He had been told that the northern lands were much colder than the Harad Desert. But he had stayed tied to the post in the middle of this camp, under the cruel sun, long enough that he no longer felt the difference.
Or maybe it was wrong but he just couldn't see it because of the blindfold. Maybe he had been taken to the black lands. He had no way of knowing.
The rough ropes cut his handles. The blood mixes with the sweat which covers it completely.
The bandits did not hesitate to manhandle him, failing to decide to kill him. He should be grateful to still be breathing but strangely the thought doesn't make him happy.
Young Harad was far too distracted by the painful aches that had developed from being strapped into the cramped space of a crate and then sitting in that camp. Taken to an unknown place. With no guarantee that his companions were alive...
In addition to his depressing thoughts, he is accompanied by the sound of his own heartbeat and his labored breathing cut off by the thick fabric that serves as a gag.
He shouldn't have tried to ask his captors for water.
The sound of chattering bandits cuts through the fog of his mind. He hopes it's thirst that is clouding his senses so much and not some head injury. Their incomprehensible and strange language seems very unpleasant to him in these circumstances.
The sounds of footsteps scraping the ground get closer. The young man tries to blindly turn his head towards where he thinks the bandit is.
The bandit's shadow falling over him provides a feeling of freshness that he desperately yearns for. He tries to hold back the sigh of relief that sounds too much like a groan for his remaining pride to accept.
But he certainly can't suppress the cry of gluteal surprise that escapes him when the bandit's hand winds through his damaged tresses and pulls his head back to expose his throat.
That's it. I'm going to be slaughtered like an animal...
A long minute collapses, as slow as an eternity for the young man. He wasn't even aware that the bandit was content with the analysis. In fact, the young man needs a few seconds for the panic that gripped him at the idea of death to loosen enough to hear the bandit speak.
-"Are you sure? After all the effort to bring him here?" The voice of a mature man rises. Probably the one with a grip on his hair.
-"And our orders are clear. The boy's father is a traitor. These men of the desert have strange traditions. Never finding the body is a much more serious punishment than if we had disembowelled the child in front of his father." Said another man.
There is a slight snicker from a third man.
-"If it's just a matter of disappearances, we could sell it to the privateers. It wouldn't hurt to earn a few extra coins after having to lug it so far."
The older bandit watches the young man who squirms under the grip of his hand in his dark hair. The initial panic having left him. He's still breathing heavily.
The older man sighed before drawing the dagger from his belt. The sound of the blade reignites the flame of panic in the boy who tries to free himself from its grip.
It's quite pathetic. Far from the energy and ardor of the first and defiant he had demonstrated against them. Too exhausted and battered by this now.
In a way it's worse. The harad's slight muffled sounds of panic and fright reminded the man too much that what was in front of him was not old enough to be considered a man.
He looks at the exposed throat. A drop of sweat runs down this throat. Damage the rest of the drawings made of moon-colored paint on the brown skin a little further, highlighting the bruises and wounds a little more.
The haradrim looked like they were having some sort of celebration when they attacked.
-"I guess a few more coins wouldn't hurt... He said just putting away his dagger."
He finally lets go of the boy's hair, cringing in disgust at the sweat that had accumulated on his hand.
The bandit crosses the camp to collect a bucket of clean water and returns to the captive, ignoring the other men's complaints about wasting water.
-"If you want a good price for him he has to look in better condition, right?"
He said gruffly before stepping in front of the boy and pouring the bucket on him.
He is not a gentle or merciful man. He wouldn't take orders from the servants of shadows if that was the case, he wouldn't attack unarmed people and kidnap a boy if he was a man of honor.
He is just content to serve the most powerful of his time. Who happens to be Sauron.
The bandit hears noises. The sound as light as a leaf scattered by the wind. His hairs stand on end. There were rumors about the guardians of these lands. Shadows that hide in the trees and bushes before striking.
He shakes his head. Superstitious stories.
The gang of bandits are getting ready to have dinner when the rangers fall on them.
...
Reports indicate a gathering of bandits at the edge of the forest. A gang of around ten men.
In these still dark times Faramir was just glad that it wasn't about orcs or gathering forces of the enemy who still clung to their fallen lord.
Or a steward's affair which usually involves long discussions with old lords.
It was almost nostalgic to deal with such a mundane problem in the life of a ranger.
Faramir had snuck up to the top of a tree and observed the camp to try to determine the number of men.
There had been no theft or looting so the men would not be killed on sight and taken to stand trial.
The red-haired ranger spots a few bandits on patrol at the moment. With a step as light as that of a bird, he advances, signaling his men to do the same.
-"Are you sure? After all the effort to bring him here?" A man's voice rises.
Faramir listens. A certain sense of urgency grips him at the possibility that there is an innocent person in the middle of this camp.
-"And our orders are clear. The boy's father is a traitor. These men of the desert have strange traditions. Never finding the body is a much more serious punishment than if we had disembowelled the child in front of his father."
There is a prisoner...
However Faramir cannot move forward enough to see him. He glances at another ranger hiding in front of him. The eyes shining through the foliage told him that he had heard those words too.
-"If it's just a matter of disappearances, we could sell it to the privateers. It wouldn't hurt to earn a few extra coins after having to lug it so far."
These bandits perhaps did not yet have time to commit misdeeds against the inhabitants of Ithilien but the remarks were enough for him to be judged harshly.
The slave was strongly condemned by King Elessar.
At his signal the rangers act. The bandits do not understand where the arrows come from and from what darkness their men dressed in green and brown emerge.
Faramir jumps from his tree to land behind one of the bandits and knocks him out almost instantly. The men were clearly not ready for the ambush and their first instinct was to try to escape. The injured would be treated and taken to stand trial.
However, a movement catches his attention. A man draws a dagger and...
Point the blade at the heart of the captive tied to a post. In a few seconds Faramir shoots an arrow which lands in the bandit's shoulder. His screams echo above the sounds of the captives.
- "Get away from him!"
The bandit turns towards him but is intercepted by two of his rangers.
-"Gather his men. They will be taken to Ithilien for judgment." The captain of Gondor said calmly despite everything.
The bandit he had injured growls as the rangers tie his hands and take him away with the other men. Men's protests fill the air.
-"Silence! You are safe in the lands of Gondor. Here and among all free peoples, slavery is condemned!"
The bandits are overpowered and taken away. And calm begins to return.
Once this is done Faramir rushes to the captive to check if he had been injured in the fighting.
The captive screams in fright into his crude gag the moment he feels Faramir touch him.
-"Hey calm down. I'm a friend." Faramir said in a soft voice.
But the captive continues to struggle and for the first time Faramir notices the man's foreign clothing.
- "My captain…" One of his rangers behind him begins in a voice full of suspicion.
-"Help me untie him. These men have bound him cruelly." Faramir simply said, looking at the harad's equally tied legs.
It doesn't matter if it's a haradrim. It was her duty to save him. He ignores the strange man's struggling and grabs the back of the blindfold that binds his eyes. Who knows how long this man was deprived of light.
He unties the knot, paying attention to the dark hair. Try to show that he's not here to cause harm.
In a way it works because when his ranger cuts the ropes that bind his legs, the man doesn't try to hit him.
That or fatigue. Faramir notices the sweat covering the harad, mixed with the pale color.
- "Did these thugs leave this man in the sun?!" Ask his ranger, Mablung.
The man's voice is tinged with disgust at the bandits' cruelty. It's the middle of summer.
-"It seems so..." Faramir said, releasing the man's dark eyes.
No the boy. Once the blindfold was removed the visible face was clearly young, late adolescence but not yet an adult. Big eyes look at him with great panic.
Faramir swallows his disgust for the bandits and undoes the gag, noting the heat emanating from the young man's skin and the bruises blooming there.
Faramir unties the harad's hands and holds a canteen of water to his mouth. The young man drinks greedily with the strength of the thirsty man that he is.
- "Do you understand what we are saying to you?" Try Faramir.
He looks for any understanding in the boy's eyes but nothing comes through other than incomprehension.
Faramir sighs and turns to Mablung. He had been very interested in the languages of Harad. But I only knew a few words. These lands were still too closed for them.
-"The king can probably talk to him my lord. But I don't think it's a good idea to take him to the white city. As harmless as he may seem" Said Mablung.
Faramir sighs as he thinks about how the council elders will react if he brings this boy. Being young meant little to them when it was an "enemy". Although he had no doubt that the king would be willing to offer hospitality. Even if it could cast a shadow over his reign.
-"Where am I? Why..." The young haradrim coughs in the middle of his sentence, which is incomprehensible to the two rangers.
He still hadn't been able to move from his sitting position. Which was quite indicative of his tired state.
Faramir exchanges a look with Mablung again. It is clear that Faramir would never leave anyone in this state.
-"Mablung asks Damrod and the others to lead the bandits for their judgment in Ithilien. You and I are going to Gondor" Said the captain.
- "Yes captain!" Mablung leaves to transmit the orders.
Faramir sighs deeply and wearily. He looks at the young man.
- "I'm sorry, young friend. I can't allow you to see the road to the white city."
He hope that blindfolding the boy will be enough to calm the inhabitants of the city.
He takes the blindfold. The boy's eyes go wide and he instantly panics. Then without warning he pushes Faramir to the ground with the force of despair before getting up again. Faramir is taken by surprise.
-" No wait !" Faramir shouts, getting up instantly.
The chase doesn't even last a minute. Because the nameless man looks at him with labored breathing. Then his eyes roll back in his head and he collapses. Faramir catches up with him before it hits the ground.
Mablung, having heard the cries, arrived quickly and saw the scene.
-"At least we no longer need to worry about public opinion my lord..." The ranger tries to lighten the situation.
The bold are for the language that the characters do not undertand according to the pov.