Chapter Nine - Interrogation

He thought he heard voices but their words were lost in the air. Faramir’s tired mind craved rest: since Wormtongue had left him alone, he was anxious to seize the opportunity to sleep. Sweet oblivion awaited, all he had to do was relax a little more...

“Faramir!” The voice was powerful and used to being obeyed. It demanded Faramir’s attention and pulled him back from the edge of sleep.

Faramir desperately tried to concentrate as the figure that had haunted his nightmares for the last seven years entered the room. Saruman the wizard bore down on him, predatory dark eyes gleaming down from his considerable height. Somewhere deep inside Faramir noted rather dryly, that the wizard still knew how to make a dramatic entrance. He also observed that, though his robes were somewhat dirtier and more ragged than when he had been lord of Isengard, Saruman still had the power to evoke the anxiety in him that he had when Faramir was a child.

“You don’t look so well,” Saruman said as he pulled up a chair and relaxed into it. “We need to talk.”

From behind him, a nervous hand that had to belong to Wormtongue released the gag. Faramir resisted the urge to spit out the offensive article and swallowed back his bile. Instead he focused on the wizard in front of him.

“I have nothing to say,” Faramir said in a voice that was less resolute than he would have preferred.

Saruman smiled. “Oh but you do. I called you to me for a purpose.”

Faramir leaned forward, jolted out of his fatigue by a heady dose of fear. The wizard had called him? Could it be true that he had no will of his own anymore?

“You called me to you?” he repeated.

Saruman nodded, his smile widening.

Faramir gulped. “No,” he said defiantly. “You have no power over me.”

“Do you hear that, Worm?” Saruman called over his shoulder to where the black shape lingered.

Wormtongue laughed annoyingly.

Faramir clenched his fists. “What do you want from me?” he demanded.

Saruman drew in a deep breath. “And so we come to it,” he said. “Quite simply I want every thing you are, Faramir, son of Denethor of Gondor.”

Faramir would die before allowing the wizard to have any more of him than he had already taken. He gulped and staring into those vicious eyes, he asked softly, “Wizard, are you mad?”

Saruman stood up in a swirl of robes. “I am hungry. Worm, get my meal. I can talk with Lord Faramir while I eat.”

Wormtongue shambled out of the room muttering under his breath. Saruman moved to the seat at the head of the table and sat down, an expectant look on his face.

Faramir regarded him with contempt. “Get on with it, wizard!” he snapped.

Saruman smiled. “And spoil my pleasure? I think not. We play a game here, son of Gondor and I will enjoy every moment of it. You were a patient, some would even say indecisive child. Now I only wish to see how much of that patience has remained in the . . . adult . . . I see before me.”

Faramir snorted.

“There are some decisions that you will have to make very soon, Faramir. I wish to observe the process, that is all. I always liked to watch you; you have an interesting mind for a child of Men,” Saruman’s smile was icy. “And now that you are a man and have suffered so much more, I expect this to be an interesting experience for both of us.”

Faramir failed to repress a shudder. He remembered that look from the Isengard visits of his childhood. This was not going well at all. He knew he had to hold his nerve but it tired him to even look at his tormentor.

“But surely you expected this, Faramir?” Saruman continued. “If, as you maintain, you sought me out, you must have known this moment would come. You must have had some plan in mind, some strategy to break my hold on you? I cannot believe that you, of all people, the famed thinker and strategist, the former exalted Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien, acted on impulse. On impulse! That is not a characteristic I associate with you. What, if not my power, made you act in such a way?”

Faramir opened his mouth to argue but as he did so the door banged open. Wormtongue and a number of orcs entered the room and began setting out a veritable feast in front of their master. Saruman continued to beam at him as Faramir shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“The effective use of torture should involve a lot of pain, and we will come to that, but sometimes the simple way of doing things is the most appropriate one to start with, don’t you think?” Saruman asked, as he ripped a leg from the fowl in front of him and began to eat it hungrily.

Faramir had not eaten; he had not even been given any water to drink, since he was dragged into the tower and for some time before that. The smell of the food was so tantalising to be almost overwhelming. He could not help but lick his dry lips as his mouth began to water.

Saruman eyed him. “It would be so easy for you, only bind yourself to me and you could join me in the feast.”

“You honestly think I would sell my soul for a seat at your table?” Faramir did not bother to hide the disgust in his voice.

“No, of course not,” the wizard laughed. “But it’s all part of the game and I will have my entertainment from you.”

Faramir sat and watched as Saruman demolished the food placed before him as if he had not eaten for weeks. Finally the wizard sat back in his chair with a loud belch.

“Very good. Are you sure I cannot tempt you, Lord Faramir?”

Faramir shook his head. “I fail to see how waiting for seven years can possibly be termed as acting on impulse,” he said firmly, returning to their previous conversation.

Saruman rolled his eyes. “Oh good,” he said, “This game shall surely amuse me for days!”

“I weary of your foolish games, wizard!”

“I am interested in your strategy, young one,” Saruman looked fascinated. “Does it include the skulking around my tower when you realised you lacked the courage to face what you’d ridden so far to confront? Just how long were you going to spy on me?”

The energy that had sustained Faramir since Saruman entered the room trickled away now. Faramir could almost feel his fatigue like a predator, lying in wait to claim him from within just as the wizard endeavoured to claim him from the outside. He had to guard himself now, he had to remain focussed. Saruman claimed to have called him here; was that not a rather convenient response? Faramir had to seize the initiative somehow. But it was much harder to think clearly now. He shook his head, trying to clear it.

Noting the gesture, Saruman continued, “Or could it be that you were simply waiting for instructions from your master?”

Faramir forced down a shudder of rage. “You are not my master,” he spat. “You have no power over me. I do not believe you have any power at all. Mithrandir broke your....”

“Oh, I wondered how long it would take you to bring my associate into this conversation,” Saruman cut in. “In case you haven’t realised Gandalf cannot help you now. Your former mentor abandoned this world, you included, for the comforts of our long-lost home. He has gone, while I and my power remain here.”

Faramir shook his head. Unsure whether he was trying in vain to convince himself, he repeated. “Mithrandir broke your staff.”

Saruman stood up and snorted. He moved to stand in front of his captive. “Then how do you explain what I did to you last time we met?”

“You had the advantage. You do not have it now.” Faramir was resolute. He realised he needed to keep his own counsel and not allow himself to be goaded into any damaging revelations. He also wondered, if what Saruman said was true, why the wizard had not used his power to enthral him once more.

Saruman threw back his head and laughed loudly. “Seven years,” he mocked. “Seven years and that it the best your logical, incisive mind can come up with.”

Faramir held his gaze firmly. “It is the truth,” he said steadfastly.

Saruman shrugged. “Maybe I only called you here as bait.”

“Bait?” Faramir repeated.

“Your King will come and rescue you.”

Faramir shook his head. “You overestimate my significance, Saruman. I have resigned; I have no more value to the King.”

“Do not test my intelligence, boy! Even if your scruffy Ranger-King held no fondness for you personally, you are still the brother by marriage of his strongest ally, the King of Rohan. You and I both know he cannot afford to abandon you. My scouts tell me he will be here within the day,” Saruman smiled. “He obviously sees something of worth in you.”

Faramir closed his eyes. “No,” he breathed.

Saruman regarded him with intense amusement. “I have a welcoming surprise just for him.”

“What are you going to do?” Faramir asked.

The wizard’s smile was lethal. “That really depends on you, Lord Faramir.”

Faramir gulped, but he had to ask, “On me?”

Saruman smirked. “Think on what I have said.” He turned with a dramatic swirl and made for the door.

“Wait!” Faramir shouted angered beyond reason. What awful plan did he wizard have? “What are you talking about, wizard? I demand that you tell me. You cannot leave!”

At the door, Saruman turned, “But that’s exactly what I can do.” And he was gone.

Faramir cursed and struggled with his bonds but the more he fought, the tighter they became. Finally, exhausted he allowed his body to relax back into the chair. Then he became aware of the familiar sound of sniggering that came from behind him. He managed to look over his shoulder and saw Wormtongue, who regarded him from his perch on a window sill.

Jumping down, the Worm stopped laughing. “Another weakness,” he muttered as he moved around to stand in front of Faramir. “Eowyn and the King; how many more can you afford?”

Faramir stared at him. “Grima,” he said. “Do you honestly believe that Eowyn will be yours? Has Saruman ever delivered what he promised you in the past or is it not more likely that he will use you like he always has?

“Shut up!” Wormtongue said, as he reached for the gag.

“Grima, listen to me,” Faramir continued. “It should not be this way. You must know that he will betray you. He wants you only as long as you are of use to him.”

Wormtongue hesitated. “And you, son of Gondor, what can you offer me? Do you think I have forgotten the promise you made me? What you vowed to do to me?”

The door to the room opened again. Two large Uruk-Hui entered and moved towards Faramir.

“I told you not to bring us here,” Wormtongue continued. “You did not listen to me then, why should I listen to you, now?”

“You are as much a pawn in all this as me, Grima.” Faramir tried again.

The two Uraks were upon him now. They untied him and hauled him to his feet. Pulling his arms roughly behind his back, they held Faramir helpless.

Wormtongue moved in close. “The difference is, my dear Faramir, I am winning.”

He punched Faramir hard in the stomach. As the man’s mouth opened in pain, Wormtongue stuffed the gag in.

“Now that will shut you up,” Wormtongue pronounced. He tied the gag around the back of Faramir’s head. Faramir was struggling in the arms of the Uruk- Hai.

“Now, my friends have waited patiently. It’s their turn to have a little fun with you. Think on what Saruman said and don’t forget, Lord Faramir, you can end all of this if you make the correct decision,” he laughed and left the room, leaving Faramir bound and helpless, at the mercy of the Uraks.

Eowyn sighed impatiently. The column seemed to move so slowly and she was anxious to get to the tower as quickly as possible. She knew that time was precious and Faramir’s life may depend on how quickly they could get to him.

There was something that had been worrying her ever since she had left the tower. Although she had told Aragorn all that had happened, she had the feeling that she had overlooked something critically important. As she rode she kept re-running the incident over in her mind. For an instant she felt she had grasped it but then it fluttered out of her reach like an elusive butterfly.

Deep inside she knew that she had to recall what this thing was. So, as the column moved slowly onward, she sat silently on her horse and contemplated.