Aran wants to test Faramir some more
Chapter 12: An Unexpected Visitor[edit]
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“As to his suitability,” Aran paused as though considering, his head cocked to one side, while he let his gaze slowly and purposefully travel up Faramir’s body, from feet to not quite eye level, for just before he could meet Faramir’s eyes, he swivelled around on his axis to face his Prince, “actually, there are some more tests I’d like to do.”
“More tests?” Between those present, all displaying some level of surprise to even shock, each for his own reasons, Prince Marek was the first to speak, “but surely, if you are certain he is a virgin, that more than suffices in establishing his suitability?”
Denethor grunted what to Faramir’s trained ears appeared to be both his displeasure with the prospect of more tests (and thus the new possibility for him to fail), as well as his support for the Prince’s statement. When he dared to cast a glance in the King’s direction for the first time after Aran so blatantly announced his findings, hoping for some support or sympathy at least, all Faramir saw was the blank stare Aragorn had adopted earlier.
“It’s a nice bonus, certainly,” Aran answered, “but poses a problem at the same time. It is more difficult to gauge his reaction. If he had been more experienced, or of course if I had had him in my care from an earlier age as is normal for royal consorts from Harad, he would be less likely to, well, shall we say cause trouble later on?”
The Prince nodded in understanding, cue for Aran to continue, “he has not been a particularly good boy so far. Now if he is to be your consort he will need a lot of training, naturally, but first I’d like to test him for obedience and endurance, to make sure such training will not be wasted on him.” And over his shoulder he added, “Faramir, tomorrow morning, first light, outside our quarters, if you please.”
He could flee. Simply leave, take up service with his uncle in Dol Amroth or just wander around Middle Earth for the rest of his days, visit all the wonderful far-away places Mithrandir always talked about. Or better still, he could find Mithrandir and travel with him, after all hadn’t he once said he could use an assistant like Faramir?
Yes, he’d said that. Said that to amuse a little boy who spent his days dreaming of wonderful far-away places. And here he was, a grown man, a Captain in the Gondorian Army no less, still chasing the same childish dreams.
Pathetic, that’s what it was, what he was; no wonder his father was so eager to be rid of him.
Of course he couldn’t take flight! What would Prince Marek do if Faramir turned up missing? How many dead would he have on his conscience if all peace treaties were called off and Harad declared war on Gondor?
It took a knock on the door of his chambers to pull Faramir out of his reverie, only to immediately cast him into another spiral of doubts and panic. No one ever came to his chambers, no one except Boromir or the servants. And it was too late -well past midnight- for any servants to be calling, and although Boromir never bothered with appropriate visiting hours, he never bothered with knocking either.
This would be that Aran, surely. Or otherwise Prince Marek himself; he had seen the way the Prince had looked at him in that skimpy silk outfit. He could pretend not to have heard the knock, pretend to be asleep already, and hope whoever it was would go away. Oh, but why had he forgotten to bolt the door, tonight of all nights? Faramir stared at the door indecisively. He could bolt the door now, but then he would give himself away. And if the man on the other side of the door would soon be able to use him any way he pleased, whenever it pleased him, was there really much of a point in deferring the inevitable?
Another knock, immediately followed by a whisper, caused Faramir’s nerves to jump again, “Faramir, are you there? It is I, Aragorn. Please let me in, there is something I need to discuss with you.”
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