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gondor treason conspiracy

These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain

Et tu, Brute?” (Even you Brutus ?) - Julius Ceasar

Warning – This chapter and subsequent ones contain material, which may shock or distress sensitive readers.

After passing a broken down gamekeeper’s cottage, the party finally reached their destination.

Dervorin’s Hunting Lodge was situated on the edge of the forest. It was somewhat larger than Faramir had been led to believe, closely resembling the house where he had stayed with Aragorn and …owyn the year before. He could only hope that he would not have to share a bed with several others while he was there. Embracing the Lord of Lamedon and eating at his table was quite unpleasant enough.

As soon as they had dismounted and gave the care of their horses over to the grooms, a familiar small figure came running out of the house.

“Greetings, Lady Elbeth!” the Lord of Lamedon said pompously, bending to kiss her small hand. She wrinkled her nose in distaste and then ran towards Faramir, who was a few paces behind. On reaching the Steward, she flung her arms around his waist.

“You’ve come back!” she exclaimed joyfully, “I missed you! Mummy took me away from the nice lady you said was going to look after me for always! She brought me here and I don’t like it! Take me back home, please Uncle Faramir!”

Faramir scooped her up and hugged her. She was slightly taller and  appeared better nourished now than when he had first met her. Instead of being clad in one of Aragorn’s spare shirts, was now clad in equally unsuitable attire, a garish gown of pink silk, embroidered in gold.

“I missed you too, little one!” Faramir replied, ignoring her plea. He knew, though, that he would have to somehow take her with him, if he escaped from this place alive.

“I’m not little now, I’m grown up and I’m going to be queen soon!” Elbeth pouted.

“Leave the Lord Steward alone, Lady Elbeth!” snapped the Lord of Lamedon.

“I do not mind. She is my niece after all!” Faramir replied.

“You! How dare you come here, let go of my daughter!” cried a strident voice, “Kill him at once, you fools!”

Hanna came out of the house; her manner and demeanour much as Faramir remembered, but like Elbeth, her appearance was much changed. She had put on a good deal of weight and was lavishly attired in a red silk gown lavishly decorated with oversized ruffles and bows.

“Peace, Lady Hanna!” the Lord of Lamedon soothed. “The Steward has seen the error of his ways and has come to join us. Have you not, Lord Faramir?”

Faramir bent to let Elbeth climb down, hoping that might be also interpreted as a bow to her mother.

“Indeed, I am most sorry for any discourtesy done to you, my lady, I acted only on the late King’s orders” he said with feigned contrition. “I now wish only to see you and my niece given her rightful place in society.”

Hanna snorted, seemingly unimpressed. Taking Elbeth by the hand, she dragged the reluctant child back indoors.

Faramir stared after them for a moment. It was strange to think that this innocent little girl should be the course of so much turmoil. If only he had taken her to Ithilien a year ago!

Servants then appeared and Faramir was led inside and shown to his room. To his great relief, it appeared to be for his sole use, despite the vast bed. He had been concerned about sharing, lest he should talk in his sleep and gave away his deception. Not that sleeping beside a traitor would be a pleasant prospect in itself. He shuddered; thinking that was exactly what he was in the eyes of the world now.

He dismissed the servant and unpacked the few processions he had brought; all calculated not arouse suspicion, fine tunics, shirts and breeches, clean linens, a comb, a book and a silver dish as a gift for his host.

The vial containing the spider venom and a tapestry needle purloined from Arwen’s sewing room, were the only suspicious items he carried, which he knew he must keep concealed about his person The treasured brooch Aragorn had given him, he wore pinned inside his shirt.

He bathed before dinner, scrubbing himself vigorously to try to wash away the taint he was feeling. He had to take care to avoid rubbing the place upon his brow where Lord Lamedon had kissed him too conspicuously, though he would gladly have scrubbed it, together with his lips, until it bled.

He kept his sword beside him while bathing, wishing fervently he could run the Lord of Lamedon through with its blade for his treachery. He yearned to search the Lodge and take Aragorn away to safety this instant. Yet, he could not without them both being killed or worse. Then there was Elbeth; somehow he must take her away too. Not only was she his niece, but also unwittingly one of the most dangerous individuals in the land.

Forcing himself to compose his thoughts, he dressed in a clean shirt, tunic, and breeches. He had taken care these past weeks, not wear anything bearing the emblems of the White Tree or Seven Stars, as they were too closely associated with Aragorn. Luckily, he also had clothing designed to honour …owyn’s homeland. He trusted that a design of white horses on a green background would say nothing more about him than that he loved his wife!

A tap came on his door shortly before the hour set to dine and he heard the Lord of Lamedon’s voice calling “If you are at liberty, Lord Faramir, there is something I would show you!”

“One moment, I am just changing for dinner,” Faramir replied. He again checked the vial of spider venom was in his pocket and his dagger concealed in his boot. Some strange impulse caused him to thrust his gloves into his pocket.

Forcing a smile, he went out to see what his host had planned.“My dear Fosco,” Faramir exclaimed. “I will be delighted to see whatever you desire! I am most curious.”

“This will be a surprise, Lord Faramir!” Fosco gave me a smile, which reminded Faramir uncomfortably of a wolf baring its jaws before devouring its prey.

A lantern in his hand, the Lord of Lamedon led him through a maze of stone corridors and down towards the basement. The Steward tried to hide his growing fear that this was a trap and he was being led like a lamb to the slaughter.

“Watch your step!” the Lord of Lamedon advised, leading Faramir down a flight of worn stairs to what appeared to be a wine cellar. The lantern cast eerie shadows on the mildewed walls and the Steward coughed from the unhealthy dampness.

“What you see will astound you!” Fosco announced when they paused before a door, “This will be the very last person you expected to behold. I have decided that it is only right that you to be taken into our full confidence!”

He threw open the door and held the lantern high, revealing a windowless cellar. It was unfurnished apart from a rough mattress and a bucket. The stench, which emanated from the small room, made Faramir feel like retching.

A man, filthy and emaciated, lay on the bed, his wrist and ankles shackled and fastened by another chain to the wall.

The captive wore filthy clothing and was partially covered by a moth eaten and stained blanket. The shrunken features were contorted with suffering; yet, the eyes and noble bearing, even in such circumstances were unmistakable. It was Aragorn.

A surge of elation welled up in Faramir’s heart, making him forget the squalid surroundings. His King was alive! He looked away fearful his eyes would betray his true feelings.

“I’ve brought you a visitor, Elessar!” Fosco sneered, “You can see now that holding out against authorising the marriage is futile. The only one who might have opposed the union has decided to join us!”

Aragorn wearily lifted his head and looked directly at Faramir. A mixture of hope and joy briefly flickered in the grey eyes before giving way to anxiety.

Faramir guessed all too well what his friend was feeling, pleasure at seeing him, swiftly superseded by concern over his safety. He forced himself to look at his King, trying to hide his joy that he lived, as well as the horror of finding him so obviously ill treated in a cold, dark cellar.

“Why, Lord Faramir, you seem quite dumbstruck!” the Lord of Lamedon commented, giving the Steward a suspicious look “I could almost suspect that it pleased you to know that this usurper still lives?”

Faramir shuddered inwardly. It seemed that he was about to be unmasked. He would have to act quickly. He knew what he must do next, would break Aragorn’s heart and his own too. He slid his hands inside his pockets and donned the gloves.

Striding across the small room, he struck the helpless King a blow across the face.“ I thought you at the bottom of the river and not a moment too soon!” he snarled, “After everything you have made me suffer I hoped I was finally rid of you!”

Aragorn barely flinched at the blow but the look of hurt, betrayal and shock in his eyes was more than Faramir could endure.

“Even you Faramir!” The softly voiced reproach was like a dagger through the Steward’s heart. He strode towards the door without a second glance. Fosco followed and locked it behind them.

TBC

A/N

Et tu, Brute?” is used to express surprise and dismay at the treachery of a supposed friend. Spoken by Caesar in 44 B.C., on seeing that his friend Brutus was one of his assassins

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