A Steward's Heir, chapter 3
Aug. 15th, 2010 10:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
claudia603Title: A Steward's Heir
Rating: Adult
Pairing(s): Frodo/Faramir
Summary: All the women in Gondor are barren due to a curse from Mordor...it is discovered that male halflings can bear the seed of men...Denethor is desperate that Boromir and Faramir continue their line...
Warning(s): Unapologetic kink, AUness, lack of adherence to canon, crazy plottishness, some possible triggers for non-con/dub-con, eventual mpreg
Previous chapters:
chapter 1
chapter 2
When Frodo next woke, bright sunlight filled the large chamber, golden warm, and Faramir was gone. A sick feeling filled Frodo’s stomach, and everything came back to him, what had become of him and why he lay in this big, fancy bed. He remembered Faramir’s hands on him, stroking him to pleasure. His cheeks heated. He was not sure whether to feel shame because he had enjoyed it or fury that he had been forced into this abominable situation with a man of high nobility.
The steward’s son. He was to bear the child of a steward’s son.
Bear a child.
He still could not fully grasp it and all it entailed. Childbearing had always been a mystery to him, something that mostly did not affect his bachelor, sisterless life. From Frodo’s experience of living in Buckland as a child, he remembered only that young hobbit matrons would whisper to their cousins and sisters and blush and then her belly would grow. One day there would be cries and shouts of pain and bustling. The doctor would come, and there would be much fretting and pacing and more pain-filled shouting from the room. And finally would come the weak cry of a newborn babe, after which the men would drink too much while the women would make much of the red, squalling hobbit babe.
A knock on the door startled Frodo out of his thoughts. A guard entered, carrying a tray. He was not dressed in silver and black armor like the others; he looked more like a woodland ranger in the same greens and browns that Faramir wore. He hesitated and stared at Frodo in wonder. Frodo felt embarrassed under his gaze.
“Pardon me,” the man finally muttered. He bowed slightly and left the tray on the table.
“Thank you,” Frodo said. Then, on impulse, he added, “Will you not join me?” He longed for anyone to talk to him, to perhaps educate him about this place and to answer the millions of questions he had about Gondor and the barren women in the land and any other hobbits that might be in Minas Tirith.
The man looked uncertain, glancing behind his shoulder.
“Oh, I suppose you have other duties,” Frodo said. “Pardon me.”
The disappointment in his voice must have had some sort of effect on this guard, for he said, “Perhaps I might stay for a few moments.”
Frodo released a breath of relief. He was reluctant to eat alone, reluctant to have too much time for his thoughts to fester. “Do share breakfast with me, if you’ve not already eaten. And thank you for bringing it. What is your name?”
“I am called Anborn,” the guard said. He pushed his mask from his face and wiped beads of sweat from his brow. “I am first in command to Captain Faramir.” He had a strong, handsome face and kind eyes. But they were also ruthless eyes. A surge of homesickness assailed Frodo. He missed other hobbits, for all their merry and ridiculous ways. In particular he missed Merry, Pippin, and Sam. Now he might never see any of them again. A lump filled his throat.
“Captain Faramir? I thought…I thought he was the steward’s son.”
“He is.” Anborn smiled kindly. “It’s one in the same. His brother Boromir is also our captain.”
“But—”
“They are captains of the army that defends Gondor.” Anborn smiled indulgently as one might to a sheltered child. “Just as a prince would automatically command his father’s army.”
“Is there much fighting here?” Frodo asked with some alarm. The city seemed so serene.
“Not in the City. Not yet, at any rate. But the borders of Mordor creep closer every year. Darkness encroaches. Soon there will be no more sun.”
Frodo felt a knot in his throat as he swallowed a butter-covered piece of bread.
“I am sorry,” Anborn said. “There is sometimes not as much cheer in my heart as there ought to be. I have spent too long on the borders of the dark land.”
“Tell me,” Frodo said. “Have you seen others of my kind here in Minas Tirith?”
Anborn looked uncomfortable. “Yes, there have been other halflings brought here. ”
“Are there any here now?”
“None that survive.”
Frodo’s throat felt tight with fear again. “What of the babes? Your … the steward…Lord Denethor said that some babes have survived.”
“Yes, but they are not from the steward’s line. These babes came too soon. There were some unscrupulous guards who took advantage of the halflings before they were brought here. These guards have failed in their duty and have been punished. They are deep down in the dungeons now.”
“When did the women of your country become barren?”
“When it happened five years ago, we thought it was a temporary thing, but it continues. Now there are no children under the age of five in all the lands of men. I have no children, nor will I ever, it seems.”
“This is dreadful,” Frodo said, although deep inside, he cheered a little. These men had snatched him and other hobbits from their own country far away, without a care for their well-being, without a care as to whether they had loved ones waiting at home, without a care for their health. He need not be so sympathetic to their plight.
“You are the Lord Denethor’s hope,” Anborn said. “If you can provide Faramir with a son, even if he be half a halfling, at least the line can continue until at some such time as the king returns, which may never happen in our lifetimes. You will be rewarded and sent home.”
“If the King returns, then I shall have to provide him with children, too, I suppose.” Frodo’s lips curved into the dark humor that he had learned from Bilbo.
Anborn did not laugh or even smile. He stood. “I must go, Frodo. It was kind of you to invite me to share in your breaking fast.”
After Anborn left, Frodo was not surprised to find that the door was locked. He looked out the windows, but they only offered a sheer drop of hundreds, perhaps thousands of feet to stone streets below. There was no escape. His only hope was to successfully give birth to a son without dying, without the child dying. But if he was successful in bearing one child, would they not want more from him? Would they not want as many as he could bear until it killed him?
“Please hurry, Gandalf,” he whispered.
Faramir was sore all over and exhausted. He had been practicing his fighting strategies with his men for hours now without break. His men were relentless, but he could show them no weakness. They did not hold back, either. Faramir was large and strong and clever, but his heart had never been in it. This made his brother the better fighter. In fact his brother watched him now, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Faramir waved to him.
Boromir approached him. “You are too slow on your left side, brother. Both sides should be equally relentless. Tomorrow you should focus on your left to build up strength there.”
“Thank you,” Faramir said. “I will remember that.”
Boromir clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll be a match for me before you know it.”
“Will you join me for lunch?”
Boromir nodded.
Once they were dining in Boromir’s chambers, Boromir said, “I hear you got a halfling.”
Faramir nodded. “Father did send one to me.”
“I heard he was fairer than most.”
Faramir flushed. Frodo’s skin had been soft and smooth under his hands, maiden fair. He tried not to think about how much desire this halfling evoked in him. He would have gladly not had the responsibility of this halfling and this duty to produce an heir. He would gladly have handed this duty to Boromir yet again. But now that he had spent a night with the gentle, fair halfling, he was reluctant to let anyone else to touch him. His brother had a noble heart, but he could be careless in his strength.
“Fear not, brother,” Boromir said. “I’ve no interest in taking him from you. I’ve had poor luck, as you know. I have no desire to take any more lives.”
“I do not think that is your fault,” Faramir said. “It is cruel, what we do to them, their bodies are not meant to do this thing for us. I do not want to kill this halfling under my care.”
“We’ve no choice,” Boromir said, nodding. “But fear not, brother. They are more enduring then you’d think. Do not fear taking him hard. Most of them secretly like it. The male halflings, that is. The maids cried and it stirred my conscience.”
“Does it not bother you, all the halflings who have perished?”
“They died heroes,” Boromir said. “Like soldiers in battle.”
“But soldiers are willing. These halflings are snatched from their lands against their wills.”
Boromir offered him a smile. “You’ve not touched this halfling yet, have you, brother?”
Faramir flushed. “That is not true.”
“I know you well,” Boromir chuckled. “You are gentle with him. But you must take him hard and fast so that he will produce an heir soon. Take good care of him while the babe grows inside him. The healers are getting better. The last halfling almost survived. This one has a good chance.”
Faramir took leave from his brother and returned to his chambers. He found the halfling curled up in the bed, staring into nothing with those wide, ethereal eyes. He flinched when Faramir came in, clutching himself.
Faramir was struck breathless by his beauty, the vivid blue of his eyes, the gentle points of his ears, his slender form. His brother was right. This had to be done and fast. He flung his gauntlets to the floor and unbelted the weapons from his waist, letting them fall to the ground with a mighty clatter.
“Let’s get this done with,” he said in a harsh voice.
TBC
Rating: Adult
Pairing(s): Frodo/Faramir
Summary: All the women in Gondor are barren due to a curse from Mordor...it is discovered that male halflings can bear the seed of men...Denethor is desperate that Boromir and Faramir continue their line...
Warning(s): Unapologetic kink, AUness, lack of adherence to canon, crazy plottishness, some possible triggers for non-con/dub-con, eventual mpreg
Previous chapters:
chapter 1
chapter 2
When Frodo next woke, bright sunlight filled the large chamber, golden warm, and Faramir was gone. A sick feeling filled Frodo’s stomach, and everything came back to him, what had become of him and why he lay in this big, fancy bed. He remembered Faramir’s hands on him, stroking him to pleasure. His cheeks heated. He was not sure whether to feel shame because he had enjoyed it or fury that he had been forced into this abominable situation with a man of high nobility.
The steward’s son. He was to bear the child of a steward’s son.
Bear a child.
He still could not fully grasp it and all it entailed. Childbearing had always been a mystery to him, something that mostly did not affect his bachelor, sisterless life. From Frodo’s experience of living in Buckland as a child, he remembered only that young hobbit matrons would whisper to their cousins and sisters and blush and then her belly would grow. One day there would be cries and shouts of pain and bustling. The doctor would come, and there would be much fretting and pacing and more pain-filled shouting from the room. And finally would come the weak cry of a newborn babe, after which the men would drink too much while the women would make much of the red, squalling hobbit babe.
A knock on the door startled Frodo out of his thoughts. A guard entered, carrying a tray. He was not dressed in silver and black armor like the others; he looked more like a woodland ranger in the same greens and browns that Faramir wore. He hesitated and stared at Frodo in wonder. Frodo felt embarrassed under his gaze.
“Pardon me,” the man finally muttered. He bowed slightly and left the tray on the table.
“Thank you,” Frodo said. Then, on impulse, he added, “Will you not join me?” He longed for anyone to talk to him, to perhaps educate him about this place and to answer the millions of questions he had about Gondor and the barren women in the land and any other hobbits that might be in Minas Tirith.
The man looked uncertain, glancing behind his shoulder.
“Oh, I suppose you have other duties,” Frodo said. “Pardon me.”
The disappointment in his voice must have had some sort of effect on this guard, for he said, “Perhaps I might stay for a few moments.”
Frodo released a breath of relief. He was reluctant to eat alone, reluctant to have too much time for his thoughts to fester. “Do share breakfast with me, if you’ve not already eaten. And thank you for bringing it. What is your name?”
“I am called Anborn,” the guard said. He pushed his mask from his face and wiped beads of sweat from his brow. “I am first in command to Captain Faramir.” He had a strong, handsome face and kind eyes. But they were also ruthless eyes. A surge of homesickness assailed Frodo. He missed other hobbits, for all their merry and ridiculous ways. In particular he missed Merry, Pippin, and Sam. Now he might never see any of them again. A lump filled his throat.
“Captain Faramir? I thought…I thought he was the steward’s son.”
“He is.” Anborn smiled kindly. “It’s one in the same. His brother Boromir is also our captain.”
“But—”
“They are captains of the army that defends Gondor.” Anborn smiled indulgently as one might to a sheltered child. “Just as a prince would automatically command his father’s army.”
“Is there much fighting here?” Frodo asked with some alarm. The city seemed so serene.
“Not in the City. Not yet, at any rate. But the borders of Mordor creep closer every year. Darkness encroaches. Soon there will be no more sun.”
Frodo felt a knot in his throat as he swallowed a butter-covered piece of bread.
“I am sorry,” Anborn said. “There is sometimes not as much cheer in my heart as there ought to be. I have spent too long on the borders of the dark land.”
“Tell me,” Frodo said. “Have you seen others of my kind here in Minas Tirith?”
Anborn looked uncomfortable. “Yes, there have been other halflings brought here. ”
“Are there any here now?”
“None that survive.”
Frodo’s throat felt tight with fear again. “What of the babes? Your … the steward…Lord Denethor said that some babes have survived.”
“Yes, but they are not from the steward’s line. These babes came too soon. There were some unscrupulous guards who took advantage of the halflings before they were brought here. These guards have failed in their duty and have been punished. They are deep down in the dungeons now.”
“When did the women of your country become barren?”
“When it happened five years ago, we thought it was a temporary thing, but it continues. Now there are no children under the age of five in all the lands of men. I have no children, nor will I ever, it seems.”
“This is dreadful,” Frodo said, although deep inside, he cheered a little. These men had snatched him and other hobbits from their own country far away, without a care for their well-being, without a care as to whether they had loved ones waiting at home, without a care for their health. He need not be so sympathetic to their plight.
“You are the Lord Denethor’s hope,” Anborn said. “If you can provide Faramir with a son, even if he be half a halfling, at least the line can continue until at some such time as the king returns, which may never happen in our lifetimes. You will be rewarded and sent home.”
“If the King returns, then I shall have to provide him with children, too, I suppose.” Frodo’s lips curved into the dark humor that he had learned from Bilbo.
Anborn did not laugh or even smile. He stood. “I must go, Frodo. It was kind of you to invite me to share in your breaking fast.”
After Anborn left, Frodo was not surprised to find that the door was locked. He looked out the windows, but they only offered a sheer drop of hundreds, perhaps thousands of feet to stone streets below. There was no escape. His only hope was to successfully give birth to a son without dying, without the child dying. But if he was successful in bearing one child, would they not want more from him? Would they not want as many as he could bear until it killed him?
“Please hurry, Gandalf,” he whispered.
Faramir was sore all over and exhausted. He had been practicing his fighting strategies with his men for hours now without break. His men were relentless, but he could show them no weakness. They did not hold back, either. Faramir was large and strong and clever, but his heart had never been in it. This made his brother the better fighter. In fact his brother watched him now, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Faramir waved to him.
Boromir approached him. “You are too slow on your left side, brother. Both sides should be equally relentless. Tomorrow you should focus on your left to build up strength there.”
“Thank you,” Faramir said. “I will remember that.”
Boromir clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll be a match for me before you know it.”
“Will you join me for lunch?”
Boromir nodded.
Once they were dining in Boromir’s chambers, Boromir said, “I hear you got a halfling.”
Faramir nodded. “Father did send one to me.”
“I heard he was fairer than most.”
Faramir flushed. Frodo’s skin had been soft and smooth under his hands, maiden fair. He tried not to think about how much desire this halfling evoked in him. He would have gladly not had the responsibility of this halfling and this duty to produce an heir. He would gladly have handed this duty to Boromir yet again. But now that he had spent a night with the gentle, fair halfling, he was reluctant to let anyone else to touch him. His brother had a noble heart, but he could be careless in his strength.
“Fear not, brother,” Boromir said. “I’ve no interest in taking him from you. I’ve had poor luck, as you know. I have no desire to take any more lives.”
“I do not think that is your fault,” Faramir said. “It is cruel, what we do to them, their bodies are not meant to do this thing for us. I do not want to kill this halfling under my care.”
“We’ve no choice,” Boromir said, nodding. “But fear not, brother. They are more enduring then you’d think. Do not fear taking him hard. Most of them secretly like it. The male halflings, that is. The maids cried and it stirred my conscience.”
“Does it not bother you, all the halflings who have perished?”
“They died heroes,” Boromir said. “Like soldiers in battle.”
“But soldiers are willing. These halflings are snatched from their lands against their wills.”
Boromir offered him a smile. “You’ve not touched this halfling yet, have you, brother?”
Faramir flushed. “That is not true.”
“I know you well,” Boromir chuckled. “You are gentle with him. But you must take him hard and fast so that he will produce an heir soon. Take good care of him while the babe grows inside him. The healers are getting better. The last halfling almost survived. This one has a good chance.”
Faramir took leave from his brother and returned to his chambers. He found the halfling curled up in the bed, staring into nothing with those wide, ethereal eyes. He flinched when Faramir came in, clutching himself.
Faramir was struck breathless by his beauty, the vivid blue of his eyes, the gentle points of his ears, his slender form. His brother was right. This had to be done and fast. He flung his gauntlets to the floor and unbelted the weapons from his waist, letting them fall to the ground with a mighty clatter.
“Let’s get this done with,” he said in a harsh voice.
TBC
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-08-15 04:01 pm (UTC)hugs you tight xooxoox v
no subject
Date: 2010-08-15 04:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-15 04:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-15 04:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-15 04:09 pm (UTC)Unfortunately I don't have time to leave a proper comment right now, but I've read it. And I love it!!!
[unintelligible squeeing here]
I'll comment properly later today!!
no subject
Date: 2010-08-15 04:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-15 04:54 pm (UTC)Am intrigued. I better go read the first two parts. I'm glad Frodo belongs to Faramir and not Boromir; hard and fast may be a clue as to part of the problem. Very interesting.
no subject
Date: 2010-08-16 10:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-15 06:31 pm (UTC)Meep! There's no king with healing hands to leap into the breach! Double meep!
no subject
Date: 2010-08-16 10:58 pm (UTC)Striderking! Pooooor Frodo!no subject
Date: 2010-08-15 06:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-16 10:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-16 04:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-16 10:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-18 08:56 am (UTC)I just wandered in while looking for some Aragorn/Frodo fics and, as you can see, I've been going through what you have available. So far I love all your works and pieces.
I hope you don't mind me friending you, but this story is making my toes curl in anticipation (I really hope this doesn't come back to bite Faramir in the butt).
no subject
Date: 2010-08-20 12:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-22 05:30 am (UTC)And Boromir's view on the halfling broodmares---very interesting and so in character!
I cannot WAIT until Frodo finds himself with child. :D
no subject
Date: 2010-08-23 02:08 am (UTC)Thank you!!
no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 02:33 am (UTC)“If the King returns, then I shall have to provide him with children, too, I suppose.”
The King! Though I have a feeling that if the King did return, Faramir wouldn't want to let go his of beautiful halfling, king or no king.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 11:48 am (UTC)And so true about the King returning...*nods*