Death Long Suffered: 1. Rescued

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1. Rescued

"Boromir!" He heard Damrod's voice in the distance and dismounted. "We have found him." The Ranger came crashing through the undergrowth. Boromir began to run towards him when Damrod stopped. "You must listen to me for a moment, Captain," the Ranger held Boromir's arms, but naught could stop the Captain-General of Gondor. He pulled away from his soldier and lunged forward. Damrod tackled him, pulled him to the ground, and pinned his arms with his knees. "You must listen to me, Boromir," he whispered. "It is not Faramir as we knew him. He has been tortured."

Instantly, memories of other released prisoners of the enemy, found wandering amongst the trees of Ithilien, flooded Boromir's mind. Horror lodged in his heart at the remembered atrocities done upon these men. He gasped, then choked in grief, pain overwhelming him until he all but swooned. Damrod held him tight. At last, after but a moment that seemed to last long hours, Boromir nodded. "I understand," he whispered back. "Let me up."

"Siriondil!" Boromir called to the Master Healer. "Set up your equipment. We will bring my brother back here for you to treat."

"But he should be taken back to the City..."

Boromir no longer stood next to him; loping great strides took the captain away as he followed Damrod into the hills of the Ethir Dúath. After a quarter hour's run they entered a small glade. A group of soldiers hovered around another who lay on the ground. Damrod pushed them aside and left room for Boromir to enter.

Gondor's Captain-General, who had seen things that left others gibbering fools, fell to the ground at the sight of his brother lying in Mablung's arms. A groan escaped the tightly clenched jaw, then he cried out, "Faramir!" Though barely recognizable, this was his little brother.

Gently he knelt and took the youngest son of Denethor into his arms. He wept as he pushed the blood-sodden hair from his little brother's face and hissed at the sight of the eye socket, empty and bloodied. Another gasp as he beheld a lifeless arm, sewn to Faramir's own left arm, hanging limply at the boy's side.

"Oh Faramir. What have they done to you?"

Damrod leaned over. "We must take him to the healer, Boromir. Quickly."

Boromir nodded and stood, carrying his brother in his arms to the hastily set camp.

Siriondil bit his hand at the sight of the young lieutenant, but opened the flap of a large tent and motioned Boromir to bring his precious bundle inside. Once he set Faramir upon the small table, he stepped back and allowed Siriondil to begin his examination. Boromir hovered nearby; quiet sobs filled the tent. At last, tears streaking down his cheeks, the Master Healer turned to Boromir.

"There are many wounds. I can take the arm off, but I do not know if Faramir's own arm will recover. But that is the least of my concerns, Boromir." He pulled his captain closer. "He is with child."

Boromir slumped in his arms and he held him tight. "The babe is dead, but I know not what its presence has done to Faramir's internal organs."

"How could this be?"

"It is sewn into a sack placed inside Faramir's stomach."

Boromir bent over and retched in agony. Siriondil's warm hand on his back kept insanity at bay. Finally, when his stomach settled and the heaving stopped, he stood up. "Will he live?" he whispered.

"I am not certain. He has been... By the Valar, Boromir, I did not want to see these things! I do not want to tell you these things!"

Pulling his friend into his arms, Boromir held him for a moment. "Courage. We must have it, for Faramir's sake."

Siriondil nodded. Wiping tears from his eyes, he continued. "He has been raped, numerous times, by something very large. Probably Orcs. They were not gentle and they did not prepare him."

Boromir nodded, soundless.

'I must take the dead babe from him, but I am afraid it will kill him. This must have been some kind of experiment of the Witch-king's. When the babe died, he realized his test failed and so let Faramir go, knowing the dead body would eventually kill him."

"Do you have everything you need?"

"I do. I think you should remain outside--"

"I will not. Will you do it alone? I would prefer none other know of Faramir's shame."

"It is not his shame!" Siriondil all but shouted. "He was a prisoner."

"Do you not think he will feel shame, nonetheless? I would spare him the knowledge that others know of his rape."

"Of course. Forgive me."

"Please. Let us not worry about the future, just take the babe from him and make him whole again."

"He will never be whole, Boromir."

The Captain-General of Gondor sobbed. "Heal him as best you may."

Siriondil nodded and approached the table. "I will need one of my assistants."

"Nay. I have worked field surgery before."

"Very well," Siriondil sighed. He wished he were in the Houses. 'This is not going to be pleasant.' Thankfully, Faramir lay deeply unconscious. He began......

The sun's descent past Mindolluin's mighty peaks coincided with Siriondil's closing of the last wound. Faramir lay as dead, but if one looked closely, an almost non-existent shallow breathing could be discerned. He turned to wash his hands in a nearby basin, then snorted in disgust at the sight - blood-soaked pieces of cloth filled the basin. He shouted and an attendant entered, took the proffered basin and ran from the tent. A moment later, he brought in a clean bowl, filled with warm water, then left.

Siriondil laved his hands, then stepped aside for Boromir to lave his own. He then turned his attention back to Faramir.

"Will he live?" Boromir asked for the second time that day.

"The pouch was not as badly inserted as I feared. The damage to the inner organs appears to be small. I think he has a chance."

Boromir sat on a nearby stool and held his head in his hands. His shoulders shook with silent sobs. Siriondil knelt next to him. "We have done all we could. It is now up to Faramir's dogged will. He is young and strong. He should survive."

"Survive. That is the half of it. Will he live as a shell of himself, Siriondil? Will he survive as a man or a beast, madness filling him with the memory of the horrors done to him?"

"With you at his side, he will survive."

"Then let us move him, if he is able, to Minas Tirith. I want none to know of his injuries. Damrod!" he shouted and the Ranger entered. "Bring the men who found Faramir to my tent. I would speak with them. And Damrod," he hesitated. "I have a task for you, one that must be kept secret."

Damrod nodded.

"Take this," he handed a bundle to his soldier, "and burn it. Let none see its contents."

Damrod saluted and left the tent.

"He will not open it?"

"Nay, Siriondil. I trust Damrod with my life." He paused and gathered his courage. "What kind of a babe... Was it human?"

"Yes. Taken from some poor woman's womb, no doubt. The arm also came from a woman. Probably the mother."

"Sweet Elbereth," Boromir whispered.

"Hopefully, she died in the taking of the babe."

"Yes. I have something to attend to, Siriondil. I will return shortly.

After a long moment of staring at his unconscious brother, Boromir turned and left the tent. He walked quietly towards his own, grateful when his aide ran up and offered him a cup of whiskey-laced tea before he entered the tent. He drank it down and shoved the tin cup back into Aldrich's hand, pulled the flap aside and walked into the crowded tent. The men stood to attention and waited. Most were near tears or had already lost the contents of their own stomachs.

"Thank you for finding Faramir so quickly. You have probably saved his life." He paused, trying to collect himself. Not a man stirred. "You have seen things, and know from what you have seen that Faramir was cruelly treated. I would have your silence in this matter." His face turned red at the thought. "We know what happens to men Orc-captured. The same is true for my brother, your lieutenant. I would spare him whate'er we might." The men nodded in agreement. "You have served him faithfully; I ask only that you continue that service with your silence in this matter. None must know."

Damrod spoke for them all. "Not a word shall pass our lips, Captain Boromir. You have our word as Knights of Gondor."

"Thank you," he whispered. They filed out of the tent and Boromir sat heavily upon his cot.

"I did not speak before, my Lord. What of your father? Will you report these things to him?"

"I know not, Damrod. I would spare Faramir, if I could; however, it is my duty to report this." He sighed heavily. "I will make my decision when we reach home. Thank you, Damrod. You will receive a promotion for this, I promise. You are invaluable to your lieutenant, and to me."


This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.

Story Information

Author: Alcardilme

Status: General

Completion: Complete

Era: 3rd Age - The Stewards

Genre: Drama

Rating: Adult

Last Updated: 07/26/10

Original Post: 07/03/09

Go to Death Long Suffered overview


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