Someone from Harad has arrived.
Chapter 11: The Prince's Advsior[edit]
this page added by Minx (greenrivervalley@gmail.com)
Thanks to Cyndra for sharing her ideas on what Aran could do to dear Faramir... now and later:)
“My apologies, King Aragorn, but I had to intervene.” The words were spoken softly and the underlying Haradric accent was unmistakable.
“Aran!” Marek said and turning to Denethor and Aragorn, “I am sure you have met my advisor Lord Aran, my lords.”
Faramir looked up and realised that the newcomer was looking him up and down, not unlike Marek. He had aquiline, handsome features, and dark hair lined elegantly with silver. His eyes were green like Marek’s and the look in them for Faramir was one of scornful amusement.
“I came as soon as I received your letter on this proposal, my prince, so that I could prevent you from taking any hasty step.”
“Hasty step?” Aragorn intervened questioningly.
“My prince, I hope you have not signed the treaty yet? Surely you remember there are customs to be followed when one of the royal household takes on a partner?”
“Ah Aran, thank you,” Marek said, “In my hurry to claim Faramir here, I forgot –“
“Is aught the matter?” Denethor inquired impatiently.
Aran turned to him and responded, “Not yet, my lord steward. But should Faramir prove unsuitable for my prince then there may be certain – repercussions.”
“Unsuitable?” Faramir spoke without meaning to and took an involuntary step back as everyone turned towards him.
“Unsuitable,” Marek said firmly, “I am crown prince. I cannot bind myself with just about anyone. Aran will see if you are fit for me to bed you.”
“Can we do this quickly,” Denethor broke in.
“Of course. Aran would you please –“
The advisor had already moved forward and grabbing Faramir’s chin pushed up his face roughly. He ran a finger over the dry lips. Faramir stared back at him feeling strangely terrified by the nearness. Aran was much older than he’d thought earlier, perhaps older than his father too. The green eyes smirked at his discomfort, and then the fingers pried his lips apart and checked his teeth. Then he pushed back his hair and ran a finger over each ear.
Faramir stood nearly frozen as the same intrusive hands then ran over his clothed body lightly, down his chest, over his waist, settling at his hips. He felt tears prick his eyes as the others in the room remained silent. Denethor looked bored, Marek gazed at him lustily and Aragorn was staring at the table intently.
And then Aran cupped his groin through his pants. He gasped and jumped back, causing Aragorn and Denethor both to look up.
“I need to examine him closer now and test him a little,” Aran announced, “Lord Denethor would you have a room where I can take Faramir.”
“I’m not coming anywhere with you!” Faramir exclaimed his face still white from that deliberate touch.
“You would be the better off coming with me,” Aran said his voice dangerously soft, “Else I will examine you here in front of your father and king and you would not like that! I believe Gondorians have some strange ideas of propriety and modesty.”
“You can have my study,” Denethor indicated towards a door nearby.
“Excellent,” Aran grabbed Faramir’s arm, “My prince –“
“Go ahead Aran,” Marek said lazily, “Can I help?”
“You know you mustn’t,” Aran said laughing lightly.
Faramir prised his hands away, “I will not come. I’m not an animal to be ‘examined’ so,” he cried out.
He didn’t realise Denethor was in front of him in a flash of a second until it was too late. He saw the raised hand, the flash of the signet ring and then he was down on his knees, his face and head throbbing from the hard blow. He’d almost forgotten how hard his father could hit him. Denethor bent and pulled him to his feet by grabbing his hair and then slapped him again, sending another rush of blinding pain through his face.
“Denethor!” Aragorn rushed forward but the Steward didn’t relent.
“Your disobedience tires me!” Denethor raged at a frightened Faramir, “You see Aragorn… this is what I told you. He is ever disloyal and disobedient and we are better off without him! Go with him you insolent fool, and you had better pass this examination!”
“Oh come, lord Denethor, don’t damage my consort,” Marek said lightly, “Anyway Aran has enough practise disciplining even the most stubborn pups in the royal litter!”
Denethor simply shoved a dazed Faramir into Aran’s arms disgustedly.
Aran shut the door behind him and pushed Faramir onto the low couch near the window. The young man fell against it trying to ignore the ache in his face and head.
“Undress,” he said brusquely.
“No,” Faramir tried.
“Undress here or do so outside, where I will also use my cane on you!”
He complied, seeing the hard look in the green eyes that promised seriousness. Aran made him lie on his back on the couch with his legs spread out and ran his hands over Faramir’s bare skin much to the young man’s utmost discomfort, stopping on his chest to pinch his nipples hard, almost bruising them by twisting them between his fingers dispassionately.
Faramir tried desperately not to cry but then Aran made him raise his knees and pushed his legs further apart. He felt tears prick his eyes as his most intimate parts were revealed to Aran’s intrusive gaze.
Aran smirked at the obvious discomfort and placed a hand over Faramir’s groin area, “So modest and shy. You’ll have to shed that, little one. Marek will demand much from you as will I.”
Ignoring the alarmed look he continued with the fondling, “Yes, I too will take pleasure from your sweet little body whenever Marek wishes me to. I shall enjoy it greatly I feel.” His hands came to rest near Faramir’s exposed entrance.
“I may be old, but you will find I am still in my prime in many matters,” Aran gloated and then without warning shoved a finger mercilessly into Faramir’s entrance. Faramir screamed at the unexpected intrusion.
“By the gods!” Aran swore, “A virgin! Marek will be delighted to break you, little one.”
Deeper and deeper the finger went fighting through the tight, resisting channel, as Faramir began heaving softly, frightened, silent tears running down his ashen cheeks, until it suddenly curved and brushed a tiny bundle of nerves. Faramir screamed again but this time he wasn’t sure if it was from pain or from another odd sensation.
Aran pulled his finger out after what seemed like ages and Faramir curled up on his side and began to weep softly as pain radiated up his back and the dreadful, shameful feeling that although forcefully, Aran had touched something inside of him that had given him a feeling other than pain and that strange ache in his groin.
“Turn over,” Aran commanded.
When Faramir didn’t obey he sighed heavily, “Your father is right, little pup. You are disobedient and I shall punish you.”
He roughly pushed a struggling Faramir onto his stomach and then laughed when he saw the light bruises from the earlier spanking. Holding Faramir down he swatted him hard a number of times until the buttocks had turned a deep rose shade and Faramir’s quiet sobs had grown with intensity.
“Ah…pretty rose of Gondor,” Aran laughed loudly.
This time when he turned Faramir around the terrified younger man did not resist. Even when it brought his sore backside in contact with the hard surface underneath him.
Aran ran his eyes over him and then grabbed his member in both his hands and began stroking him skilfully. Faramir’s breathing hitched as he began involuntarily to harden under the thorough ministrations he was receiving.
He tried to pretend it was Aragorn but Aragorn smelt of pipewood and Aran smelt of exotic flowers. He came shudderingly… once, then Aran stroked him again so he came again, and again and again, until Aran decided to stop.
“Hmmm…” Aran said, after he’d cleaned him up, “Well I suppose Marek will be waiting. Rise.”
He rose slowly; feeling quite dazed after being made to release himself multiple times and reached for his clothes.
Aran kicked away the clothes from under his hand, “You will wear this.”
It was the blue shift. Faramir took it unresisting, and pulled it on. It was of very thin blue silk low-necked, sleeveless, reaching till just the top of his thighs draping his slender frame leaving little to imagination and barely covering him decently.
The three men looked up startled as the door opened and Faramir slowly and awkwardly stepped out in his new outfit. He looked exhausted and dazed, his face pale and his eyes slightly reddened. His arms had light finger shaped bruises on them as did his calves and ankles. The sleeve of his left shoulder slipped and fell revealing his pale torso and the reddened nipple underneath. He hurriedly pulled it up and crossed his arms over his chest defensively, even as Marek let out a low lusty moan. Faramir averted his eyes.
“Well, is he suitable?” Marek demanded striding up to Faramir and hungrily raking his eyes over him.
“You did not tell me he is a virgin, Marek.”
“Really?” Marek exclaimed delightedly.
“Who would have him?” Denethor snorted.
“How do you know?” Aragorn demanded and the flushed as he realised what he’d said.
“I checked,” Aran smirked, “I pushed a finger into his ass. He’s very tight.”
Aragorn stared. Faramir’s eyes were on the ground now.
“As to his suitability –“
What happens next?[edit]
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