Aragorn just used this as a diplomatic way to turn down Marek’s proposal and gain his respect.
Chapter 11: The Claim Undone
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Aragorn turned to Denethor to reply and so he never noticed the stunned expression on Faramir’s face when he replied, “Of course, it was merely a ploy. You know Elrond has finally agreed for Arwen to marry me! But this seemed to be the only way to get Marek to back off and besides, he did look quite impressed by the idea don’t you think?”
Denethor hadn’t missed the crestfallen look on Faramir’s face however and lost no opportunity to rub it in to the boy, “I should have guessed,” he said dryly, “I can’t imagine what Marek sees in this fool, but he must be the only one to do so.” He directed a sneer at his younger son. Surely, the fool didn’t think he’d attracted the king’s attention did he?
And he truly didn’t understand Marek’s taste. Faramir was – well – inadequate. He had none of Boromir’s strength, skill or confidence. Although perhaps this was a good turn of events. Now he wouldn’t have to explain to Boromir why his brother was off to harad. And… it would cure the fool of this idiotic adoration he seemed to have for Aragorn.
Aragorn was shaking his head, “I don’t know what Marek saw but I saw enough to assure me Faramir is better off without him.”
Denethor made a noncommittal noise. Aragorn had returned to the papers. Faramir was still sanding there watching them, a wary expression in his eyes.
“What are you still standing here for, boy,” he snapped out, scaring the ranger back out of his thoughts, “Go… go redesign the library or whatever it is you do instead of practising word-fighting. Out!”
Aragorn raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Denethor had never been know for public displays of affection towards Faramir in particular. He watched as the young man bowed his head quickly and left.
Faramir left the throne room in a daze. When he had first heard Aragorn’s words his heart had soared and he had felt so incredibly happy. He’d almost been about to cry, seeing those beautiful warm grey eyes smiling at him, hearing the words repeatedly - I want him for myself.
He found himself wandering aimlessly through the gardens in the houses of healing. He’d been a fool as ever of course. Why would Aragorn want him when he had Boromir? The king had obviously taken pity on him when he’d found Marek cornering him. He shivered at that thought. Marek had been rough, slipping his hands under Faramir’s clothes and pinching and squeezing hard enough to leave bruises and Faramir flushed when he remembered the way he had slipped his hand through the front of his pants and fondled him.
He was still lost in his thoughts hours later as he returned to his chambers when the hard blow knocked him down in the hallway just outside his room. His head snapped forward as a dull throb started off through his skull, and he felt himself falling forward and hitting his left cheek against the stone floor and pain blossomed through his entire face and head. Dazed, he felt himself being pulled up and dragged and shoved through the door into his chambers, and landing on the harsh, cold stone floor on his hands and knees, barely managing to prevent his head from impacting with the floor a third time.
Marek, he realised.
The door shut, wood scraping against stone as he tried desperately to rise to his feet. He could scream he thought dully, but his vocal chords couldn’t seem to respond… and who would hear him anyway… his rooms were so far away from the others.
“Did you really think you’d escape me that easily?” Marek’s silky voice reached into the jumbled recesses of his ringing mind, and he turned or tried to, and ended up falling over his feet, finally crumpling up on his stomach before he could raise his aching head to meet Marek’s cool gaze.
Marek stared down at the half-conscious young ranger pityingly. When he spoke it was still the same silken voice.
“Your king can certainly have you but don’t you think he’d prefer it if you go to him with a little more experience in these matters judging by the things he and your brother like to do to each other. I’m quite the stuttering little thing you turn to when you’re touched is not quite to his taste.”
He ran a hand through Faramir’s hair and down his face. Pulling him up, he held the swaying young man in place as he began undoing his shirt. Faramir’s head lolled sideways, exposing the bruises that were already beginning to form on his face and he moaned pitifully as Marek’s hands came in contact with his skin. Marek divested him of the shirt he wore and then began undoing his pants.
“I’m glad you seem to have avoided all those layers of clothing you Gondorians insist on covering yourself with,” Marek said as the pants slipped down and the naked ranger slumped into his chest. The marks Marek had left earlier in the day were beginning to show up clearly now… the reddened bite where the slender neck joined a thin shoulder, purpling marks over the chest and hips.
“I wouldn’t really bother,” Marek continued, “But you refused me, and I fear I must show you what you will be missing out on.”
Faramir groaned in response. It was all he could do before the blackness took over.
Marek cursed but then realised this was what he wanted – Faramir completely subdued and in his arms… he laid Faramir down on the floor on his stomach. It would be better on the floor than the bed he decided running his hands over Faramir’s buttocks before he set to revive the ranger enough to realise what was happening to him.
What happens next?