they heard was a cry of fury.
Boromir had gone to visit his father's study, not knowing what he would find. When he opened the door, his blood chilled. He had always known his father did not favor Faramir, but this? Never in his worst nightmares could he have imagined a sight like this. His precious brother laid across the giant desk, back covered in blood, crying out as their father hit him with a bull whip.
Boromir could barely think straight. He yelled in anger and despair, throwing himself at Denethor. He knocked his father to the ground and wrestled the whip out of the steward's grasp. Meanwhile Faramir fell from the desk, whimpering and crying. While he wanted to deal with his father now, Boromir realized his brother needed him right now. Turning from his father with disgust, Boromir quickly crossed the room to his brother.
Faramir didn't understand quite what was happening. On the edge of consciousness, all he knew was that the beating had stopped. His arms finally gave out and he fell painfully to the floor. Next thing the young man knew, he was being gently rolled onto his side, looking into the pained eyes of his older brother. Faramir's own fell with shame. He had hoped his brother would never find out his humiliating secret. He could feel his brother gently trying to get him on his feet. Groaning, the younger man summoned his strength, able to stand if he leaned heavily on Boromir. "We need to get you to the House of Healing." When he heard this, Faramir began to panic.
"Please, don't take me there…don't want…just let me go…"
"Peace, my dear brother. I will take you to my chambers."
Faramir nearly blacked out several times during the journey from the steward's study to his brother's chambers. He wanted to protest that he would be fine, to argue that Boromir should just let him find his way to his own chambers. Unfortunately, the young man was simply too worn out to speak. Additionally, his was quite focused on not groaning in pain, not wanting to seem weak in front of his brother.
"Lay down," Boromir commanded, gently but firmly, once they had finally gotten to his bed chambers. As he all but fell on his back on the bed, Faramir could no longer contain a yell of pain. With an impress amount of patience, Boromir managed to help him onto his side without causing further pain. Leaving the bedside for a moment, he returned with some sort of ointment. "This will sting, but I need you to stay as still as possible so I can put it on your back." Sitting on the side of the bed, gestured for his little brother to lay on his stomach, his bare back exposed. Boromir had to fight the anger rising in his chest. How could their own father do this. Silently, he opened the jar of ointment, apologizing in advance to his brother for the additional pain it would cause. As he had expected, at the first touch of the ointment Faramir jerked away, yelling in pain and protest. "Faramir, I need you to stay still. You'll only injure yourself further by moving." Gritting his teeth, Faramir nodded, and Boromir continued. To his credit, the injured man stayed as still and quiet as he possibly could. Unfortunately, after his brother was done his palms were cut from where his had dug into the skin, and his lower lip was also bleeding.
Boromir stayed until his brother had fallen asleep. Looking at the small figure on the bed, he wished he could change the suffering his poor brother had to endure. Sighing, the heir got up from the bed and went to deal with his father. Boromir sworn upon everything he had ever loved that the cruel man would never touch Faramir again. If only such promises were easily kept.