Chapter 5
Faramir watched silently as Teleziel climbed from the bath and wrapped the towel around his waist. The sleek, olive skin glistened from its scrubbing and Teleziel’s beauty became painfully clear. He was thin, but not as emaciated as he first appeared. There were muscles beneath the rippling skin, warrior’s muscles and fine bones that reminded Faramir of elves for they were long and graceful. How old was Teleziel? He tried to calculate the figures he’d been given but realizing he’d been given only part of an equation, was forced to give up.
“We’ve seen several hundred Haradrim over the last few weeks.”
“There are many tribes and they all come with tribute of men and arms.”
“ Beasts.”
“Those as well, yes, but they come from further away. My tribe bred no such animals for they are expensive to maintain.”
“More will come?”
“Wait and watch, Captain of Men, as thousands pour into the Black Gates like grains of sand in a storm.” He watched Faramir’s eyes flicker and felt sorry for him. He shouldn’t, yet he did. The captain had not harmed him or allowed him to be harmed. He owed no allegiance to any one any more, save himself. His people abandoned him. The Gondorians would kill him once they had the information they needed. Whatever he did or said from here on out would either lengthen his life by minutes or bring his death minutes closer. Which did he want? “Will you still take me to Minas Tirith?”
“ My orders.”
Teleziel lifted his chin. “You have shown me many mercies. Show me one more and slit my throat now for I have no more information and your advisors and counselors will only waste their precious time.”
So many contradictions in one form, thought Faramir. Pride. Dignity. Sorrow and hidden pain. Courage. “There is always more information.”
“I was a soldier, not a tactician, in my father’s ranks. I was not accorded special privileges of birth.”
“Your father leads his own troops.”
“My father has many sons. My father has many wives. My loss means nothing. Do you understand?”
Pain lanced through Faramir and took his breath. Although his father only had one wife and two sons, sometimes he felt as though his life or death meant nothing. “Is it the same among all the Haradrim?”
“No. Not always.” Teleziel shivered in the cool air and goose flesh pebbled his olive skin and puckered his deep rose nipples.
Faramir found himself staring at Teleziel’s body, unable to take his eyes from the lithe form or the small scars. Fine, dark hair trailed from below the Haradrim’s navel and disappeared beneath the towel. “Tell me.”
“You would not understand.”
Faramir abruptly turned away. “Bring him some clothes,” he told someone beyond Teleziel’s sight. Keeping his back to Teleziel, he shook his head. “You said you were different. How?”
Teleziel set his jaw and stood, hair matted and dripping, mutely. He would not give this man a chance to hurt him as his fellow Haradrim had done. Better, by far, to die with his blood splashing over his chest than endure more of the same torture.
As the silence gathered, Faramir turned and watched Teleziel. “Was it the need to inflict pain on yourself? Is there more? Do you inflict pain on others?”
“I do not think you will find the information helpful in the war.”
The one called Mablung brought in a bundle of clothing and held it out to Faramir. “I gathered these from among the men.”
“Thank you,” Faramir took the clothes and laid them over his arm. He drew the top layer off and shook it out, revealing a simple gray tunic, much patched and worn. He tossed it to Teleziel. “Put these on.”
Gratefully, he took the tunic and pulled it over his head. His nakedness discomforted him for reasons that he wasn’t sure he understood. Besides, he was cold. He pulled the shirt over his head and stuffed his arms through the long sleeves. They were tight, not long and flowing as his people wore. His own shirts had wide sleeves laced at the wrists and wrapped around the waist. The ones worn by the men of Gondor were laced at the neck and much too tight in the arms. “These clothes confine your arms too much. How do you fight in them?”
Faramir shook out the breeches and passed them to the Haradrim, thankful to have the boy—no, man—dressed. He was too tempting, too luscious, unclothed. “We manage quite well.”
Teleziel dropped the towel and pulled on the trousers. They were also snug and Teleziel grimaced and stared down, trying to figure out how to secure them. Looking up, he stared helplessly at Faramir.
“Tuck yourself in and pull the laces closed.”
Teleziel frowned for a moment and looked back down. Slowly, as if confused by the order, he pushed his penis against his thigh inside the pants and drew the thin laces together. “Our pants are loose and have drawstrings at the waist, not at our crotches. Our clothes flow around us, allow us to walk or ride easily. You wear things that pinch and bind and prevent you from moving freely. You are a strange lot, Man of the West.”
“I’m sorry we cannot be more accommodating,” Faramir responded with a humorous note. He’d found Teleziel’s confusion oddly funny.
Mablung passed across his last item. “Boots. You’ll probably find those too tight, as well.”
Perching on the stool, Teleziel pulled on the boots, noting that the soul was thick, but soft. No wonder the Haradrim rarely heard their patrols.
“Do you have a wife or wives, who will miss you when you do not return?”
Teleziel shook his head and his wet hair clung to his cheeks and throat. “No, not yet. I would—I have a betrothed.”
“She will miss you?”
“She is a child who will marry whom she is told. She is
my father’s fifth cousin’s first daughter. If she does not marry
me, then she will marry one of my brothers.”
Faramir blinked for a moment, trying to grasp the relationship. “How many
brothers do you have?”
“ Eight. I am the only son of my father’s first wife. But his other wives all have two sons a piece and then there is the first son of his youngest brother, whom he adopted when the child’s father died.”
“Family relations are complicated,” Faramir remarked dryly. “Come, I’ll lead you back to your cell.”
“How will this help you defeat the enemy?”
Faramir smiled. “By knowing him.” Teleziel laughed and his laughter was like music to Faramir. “Were any of your brothers with you in your father’s company?”
“Three came with us. One died of fever. The others are with various uncles.”
“Uncles train the sons of their brothers?”
“Yes,” Teleziel again grew lost as he was led through the corridors. His footfalls made no sound on the stone floor. “We train for five seasons, beginning with our tenth. After that, we are deemed fit and join our father’s army.”
“What does a man so young have to hate about himself?”
“What does it matter? Now you have an Haradrim prisoner to torture and gather useless information from because …my people do not want me.”
“I am curious, I suppose. Why would a father allow his eldest son to be raped, beaten and left for dead?” Would Denethor ever allow such a thing? Faramir shook his head to clear it of the horrible images. Of course he wouldn’t.
Tired of the game, Teleziel sighed. “You will continue to question me until I give you some answer.”
“I will continue to ask until you tell me the truth.”
“ How will you know, Captain of men?”
“I will know,” Faramir stopped outside the cubicle assigned to Teleziel and stared into the dark, liquid eyes.
They stood eyeing one another, each determined to serve his own ends. Faramir wanted the truth. Teleziel only wanted to preserve his life a little longer.
“If I tell you, you will be obliged to kill me and then my usefulness to Gondor will be at an end.”
Faramir reminded Teleziel that he’d already said he had nothing of value to tell.
Silently, grimly, Teleziel entered his cell and sat down on the hard, stone floor.