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tamingthemuseOn time, this time. *grins*
Title: Forever True
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Prompt: #3 - Hovel
Warnings: Mentions of prostitution
Rating: light R
Summary: Beriadan confesses his darkest secret.
Notes: Though the story is set in the Lord of the Rings fandom, only one canon character makes an appearance. The main characters are original characters I created specifically for this story. At this point, I am planning on writing a sequel, but I make no promises as to when it will be completed.
Forever True
Beriadan coughed wetly as he closed the door of his home behind him, letting his pack fall to the rough floor. Fighting the coughing had almost been as taxing as servicing his customers, if they'd known he was sick, they wouldn't have bought his services and no money meant no food. He leaned back against the door, letting it support him for a few moments as he gathered his strength.
"Adan?" A soft voice called from the low bed in the corner.
Beriadan's hazel eyes opened slowly and he dredged up a wan smile. "I'm here, little brother."
"You shouldn't be out in the wet with that cough, Adan," Nestaron admonished gently.
Beriadan's smile strengthened a little as he crossed the room to the bed, pushing his long, wavy, dark brown hair out of his face as he walked. "I know, Taron," Beriadan replied, settling on the edge of the bed and looking down into his twin brother's unseeing hazel eyes. "I had to work and get some food," Beriadan explained.
Nestaron reached up blindly and cupped Beriadan's cheek. "What are we having today, Adan?"
"Fish stew and bread to dunk in it," Beriadan answered, his eyes closing at Nestaron touch.
Before Nestaron could reply, Beriadan coughed, dislodging Nestaron's hand. "I wish I could do more to help, brother."
"I know," Beriadan said hoarsely, standing and crossing the short distance to his pack. He scooped it up and set it on the small table standing in the middle of the one-room hovel the brothers called home.
Nestaron sat up slowly then scooted up until his back could rest against the wall behind the bed. "What was your day like, Adan?" He asked in his soft voice.
Beriadan flinched like he always did when Nestaron asked that question and, like always, he was grateful Nestaron couldn't see the tell. "Oh, the usual," Beriadan answered dismissively as he started preparing their supper. "Worked, fought the crowds at the market, just about every boring thing you can imagine," a thought struck Beriadan and he added, "I saw Lord Faramir, today."
A frown creased Nestaron's forehead. "Why won't you tell me what you do?" He asked, ignoring Beriadan's attempt at a distraction.
"I just told you," Beriadan answered evasively, knowing exactly what Nestaron was asking.
"You know what I mean, Adan," Nestaron scolded.
Beriadan sighed softly. "Please, Taron, just drop it."
"I won't drop it, Adan. I'm your brother, am I not entitled to know?" Nestaron answered desperately.
"You are entitled, Taron," Beriadan replied softly.
"Then tell me."
"I am afraid, little brother," Beriadan confessed.
"Why?" Nestaron questioned, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and starting to stand.
"Don't get up," Beriadan begged, abandoning dinner in favor of coaxing Nestaron back into bed. "Taron, please. You're sick."
Nestaron allowed Beriadan to fuss over him, unwilling to admit that Beriadan was right. Nestaron had always been sickly, ever since the brothers were younger. Nestaron fared better in the late Spring and Summer, when the weather was warm and not so damp, but when the rains came in the Fall and early Spring and the snow in Winter, a heaviness would settle in Nestaron's lungs, and he would be weaker than a newborn colt until the warmth returned. When Nestaron was under the blankets again, he reached out and captured Beriadan's wrist before he could pull away. They both knew Beriadan could break from Nestaron's hold easily, but Beriadan didn't. "Tell me, please?"
Beriadan drew in a deep breath, his eyes focused on Nestaron's thing hand. "I'm a whore, Taron," Beriadan whispered. "I give myself to men for money."
"Oh, Adan," Nestaron murmured, his hand sliding up Beriadan's arm to curl around his neck and pull him down until Beriadan's head rested against Nestaron's shoulder. "What are you afraid of? That I would be disgusted?"
Beriadan snorted a dry laugh. "Who wouldn't be? I see it in their eyes."
Nestaron gently lifted Beriadan's head. "Do you see it in mine, Beriadan?"
Beriadan stared down into eyes so like his own. "No," he said softly, wonderingly.
"And you never will," Nestaron answered vehemently. "You're all I have left, Adan. I will not lose you, not if I can help it."
Beriadan smiled and pressed a soft kiss to Nestaron's forehead. "Thank you," he whispered.
"You're welcome."
*
Faramir frowned as he approached the hovel. His source told him this was the place, yet Faramir doubted. What person in their right mind would live here? He answered his own question a moment later: someone who had no choice, someone who had been reduced to selling his own body just to get by. He hesitated only a moment longer before knocking on the door. Faramir heard voices on the other side of the door before hearing the latch being drawn. The door opened only a few inches, far enough for hazel eyes to peer out.
"Yes?" A hoarse voice floated out into the chill night air.
"I intend you no harm, I merely wish to speak with you," Faramir replied.
The man eyed Faramir suspiciously, taking in the dark clothes and deep hood concealing Faramir's face. "Who are you?"
"Someone who wants to help you," Faramir answered earnestly.
Faramir heard a soft murmur from inside the hovel and the man's head turned to look over his shoulder. Faramir saw the man nod before he turned back to Faramir. "I am sorry for my wariness, it is not often we get visitors," he said, stepping back and opening the door wider.
"I understand," Faramir assured him, stepping into the hutch. He looked around as the other man closed the door behind him, his blue eyes taking in the old stove in the far left corner, the roughhewn table in the middle of the room, and the sickly figure huddled under a pile of blankets, unseeing eyes roaming the room.
"Adan?" The figure called.
"It's alright, Taron," 'Adan' said reassuringly, closing the short distance to the bed and perching on the edge. "I won't let anything happen to you, little brother," 'Adan' said softly, reaching out to brush wavy dark hair off 'Taron's' forehead.
While 'Adan' was distracted, Faramir lowered the hood of his cloak. "I mean you no harm, little one," Faramir said softly, drawing 'Adan's' attention.
'Adan' gasped and nearly fell off the bed in his hurry to stand and bow. "My Lord Faramir, I'm sorry, I didn't know it was you."
Faramir smiled. "Do not worry, I did not wish to draw attention to myself..." Faramir trailed off leadingly, his brows rising in inquiry.
"Oh, Beriadan, my lord," Beriadan answered. "This is my twin, Nestaron."
"Pleased to meet you, Beriadan, Nestaron," Faramir said, executing a short bow.
"An honor, my lord," Nestaron replied softly.
Faramir grimaced. "Please, call me Faramir."
Beriadan regarded Faramir with a pole-axed look, drawing a soft laugh from Faramir. "If you are certain, my lo--, er, Faramir."
"I'm certain," Faramir replied.
"Forgive me if I seem forward, Faramir, but why are you here?" Nestaron asked from the bed. "It is not often that the nobles deign to think of those living in such squalor, let alone visit them."
Faramir smiled at the waif-like Nestaron. "I do not mind; such forwardness can be refreshing. As to your question, I am here to help in any way I can."
If possible, Beriadan appeared even more shocked. "You want to help us?" Beriadan asked slowly.
"Yes. I saw you, Beriadan," Faramir explained, voice soft. "At the market. I looked into your eyes and saw a profound sorrow, a weariness of spirit. That look should not be found in one so young."
Beriadan had looked away when Faramir first spoke, but his last words made Beriadan bristle with indignation. "I am nearly 20," he protested.
Faramir smiled sadly. "And yet you carry a great burden. Your parents are dead, you care for your sickly brother, you're barely scraping by… shall I continue?"
Beriadan looked away again. "No," he whispered. "You know what I am, then?"
"That is not what you are, Adan," Nestaron protested. "It is merely what you do to survive."
Faramir nodded. "He's right."
"What am I, then, if not a whore?" Beriadan asked almost desperately.
"You are my brother," Nestaron answered without hesitation. "What did I tell you not too long ago, brother? I am not ashamed of you, I will never look at you with disgust."
A faint smile tugged at Beriadan's lips. "You can't see me, Taron."
"It doesn't matter, Adan. What matters is that I love you," Nestaron replied.
"I love you, too, Taron," Beriadan answered.
End.
Title: Forever True
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Prompt: #3 - Hovel
Warnings: Mentions of prostitution
Rating: light R
Summary: Beriadan confesses his darkest secret.
Notes: Though the story is set in the Lord of the Rings fandom, only one canon character makes an appearance. The main characters are original characters I created specifically for this story. At this point, I am planning on writing a sequel, but I make no promises as to when it will be completed.
Beriadan coughed wetly as he closed the door of his home behind him, letting his pack fall to the rough floor. Fighting the coughing had almost been as taxing as servicing his customers, if they'd known he was sick, they wouldn't have bought his services and no money meant no food. He leaned back against the door, letting it support him for a few moments as he gathered his strength.
"Adan?" A soft voice called from the low bed in the corner.
Beriadan's hazel eyes opened slowly and he dredged up a wan smile. "I'm here, little brother."
"You shouldn't be out in the wet with that cough, Adan," Nestaron admonished gently.
Beriadan's smile strengthened a little as he crossed the room to the bed, pushing his long, wavy, dark brown hair out of his face as he walked. "I know, Taron," Beriadan replied, settling on the edge of the bed and looking down into his twin brother's unseeing hazel eyes. "I had to work and get some food," Beriadan explained.
Nestaron reached up blindly and cupped Beriadan's cheek. "What are we having today, Adan?"
"Fish stew and bread to dunk in it," Beriadan answered, his eyes closing at Nestaron touch.
Before Nestaron could reply, Beriadan coughed, dislodging Nestaron's hand. "I wish I could do more to help, brother."
"I know," Beriadan said hoarsely, standing and crossing the short distance to his pack. He scooped it up and set it on the small table standing in the middle of the one-room hovel the brothers called home.
Nestaron sat up slowly then scooted up until his back could rest against the wall behind the bed. "What was your day like, Adan?" He asked in his soft voice.
Beriadan flinched like he always did when Nestaron asked that question and, like always, he was grateful Nestaron couldn't see the tell. "Oh, the usual," Beriadan answered dismissively as he started preparing their supper. "Worked, fought the crowds at the market, just about every boring thing you can imagine," a thought struck Beriadan and he added, "I saw Lord Faramir, today."
A frown creased Nestaron's forehead. "Why won't you tell me what you do?" He asked, ignoring Beriadan's attempt at a distraction.
"I just told you," Beriadan answered evasively, knowing exactly what Nestaron was asking.
"You know what I mean, Adan," Nestaron scolded.
Beriadan sighed softly. "Please, Taron, just drop it."
"I won't drop it, Adan. I'm your brother, am I not entitled to know?" Nestaron answered desperately.
"You are entitled, Taron," Beriadan replied softly.
"Then tell me."
"I am afraid, little brother," Beriadan confessed.
"Why?" Nestaron questioned, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and starting to stand.
"Don't get up," Beriadan begged, abandoning dinner in favor of coaxing Nestaron back into bed. "Taron, please. You're sick."
Nestaron allowed Beriadan to fuss over him, unwilling to admit that Beriadan was right. Nestaron had always been sickly, ever since the brothers were younger. Nestaron fared better in the late Spring and Summer, when the weather was warm and not so damp, but when the rains came in the Fall and early Spring and the snow in Winter, a heaviness would settle in Nestaron's lungs, and he would be weaker than a newborn colt until the warmth returned. When Nestaron was under the blankets again, he reached out and captured Beriadan's wrist before he could pull away. They both knew Beriadan could break from Nestaron's hold easily, but Beriadan didn't. "Tell me, please?"
Beriadan drew in a deep breath, his eyes focused on Nestaron's thing hand. "I'm a whore, Taron," Beriadan whispered. "I give myself to men for money."
"Oh, Adan," Nestaron murmured, his hand sliding up Beriadan's arm to curl around his neck and pull him down until Beriadan's head rested against Nestaron's shoulder. "What are you afraid of? That I would be disgusted?"
Beriadan snorted a dry laugh. "Who wouldn't be? I see it in their eyes."
Nestaron gently lifted Beriadan's head. "Do you see it in mine, Beriadan?"
Beriadan stared down into eyes so like his own. "No," he said softly, wonderingly.
"And you never will," Nestaron answered vehemently. "You're all I have left, Adan. I will not lose you, not if I can help it."
Beriadan smiled and pressed a soft kiss to Nestaron's forehead. "Thank you," he whispered.
"You're welcome."
*
Faramir frowned as he approached the hovel. His source told him this was the place, yet Faramir doubted. What person in their right mind would live here? He answered his own question a moment later: someone who had no choice, someone who had been reduced to selling his own body just to get by. He hesitated only a moment longer before knocking on the door. Faramir heard voices on the other side of the door before hearing the latch being drawn. The door opened only a few inches, far enough for hazel eyes to peer out.
"Yes?" A hoarse voice floated out into the chill night air.
"I intend you no harm, I merely wish to speak with you," Faramir replied.
The man eyed Faramir suspiciously, taking in the dark clothes and deep hood concealing Faramir's face. "Who are you?"
"Someone who wants to help you," Faramir answered earnestly.
Faramir heard a soft murmur from inside the hovel and the man's head turned to look over his shoulder. Faramir saw the man nod before he turned back to Faramir. "I am sorry for my wariness, it is not often we get visitors," he said, stepping back and opening the door wider.
"I understand," Faramir assured him, stepping into the hutch. He looked around as the other man closed the door behind him, his blue eyes taking in the old stove in the far left corner, the roughhewn table in the middle of the room, and the sickly figure huddled under a pile of blankets, unseeing eyes roaming the room.
"Adan?" The figure called.
"It's alright, Taron," 'Adan' said reassuringly, closing the short distance to the bed and perching on the edge. "I won't let anything happen to you, little brother," 'Adan' said softly, reaching out to brush wavy dark hair off 'Taron's' forehead.
While 'Adan' was distracted, Faramir lowered the hood of his cloak. "I mean you no harm, little one," Faramir said softly, drawing 'Adan's' attention.
'Adan' gasped and nearly fell off the bed in his hurry to stand and bow. "My Lord Faramir, I'm sorry, I didn't know it was you."
Faramir smiled. "Do not worry, I did not wish to draw attention to myself..." Faramir trailed off leadingly, his brows rising in inquiry.
"Oh, Beriadan, my lord," Beriadan answered. "This is my twin, Nestaron."
"Pleased to meet you, Beriadan, Nestaron," Faramir said, executing a short bow.
"An honor, my lord," Nestaron replied softly.
Faramir grimaced. "Please, call me Faramir."
Beriadan regarded Faramir with a pole-axed look, drawing a soft laugh from Faramir. "If you are certain, my lo--, er, Faramir."
"I'm certain," Faramir replied.
"Forgive me if I seem forward, Faramir, but why are you here?" Nestaron asked from the bed. "It is not often that the nobles deign to think of those living in such squalor, let alone visit them."
Faramir smiled at the waif-like Nestaron. "I do not mind; such forwardness can be refreshing. As to your question, I am here to help in any way I can."
If possible, Beriadan appeared even more shocked. "You want to help us?" Beriadan asked slowly.
"Yes. I saw you, Beriadan," Faramir explained, voice soft. "At the market. I looked into your eyes and saw a profound sorrow, a weariness of spirit. That look should not be found in one so young."
Beriadan had looked away when Faramir first spoke, but his last words made Beriadan bristle with indignation. "I am nearly 20," he protested.
Faramir smiled sadly. "And yet you carry a great burden. Your parents are dead, you care for your sickly brother, you're barely scraping by… shall I continue?"
Beriadan looked away again. "No," he whispered. "You know what I am, then?"
"That is not what you are, Adan," Nestaron protested. "It is merely what you do to survive."
Faramir nodded. "He's right."
"What am I, then, if not a whore?" Beriadan asked almost desperately.
"You are my brother," Nestaron answered without hesitation. "What did I tell you not too long ago, brother? I am not ashamed of you, I will never look at you with disgust."
A faint smile tugged at Beriadan's lips. "You can't see me, Taron."
"It doesn't matter, Adan. What matters is that I love you," Nestaron replied.
"I love you, too, Taron," Beriadan answered.
no subject
Date: 2006-08-06 12:59 am (UTC)"That is not what you are, Adan," Nestaron protested. "It is merely what you do to survive." I adore this... so very, very true! And the characters are so very well drawn that I can see them! I only wish the story continued and I got to see the consequences of this night.
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Date: 2006-08-06 03:17 am (UTC)nicely drawn characters and a well written scene,
hope to see more
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Date: 2006-08-06 06:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-06 07:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-06 11:44 am (UTC)~Nebula