"He fell?" Théoden King whispered. "It cannot be."

The King of Rohan staggered back hard onto his throne, the throne given to his fathers by the fathers of this man. And now he was fallen. It was too much to take in. He had just been with them, a few short days ago, for Théodwyn's troth pledge. The King began to shake. No tears came; then moans issued from between bitten lips.

Théodred stood by the throne, appalled at his father's distress. The Steward of Gondor had been ally, yes, even friend, but friend enough to draw out such grief?

"What now for the Éorlingas?" Théoden groaned.

"Father, Boromir and Faramir must be told. A messenger must be sent to Minas Tirith."

"How did he fall? Had he even left our lands?"

Erkenbrand, standing silently behind Théodred, stepped forward. "His company was attacked where the Great West Road crosses the Mering Stream. None survived. Their bodies were found by an errand-rider returning from Gondor."

Finally the tears came. "Wise and valiant was my friend," Théoden whispered. "Tall and proud. True Steward of Gondor. The very blood of Westernesse flowed through Denethor's veins, strong and pure. We will not see another like him, my son. In the times to come, Rohan would have such need of him; he was an excellent ally. And true friend." He wiped the tears from his eyes. "Now, bring the Lady Indis to me. The Steward's sister must know."

Théodred bowed and left the throne room. Hurrying along the halls, he wondered why his father was sending for this woman. Why he had not sent the errand-rider immediately? Why had he been so disturbed by the death of one not of the Mark? He shrugged. Father would know what was best.

~*~

Laughter echoed through the halls and many of the servants smiled. Those smiles quickly disappeared as the clash of steel upon steel replaced the sound of laughter. One of the guards ran into the room and stopped short. Before him stood the Lady Morwen, mother of the king, wielding a sword above her head, whooping with joy. Her opponent was none other than the Lady Indis of Gondor. She also had a smile upon her face, yet sweat beaded upon her forehead and concentration filled her face. He saw the Shieldmaiden, Eledhwen, standing in front of both women, exhorting them to a faster pace. Shaking his head, he left them, hoping they would not need a leech.

Listöwel crowed as her friend parried one of Morwen's thrusts. "You have her now, Indis. Push forward!"

Eledhwen shook her head. Listöwel was quite mistaken. The Lady Indis would be wise to watch herself. None were better than Morwen Steelsheen when it came to swordplay. After all, had not Eledhwen instructed her these last ten years? She smiled. 'I would like to see this one try to best my student. Let her try.'

The women parted, saluted each other and began again. "You are trying to best me quickly so you can rest," Indis taunted her friend. "Your arm is weak from the children you have borne and the life of ease you live. My arm is still young and strong."

Morwen bent her head in laughter. "You will not sway me with your silly words, Indis. You are almost the same age is I. And your feints are as weak as a lamb's!"

They clashed again and this time, Morwen almost stripped the sword from Indis' hand. "Weak as a lamb! Then you are weak as a… a… " She burst into laughter. "I cannot think!"

Indis took a deep breath. The parry had cost her much energy. She rued the day she had stopped practicing. Now, Morwen, who had always been the better swordfighter, was ten times the master. She saluted her opponent and lowered her sword. "I cannot best you, sweet sister-friend. I could not when we practiced secretly in the dungeons of Minas Tirith ten years ago; I would be a fool to try now."

Morwen stepped quickly towards her friend and hugged her. "You were right to stop now. Another moment and I would have been beaten. I am so tired!"

Listöwel stepped forward. "You both looked wonderful. I am glad I did not take up your offer, Morwen." She turned to her friend. "You are even better than you were when young."

"Just a moment," Morwen grumbled. "Are you saying I am old?"

"Of course not." Listöwel laughed and smiled at Indis. "None would ever say you were old. Just tested."

Morwen threw a vambrace at Listöwel who ducked. The servant bringing tea tried to side-step the thrown armour, but the projectile caught her unawares. The tea, pots, cups and saucers, all fell to the floor with a resounding clang. Indis held her hands over her ears as Morwen ran forward to help, stricken that she had caused the accident.

The others stooped and helped as Morwen apologized and sent the servant back to the kitchen.

"I would much prefer a bath before I have my tea." Indis stood, a broken cup in her hand. She placed it carefully on the sideboard, wiped the sweat-soaked black hair off her face, and walked towards the door. "Much as I love each one of you, I need to wash." Sheathing her sword, she smiled and left the room.

~*~

Indis opened the door to the incessant knocking. She had finished her bath but a short time ago and was surprised that her friends were already begging entrance.

"Théoden King bids you approach his throne." Théodred stated loudly when she stared.

A smile crossed her face as she looked at the eager heir to the throne of Rohan.

"If you would give me but a moment or two; I have not yet broken my fast."

"There is no time for trivialities," the lad said, holding the door open and urgently beckoning the woman forward.

She stifled a laugh at the boy's excited behaviour, and decided to reward his devotion. Such obedience was hard to find and should be applauded; she would not tax the lad's patience. "One moment while I fetch my cloak, then I will be there." She turned towards her bed, but stopped as Théodred took her arm. "What means this?" she shivered as cold fear touched her heart.

Another tug at her arm and alarm filled her. "What has happened?" she cried. Her mirth at the antics of the heir turned to anger and frustration.

"Please. You must come to the throne room now. Father is waiting."

"I am the daughter of Ecthelion of the line of Húrin. I will brook no disrespect. Do not claw at my arm as if I were some rag doll."

Théodred stepped back in surprise. None ever questioned him when he spoke in the King's name. "My Lady, forgive me. I will wait upon your pleasure." He retreated to the door.

She regretted her tone. "Go. Tell your father that I will be along presently." Her fathers had given Théoden's fathers' fathers this land she stood upon. She would remind the heir that her royal lineage began long before his fathers even walked this land. She shook her head in wonderment. 'This is ridiculous,' she thought. 'I am playing cat and mouse with a child! My presence is obviously needed, else Théoden King would not have sent for me.' She picked up her cloak, wrapped it around her shoulders, and stepped through the door.

She was aware ofThéodred's breath as he walked close behind, his scabbard clinking against his hip. It seemed he willed her to increase her pace. He was almost as tall as she. This surprised her; she had not noted it before. As they entered the throne room, he stepped in front of her.

Théoden King rose as soon as Indis entered, waved his bowing son aside, and strode towards her, arms outstretched. A look of great pain filled his face; the tracks of tears could be seen upon his countenance.

Her heart constricted in pain. 'Something is terribly wrong,' her mind screamed. 'Oh! Dear Valar, not the children…'

She had not, until this very moment, even considered that one or both might be hurt. She could not bear it. They had gone with their father to the edge of Edoras to farewell him. She had not seen nor heard of them since they had left; Listöwel had taken them for the night. Or had she? That was yesterday, or was it? Her mind reeled in the sudden panic that filled her. She took a quick look around the hall.

Forgetting even to bow, she crossed the space between them in a moment. "What has happened?" she cried. "Where are Boromir and Faramir?" Her voice was growing frantic and she willed herself to calm.

"Please, Indis, sit here with me." Théoden King motioned towards a bench near the great fire in the middle of the hall; the morning's chill still hung in the air.

"Do not toy with me," she murmured darkly. "Tell me the news that brings such fear to my heart. Tell me now."

"Please, Indis, sit first. I will be brief if you but give me one moment."

She sat, folded her hands, and waited.

Taking a deep breath, the King knelt by her side. He took her hands in his.

His actions caused Indis to shake.

"Your brother…" He had been going over in his mind how to say this; he had searched furiously for the right words, yet none had come. He had hoped, by the time she entered the hall, that he would be prepared. He was not. "Your brother has been killed by Orc. And all his company, slain as well."

"Arciryas was with him!" She fell in a heap from the chair to the floor.

Théoden King shouted for the leech. He swore to himself. He had forgotten the woman's husband rode with Denethor!

She had all the necessary simples at her command in her herb cellar. 'Nine Herbs Charm' needed Mugwort, Waybread, Cress, Black Nightshade, Chamomile, Nettle, Crab Apple, Chervil, and Fennel. After pounding these to a powder, she mixed them with soap and the juice of an apple, and applied the charm itself, as a salve, on the lady's forehead, all the while singing into the mouth, ears and then the face of her potilas.

Indis stirred. The leech laughed as Théoden King sighed in relief. "Did you not trust me to heal her? 'Twas only a faint. If I cannot heal a faint, then call me useless!"

She turned again towards her patient. 'The heart needed the charm, for was it not broken?' she thought to herself. She did not say this to the King, only thought it. He seemed a fool this day, not even able to prepare the noble lady for such devastating news. The loss of a brother, nay that is not what caused her heart to stop, but the loss of a husband, one entwined in the heart. This one had never had dalliances, she could tell from the pain.

"Now you just rest yourself, dear lady, and none will bother you while you are under my care," she crooned.

There would be no argument from Indis. She never wanted to open her eyes again. The awakening brought such pain with it; her very heart felt torn in two; she did not think she could breathe. Once she realized she was not dead, she began to sob.

Morwen sat on the bed and held her hand. "Shush now, dearest friend. Shush now. Your sister-friends are with you. We will not leave you."

Listöwel sobbed quietly.

Morwen hushed her, giving the younger woman a look that would wither a warrior, but nothing could assuage Listöwel's grief for her friend.

"Leave us now," Théoden King commanded, looking directly at the Gondorian woman.

The leech gathered her tools, plucked at Listöwel's sleeve, and motioned for her to leave. "The King has spoken," she hissed as Listöwel twitched nervously away from her. A look from Morwen quieted her. Angrily, Listöwel left the room, followed by the leech.

The bedchamber grew quiet. Indis' sobs had ceased. She held her hand tightly to her chest; anguish filled her and pain flamed from her heart to her very extremities.

"There will be no time for mourning for you, I am afraid," the King's strong voice broke through the rush of sound that filled her ears and crashed against her being, the sound of a heart beating too wildly. "We must decide what is to be done. I have sent an errand-rider to Minas Tirith. Another cortege has been sent to recover your brother's body. They will bring it here. Then we will prepare an assemblage and ride in state with the body to Gondor. I will bring two full éored's with me. Who do you deem will sit on the Steward's Chair?"

Her eyes flew open. Gasping for breath, she turned to him. "Bring back the rider immediately." Her voice was ragged from the tears, but strong. "Bring back the rider at once and do not again presume to order Gondor about."

Théoden King stepped back a moment from the force of her anger. "You would presume to speak to me thus?" he wanted to shout, but remembered her state and gave her leeway.

Indis placed her fingers to her forehead, massaged it absently, and then sat up. Morwen looked upon her in shock, but she let it not stop her. She threw the coverlet off and stood up. Swaying but a moment, she held up her hand to stop the offers of help. She walked to the bowl on the nightstand, laved her face, and turned. "I will take the Regency. I am the daughter of Ecthelion and the guardian of the heir. Until Boromir has come of age, Gondor will be under my care. Send Listöwel back and leave me. I must spend time in thought."

Théoden stood there, transfixed. Morwen's mouth hung open. Indis turned her back on them and walked to the desk, sat, and began writing.

After a moment, when she heard no sound of their departure, she turned and gave them a withering glance. "One more thing. I do not want Boromir nor Faramir to hear of their father's death from any but me. That is my duty and my responsibility. Please abide by my decision." Her voice grew quiet. "Now, please leave me. Please."

Once the room was emptied, her tears began again.

'So this is how poor Denethor felt when his beloved Finduilas passed. By the Valar, I did not understand. If I had known the pain of losing your heartmate… dearest Denethor.' Her chin began to quiver. 'Mayhap he is at peace. And my beloved venno, my Arciryas. He will be healed from the cares and worries that have plagued him all these years. No more to carry the weight of Gondor's Master Healer, nor to hold a dead comrade in his arms and weep over the loss. No more to see a friend waste away with no hope for healing, nor to hold my hand in his…' She laid her head on the writing table and sobbed. She did not hear Listöwel enter.

"My Lady," Listöwel greeted her, knowing by the look Morwen had given as they passed in the hall that a change had come upon her dearest friend.

Indis sat up. She beckoned to Listöwel who knelt by her side. "Listöwel, I have great need of your courage and friendship. Much will happen in these next days, and I will need your strength. Are you ready to change the mantle you wear?"

Listöwel nodded.

"I am naming myself Regent of Gondor."

The leech entered the room. "Forgive me, my lady, but you must eat. I have prepared a tray. Good things that will bring the colour back to your cheeks and hope into your heart."

"Leave it here," Indis motioned towards the desk, and then waved the woman away. She had no time for food; she had spent the last two hours in deep discussion with Listöwel, going over who of the Council would support her and who would contest her decision.

But the leech would not leave. Indis stared at her, anger rising quickly. Anger felt good; it had form and substance, whereas grief only emanated pain and left her feeling weak and ineffective. She opened her mouth to speak, but the leech began before she could.

"Gossips fill the air with strange ideas. Regent. Is it true?"

"I asked you to leave." Her cheeks flamed red.

"I have put the thought in your mind, you know," the woman's face lit up as she spoke. "You were nigh unto dead, giving your life to a spectre who no longer lives." She smiled and Indis drew back. "You need not be ashamed. Many women prefer to end their lives when they are left alone. I saw strength and greatness in you when first you arrived. I read the leaves and I would not let you depart from this life. You are in my debt."

Listöwel, anger filling her and blushing up to the black hair that framed her face, moved as if to force the woman from the room, but Indis put out her hand. "Stay, Listöwel. Sit. Let us hear what further works she thinks she has done."

The woman noted the scorn in Indis' voice, but laughed, a light, mirth-filled laugh. "I have done nothing but save you. And you would berate me, scorn me, ridicule me for doing such?"

Indis' cheeks burned red again, but in shame. The woman had spoken true. In the depths of her heart, when first she heard the news that Arciryas was gone, a terrible thought had filled her. "Forgive me," was all she could say. "Hope is mine because of your charm?"

"Nay! Charms and runes are for fools. I sing the words and make the movements for the people's sake. It is the herbs and the heart that do the deed. My heart is strong and I have kept it pure to help my people." She paused for a moment, fell to her knees, and took Indis' hand in hers. "I would return with you to Minas Tirith, my lady. Long have I admired your brother; long have I waited for an opportunity to serve him. What better way! I would help you govern the land. I would help you hold what is rightfully the young boy's. There are many there who would take his birthright from him, is it not true? You will need strong allies. I have many gifts and uses. Would you take me?"

Listöwel turned to Indis. "Do not consider it, my lady. She tried to trick you, gave herself airs, and now she pleads. Do not consider it."

"Listöwel, look into your heart. Do you not see she speaks the truth? I do not fear her. Grief will endeavor to o'ercome me in these next weeks. I cannot afford that. I must be strong." Indis turned to the woman and helped her rise. "What is your name?"

"Ragnhild. It means one who is wise in battle. I battle sickness and death. I would battle them in your name."

"I will accept your offer, Ragnhild. You shall be one of my counselors. Please sit." Listöwel made as if to speak; Indis stayed her. "I have heard of this one before, my friend. The Lady Morwen values her highly. As did her husband, Thengel King."

She turned fully to Listöwel. "I said before that I have a new mantle I need you to wear. To some, it would seem foolish, but I deem my next action wise." She smiled. "At least, I hope so. Listöwel, I name you my Captain-General."

"Nay!" Listöwel rose as she shouted out. "I am no more a warrior than the White Mountains are flat! I cannot do this."

"Who do we have left that I can trust? Your husband Amdir, Denethor's most trusted friend and aide, is gone. He, I would have made Regent even! Captain Thorongil, Captain Ingold, and Denethor – all gone. There are none I trust. There were few Denethor trusted. I have spent my whole life at my father, the Steward's, side. I have been trained in strategy and politics. I will help you. If I give an order, Listöwel, I must know that it is followed completely."

"The men will never accept me. I do not even know if they will accept you," Listöwel pleaded. "One of the wealthier and more powerful lords could easily wrest power for himself and put us all in the dungeons. And what of Boromir and Faramir? You say you keep the Chair for Boromir. He has not yet even been raised to squire. Long will his training be. Do you think you can keep Gondor's enemies at bay long enough to train him? I do not."

"Théoden King will support you, my lady," Ragnhild spoke up. "As will Éomund and even Théodred, though he be but young. The Lady Morwen will stand by you. I know their hearts. I have been with this family for many a long year. I have listened and watched. Trust me. They will want the rightful heir, Boromir, as Steward. They know there are others in Gondor who would take the title from him, by force if necessary. I tell you, my lady, you will have the Rohirrim with you."

Indis looked up in amaze. "You speak well, counselor. You will call me Indis." She bowed her head. "Théoden King spoke of accompanying Denethor's body to Minas Tirith. He spoke of bringing two éoreds with him."

Listöwel spoke. "We would need the Valar themselves and all their powersto induce the men of Gondor to accept you as Regent. We would need Varda herself to compel them to accept me as Captain-General!"

Indis smiled. "Aye. 'Twould seem your words are true, my friend. I am not saying it is not a daunting task. But I will not let another steal Boromir's birthright." Her grey eyes darkened as she spoke. "None have reckoned with me before. They will learn, when it comes to Denethor's sons, naught will stand in my way."

"You must go to Théoden King, and quickly; ask him to muster his army." Ragnhild sat forward in her chair. "It is the only way."

"Nay, there is more that can be done." Indis's face lit with sudden excitement. "Prince Adrahil! He is Boromir's grandfather. I will send a missive to Dol Amroth asking Prince Adrahil to bring Belfalas' troops with him when he comes for the burial. He will do it, if the missive is worded fittingly. And," she looked at Ragnhild. "I will send you with it. I do not know yet whom I can trust. But I trust you." Suddenly she sat, put her hands to her face, and breathed deeply. "Théoden King spoke well. There will be no time for mourning." Her face contorted, but she held the tears at bay.

Once Indis had recovered her composure, she sent for Boromir and Faramir. Her heart ached as they ran into the room chattering about the cakes they were helping to make in the kitchens. Faramir jumped up onto the bed. She wondered who had taken them, and blessed whoever it was for keeping them busy and out of the way of voices, whispering horrid tidings in the hallways.

Boromir sat at Indis' feet and Faramir cuddled into Listöwel' arms. "My sweet little ones," she crooned. "Thou art happy?" She lapsed into the tongue that their mother used when she would lullaby them to sleep.

They smiled at her, not saying a word. Boromir, after a moment, asked when they might return to the city. "I miss Adar, Amma. We have had a wonderful time here. I have learned much, but I miss him. Too soon and I will be leaving for training. Only three more months. I want to spend the time with Adar."

She wanted to weep. 'Only three more months,' she thought. 'Only never, my poor Boromir.'

"I am ready to go home anytime now, Amma. I feel perfectly well." Faramir's eyebrows had lifted in enthusiasm. "I very much like it here, but I am ready, too. Please may we go?"

She smiled. The lad had assumed they stayed because of him. He had had a fever a fortnight ago and had lain in bed for three days. Denethor had decided to let him rest a little longer before he brought the boys back to Minas Tirith. He had left Indis and Listöwel with them, and three companies. Indis shuddered at the thought. Mayhap if he had taken his entire army, he would still be alive; Arciryas would be alive. Another thought sent chills through her; the boys would be dead if they had accompanied their father.

She had, at first, decided not to tell them. She had vowed she would leave them with Théoden King and return to Minas Tirith herself, until things had settled down. But she knew now that that would be impossible. If she left them here, they would discover their father was dead. They would be alone in their grief, bereft of any family. She could not do that. She would bring them with her and tell them on the road, as they neared the city. Give them a few days to absorb the news whilst they traveled and to mourn in private.

She walked to the bed, climbed into it and beckoned them to join her. As she looked at them, she realized she had no time to keep such things secret. Leaning against the soft, billowing pillows, she held Boromir on her right and Faramir on her left. Listöwel sat at the end of the bed. For a moment, Indis laid her head back against the great oaken headboard and prayed to the Valar for words. None came.

"I would remind you that you are kin to warriors. Your ancestors were such; you have been told their stories, like your namesake, Boromir, strong and fierce and brave. And like the great sea captain that your Ada loved so, Vëantur. You remember the stories he told of the voyages the captain took?" They nodded. "Do you remember how he went forth to the lands north and was attacked?"

They both looked up at her, smiles upon their lips as they waited for the beloved tale of the brave captain.

"You remember, he did not return. And all of Gondor was sad." She sat for a long moment and the boys started to stir. "Boromir. Faramir. Your Ada was attacked on the road home. The Orc proved too strong and too many for his company. He fell."

She would not coat the telling by offering platitudes of how brave he had been, how fierce he had fought, and how their names were on his lips when he fell. Great tears streaked down her face. She wanted with her whole heart to tell them these things. But she could not. He fell. That was the beginning and the end of it. The only thing they needed to know, at this moment.

There was stunned silence as Boromir, now eleven, and Faramir, just six, tried to comprehend what she had said. This was no story.

Boromir clutched her arm. "You are… Ada wilt not return? He is dead?" Tears streamed down the defenseless face. "It cannot be, Amma. Someone has lied to you. Please do not say this." He flung himself away from her, sobbing and hiding his head under the pillows. Faramir clutched his knees to his chest and began to wail. Indis clasped him to her, stroking his hair and whispering his name. They stayed as such.

Night came. No one lit the candles nor stoked the fire. None moved. At last the chambermaid came into the room, humming a lively folk tune. She stopped short as she looked about her, the light from the hallway illuminating the forlorn family before her. She bowed quickly, left the door open and ran down the hall.

In a few moments, Éomund, Third Marshall of the Riddermark and friend of Denethor, Steward of Gondor, was at the door. He quietly went to the fire and stoked it, then to the sconces on the wall and lit them. He pulled the drapes on the windows closed, then walked to the bed. Sitting next to Faramir, he took the lad gently into his arms. Faramir had fallen asleep, but his body shuddered now and again. Tormented moans escaped his lips. The sound, for Éomund, became almost unbearable.

Indis turned to Boromir. He had ceased sobbing, but his hands still clutched the bedclothes. She saw blood on the coverlet and tried to pry his hands open. He clutched it still tighter. She kissed his forehead and spoke. "Please let me see thy hands, Boromir." He pulled them to his chest. She stroked his arm. "Thou art bleeding." She managed to pull one hand free and saw blood seeping from four little moon-shaped wounds. "Oh!" she moaned.

"I do not care," his muffled voice whimpered. "I want Ada. I want to see him. I want to touch his face. I want him to hold me, Amma." He gulped and the tears came again. Angrily, he hit the pillows. "I wilt not cry," he moaned, "I wilt not."

Éomund stood up, passed Faramir to Listöwel and walked to the other side of the bed. He touched Boromir's hand; the boy pulled away. "Boromir, it is I Éomund. Would you sit with me for a moment? Here on the settle by the fireplace?"

Boromir flung his arms about the warrior's neck. Éomund picked him up and took him to the chair. As Boromir's sobbing slowed, then stopped, silence once again filled the room.

"All Rohan cried today, Boromir. Not one soldier, not one rider, not one warrior did not mourn your father's death. He was most loved. I too loved him. You know that, Boromir. I would not have you hide the memory of him. We have many tales to tell and much remembering to do. Would you join us in the Golden Hall tomorrow night? Would you share with us some of the times that you spent with him? Some of the adventures you had?"

Boromir looked up in wonder. "They will tell tales about Adar? Like they do with Captain Vëantur? Was Adar as important as the sea captain?"

"Aye, Boromir, your father was more important than even the great sea captain."

Boromir sat still for a long moment. "I will go to the hall and I will tell some tales." His chin shook a little. "Nay, I cannot."

"Why, Boromir, why cannot you do this?"

"I will weep like a babe and shame my Adar's memory." Tears slid down his cheek.

"I will be crying too, Boromir, and many others with us. It is no shame to mourn someone we love."

Boromir turned his face into the crook of Éomund's shoulder. "May I sit by you during the telling?"

"I would be honoured, Boromir."

The lad lifted his face to the warrior's and Éomund kissed his forehead. "Now sleep, Boromir, and dream of your father. He will always love you; will always be in your heart and in the hearts of all good men everywhere."

"You know not what you are doing." The sweat shone on his face. Théoden King had been pacing for the last half hour, clenching his fists, walking towards her, then away. His voice was biting and harsh. His anger was potent.

Indis could feel it, understand it; yet she had to fight the urge to lash back. She had made one critical error already – treating him so coldly when she awoke to find the healer staring down upon her, breathing into her very being. Her sharp words had come back to haunt her. If only she had not been so angry with him. His taking command was natural. Was not he the King of Rohan? Her cheeks flamed red. 'He took charge because I am a woman!' She sat back, watching him pace, and wondered why that thought caused her, even now, to feel such anger. The man had always been kind to her. She wondered vaguely if he knew she were Denethor's counselor.

"My lord," she finally said in a moment of silence, "women do not ascend the throne in Rohan. I know that." She kept her voice quiet, not placating, but outwardly peace-filled. "Yet in Gondor, nay, in our ancestral home in ages past, a Queen sat on the throne. The eldest held the scepter; male or female, it made no difference. I do not presume to do that, even though I am the eldest and now the only heir of Ecthelion. I do not want to rule Gondor. I have no intention of becoming Queen nor Steward. Think now, my lord. Who would you tell me to accept as Steward?"

The King ceased his pacing, sat on his throne, and beckoned her to come forward. As she did, he pointed his hand towards Morwen's chair. She took it, sat clasping her hands tightly on its arms, and continued.

"Who, amongst those in the Council, would you have lead Gondor? You know them as well as I do. You know the scorn Denethor had for them all. Yet you would ask me to turn Gondor over to the likes of them!" Indis' heart raced. She took a breath, as deep as she could without him seeing it. She forced herself to calm. "Would you truly ask me to give away Boromir's birthright? I do not see any of those who would clamour for the title likely to give it back, once Boromir is of age. In fact, I do not see Boromir being allowed to live. Nor Faramir. Do you doubt this? I have no illusions about the men of Gondor. The good ones have been slain or lost to us." Her anger had turned to sorrow and pain. Another inhalation. "I beg your counsel, Théoden King, but do not base it upon Rohan's standards."

He bowed his head for a moment; then turned to her. "You believe Boromir and Faramir's lives are in jeopardy?"

"I do, my Lord."

A heavy sigh escaped his lips. "Evil flourishes even in mighty Minas Tirith?"

"Aye, my Lord."

He rested his elbows on the arms of his throne and rubbed his forehead. "I believe you; your brother had spoken of treason before he left."

Startled, she looked up. "The Orc attack! Are you certain it was Orc? Or are you saying others…"

"Yes, I am certain it was Orc," the King interrupted her. "But I have many questions about the attack. Why was Denethor's company traveling so near to the foothills? Why were they not on the road?" He nodded at her look. "They were leagues south of the Great West Road. I had received missives reporting an increase in Orc activity in that area. I had cautioned your brother to stay on the road. I am afraid he was led astray. By whom, I do not know. I have no proof. Others may say he was strong-willed and made some excuse to leave the road for the adventure, but I do not believe that. Yes, Indis, I say it was murder."

They sat silent for a long while.

"Next will be his sons, unless you give up this plan. Prince Adrahil can rule Gondor. Had you considered him?"

"I had not. He is… stubborn. His loyalty is to Belfalas only. I trust him," she acknowledged, "but I do not believe he will leave Dol Amroth."

"You are probably correct. There is his son, Prince Imrahil."

"I had not thought of him when I made the decision."

"Denethor loved him, that I know. Did not his men fight with Gondor's Knights at the Battle of Osgiliath just soon passed?"

"They did." She sighed. "He would be a worthy Regent. But only a Regent, for Boromir must become Steward."

"I agree. I think Prince Imrahil will govern Gondor well, until Boromir comes of age."

"Then it is settled in your mind? You think it more fitting that a man take this position?"

"Nay. That is not what I meant… and yet it is. Do you believe the Council will accept you as Regent? Do you want another Kin-strife? That is what will happen, I believe, if you do this. Prince Imrahil is young but respected. He will be accepted. He will be able to hold Gondor together until Boromir takes the Rod."

She put her hands together and sighed once more. "Grief and fear took hold of me. You speak wisely, Théoden King. I will send a missive to Prince Adrahil asking him to send his son to Minas Tirith. I will swear him to secrecy; then beseech him to encourage Prince Imrahil to sit on the Steward's Chair. When the Prince comes, I will offer the Regency to him, but not the Rod. I will place the Rod in the Treasury until Boromir takes his rightful place as Steward."

"That is not the end of our problems, Indis," Théoden King said. "Whoever murdered Denethor will still want the rule of Gondor. Your brother did not have many enemies. He was not murdered for revenge, or anger, but for power. The Knights and the might of Belfalas will protect Prince Imrahil. Who will protect Boromir and Faramir? If we let it be known that Boromir is to take the throne on his twenty-first birthday, they will look for a way to eliminate him. I think you must use subterfuge and declare Prince Imrahil as the next Steward of Gondor."

She recoiled at the thought. "Nay! It is too dangerous. Boromir will never become Steward if this happens. You speak of Kin-strife, and rightfully so. Once the Prince is seated as Steward, do you not think the Council and the people will grow accustomed to his rule? Then, when it is time for Boromir to replace him, will they allow it? We leave Boromir open for strife and chaos. I would another way!"

"Prince Imrahil will never allow that to happen. When his father passes, he will have Belfalas to rule. He is not greedy. The people will understand that. You will see."

Tears filled her eyes. "My brother… if there is any bond between our world and where he has gone, then he will be most distraught. I can hardly bear the thought."

"I understand. Do not fear. Prince Imrahil will hand the Rod to Boromir when the appointed time arrives. You are most wise to agree to this. Now, we must look to the preparations for the trip to Minas Tirith."

She hardly heard any further, though Théoden King spoke for nigh unto an hour. He sent for a scribe who wrote his instructions down. Then the King sent for Théodred, who took the papers and ran off to fulfill his father's commands. At last, he rose, helped her rise, kissed her on the cheek, and sent her off.

'Sent me off is exactly what he did,' she fumed as she walked the hallways towards her own chambers. 'What kind of men are these Rohirrim? Sending women off to do their duty. Not like soldiers, though. Nay! Like drudges. With no brains.' She was livid by the time she entered her room. Slamming the door closed, she stopped.

"What are you doing here?" she angrily questioned the healer.

"I heard of your meeting with Théoden King. It did not go well."

"How do you know?" Indis wondered; had the woman been hiding somewhere in the hall?

"Slammed doors are the sign of angry minds."

"Forgive me, Ragnhild. My mind is awhirl with suspicion, anger, and frustration."

"Sit here, my lady. I have prepared a tea, made of fresh herbs, that will calm you."

Indis looked at her questioningly.

"My lady, if I am to be your counselor, you must trust me. Else I cannot counsel. I can do naught but take back my pledge to aid you and leave."

Indis sighed and then laughed bitterly. "All I have done today is sigh. I am limited in what I may do. I feel… caged." She started to pace the floor, caught herself doing the same thing Théoden had been doing, and laughed again. She looked about the room. "Where are the children? Boromir and Faramir?" A slight chill ran down her spine.

"They are with Éomund and Théodwyn. They have taken them to see some new colts."

"They are too kind. Only just wed these past few days and already watching children."

"I think," Ragnhild said, "that they will have many children." She smiled. "They are good hearted and well suited for each other. The children will return shortly. Perhaps you would like some help preparing yourself for the watching ceremony? We will wake the fallen from before sundown till first star. I believe Théoden King means to leave for Gondor shortly after the breaking of the morrow's fast."

"How could he? Is the body here already?" Indis fell to her knees. "By the Valar," she moaned, "I have forgotten Arciryas in all this. Where is he? Is he here in Edoras? Where have they laid him?"

"He is here. He will not be laid out as Denethor will; yet his body will be held in high esteem. He is in the antechamber of Théoden King's own study. Would you go to him now?"

"Aye. Now." She shuddered, pulled her robe about her, and followed Ragnhild.

In the hour before the sun rose, Indis wearily placed her feet into the stirrups. The boys still slept, placed gently into the wain by Éomund. Théodwyn had covered them with furs and turned towards her husband. She kissed him and walked away. 'A true warrior's wife,' Indis thought, remembering with fondness the young child who used to run through the halls of Minas Tirith when Thengel King and his family visited Gondor. Listöwel would ride alongside the cart that held Boromir and Faramir. Ragnhild, with a missive for Prince Adrahil, had ridden out an hour earlier with two Rohirric guards at her command. Indis had given Ragnhild a token to present to the Prince, a small pin with a carven swan upon it that Finduilas, wife of Denethor and daughter of Adrahil, had gifted to Indis.

Indis was too restless to ride in a cart. The mare Théodred had given her was small and suited her well. Biddable to her touch, it obeyed easily; it would be a simple ride, at least for a time. She had spent the night in tears and needed to be by herself. 'Some say tears dry up after a time; the body runs out of moisture to fuel them, but that is not so.'

Her beloved husband's body lay alongside Denethor's at the back of the line in the ornately carved likwain. Théoden rode in front of the column along with his son. Then came Éomund and Indis.

'Two weeks, at least, before we turn into the Pelennor,' she thought. She longed to be there now. She must speak with the King tonight;there were things that still needed to be said. She was grateful that he had been so quick to muster his men, that he was leading them to Minas Tirith, and that he had brought Théodred and Éomund with him. It was an act of courage, for Rohan still needed protection. It had surprised her that Théoden had brought Théodred, but she had noted the King seemed to include his heir in many aspects of the rule of Rohan. A decidedly different course than Ecthelion had taken with his own son. Still, she could not bring herself to dwell further upon the way their father had raised them, not now.

They had been traveling for at least three hours. She had ridden back to the wain; she and Listöwel chatted as the cart trundled along. The boys were still asleep, wearied by last evening's ceremony, by the grief that washed over them when they had a moment to think, and by the movement of the cart. Théodred had ridden up alongside her, asking if he might speak with Boromir. She told him the boy was still asleep, but Théodred insisted upon staying by the wain.

"He will wake soon and then we may speak. I am tired of hearing soldiers' talk."

She laughed, bid Listöwel farewell and returned to the head of the line, reining in next to Éomund. "I am sorry that you must leave your bride so soon. But I am most grateful. She is a brave woman, as are all the women of Rohan. She takes after her mother in this respect."

"I loved your brother well, since the first moment we met by the Mering Stream. I could do no less for him; he would do no less for me." Éomund smiled. "And yes, she is most brave… and beautiful." He paused for a moment. "Your brother knew I loved Théodwyn before I knew it myself." His eyes clouded. "I will sorely miss Denethor; to escort his body is an honour."

Indis bowed her head in thought; they rode on in silence.

A startled cry from the wain driver and Indis spun around in her saddle, watching helplessly as the cart tipped wildly, and then turned over on its side. As fast as she was to ride towards it, Théodred, was faster.

Boromir had awakened earlier, moved forward and sat upon the seat next to the driver. Théodred had been riding alongside the cart, chatting animatedly.

Théodred was off his horse in an instant and climbing into the back, searching frantically for Faramir. Boromir had been flung back into the wain by the force of the collapse. As she pulled up, Théodred stuck his head through the canvas and waved. "They are well, just a little frightened. Listöwel has survived, too."

A score of soldiers had ridden up as quickly as Indis. Grimbold, Éomund's second, set about taking the children from Théodred as he helped a shaken Faramir and Boromir out through the back of the cart; then, Grimbold reached in and passed Listöwel to Éomund. Another score of men turned their attention to the wain. It took only moments for them to push it upright and replace the broken wheel.

Indis kept as calm as she could. She knew she would frighten Boromir and Faramir if she cried. She smiled as they turned to her, yet, she noted, they still clung to the warriors' hands that held them.

Tentatively, Boromir smiled. "That was quite a ride, was it not, Faramir?"

She could have hugged him for making light of the crash. "Are you hurt?" She ran her hands over their arms and legs, looked long into their eyes for sign of headhurt, and then hugged each one.

Boromir wiped the dust from his tunic, looked at Faramir, whose eyes were still wide with fright, and did the same to him. "We are quite well."

Théodred patted Boromir's shoulder; he too had been quite frightened, and needed to touch his friend to confirm his safety.

"We will camp here and have our noon meal," she heard Théoden King's voice boom out. He walked slowly towards them. "Are all well?"

"They seem to be, my Lord," Éomund said quietly so as not to frighten the lads even more. "I see no cuts. I am sure bruises will appear soon, but for now, they seem well."

"Then please take them over by the fire, Listöwel." Théoden King pointed to where soldiers were lighting one. He turned to Grimbold. "Send for the leech. They are probably thirsty, too. We have brought mead; make weakened cups for each of them. I think it will help stop the shivering." He walked to Faramir, put his huge arm around the lad, and pulled him into his chest. "I would be shaking, too," he whispered. "I am surprised you did not cry."

"As soon as the cart stopped, Boromir made me promise. Amma affrights easily."

Théoden King threw his head back and laughed loudly. His men turned towards him, smiling at the joy of their king. The heaviness of fear dissipated. The children smiled, too. Then, he shooed them towards Listöwel. As he turned towards Indis, his face hardened. She stiffened in surprise. Noting Boromir and Faramir were well tended, Théoden King took her arm, and steered her slowly away from camp. Éomund and Grimbold joined them.

"The draught traces were severed," Théoden King spoke quietly. "The chains had been pulled apart, but left intact only enough to hold under stress for a short time. There were marks on the chains; I tell you, marks of a tool used to pull them apart. That Boromir and Faramir are not dead is a wonderment."

Shivering, Indis turned towards the wain. There was nothing to show that the cart had been tampered with, at least as far as she could ascertain. She knew Théoden King's men had inspected it, and believed what he said was true. She could not get the sight of the crippled wain out of her mind, pitched wildly to the left, where the wheel had broken after the horses had run. "I wish with all my heart that I did not understand, yet I understand too well. You are saying an attempt has been made on their lives."

"Aye," Théoden King spoke quietly, "and I believe it is the same enemy who contrived Denethor's death. You say Minas Tirith is where the danger comes from. I agree, but there are no Gondorians in Edoras."

"The assassin is from the Mark?" Théodred asked incredulously.

Théoden King scowled. "You were not invited to this meeting."

The boy lowered his head but refused to move. "Boromir is my friend."

"What reason would a Rohirrim have to kill the Steward of Gondor and his sons? Denethor worked tirelessly to strengthen relations between our countries," Indis interrupted.

"Coin," Théoden King said.

"Hired killer!" spat Éomund.

She turned to the King. "Then I know what we must do."

"I know where your thoughts lead, and mine go in that direction also. When we are back on our horses, meet with me," Théoden King stated. "We will pull a little to the side, as if contemplating the column, and then speak in private." They all agreed. "You," Théoden King turned towards Théodred, "will return to the cart with Boromir. Let no word of this pass your lips, my son. I had not wished for you to learn of such treachery. More so do I not want Boromir and Faramir frightened by such grave news."

Théodred made as if to protest, but Éomund took him by the hand and walked him to the cart. "It is best for a soldier to obey his liege lord instantly."

Théodred's face turned a deep red. "I am chastised. Forgive me."

"It is your father you should seek forgiveness from, my Lord Théodred. Have I not taught you the importance of obedience to a liege lord, never mind your king and father?"

Théodred turned, as if to return to his father. Éomund stopped him. "Leave your father for now. He knows your heart, Théodred. He will not take this to heart. It has been a hard day. He understands."

Indis walked back with them, trying to remain distant from their conversation. When they reached the fire, she sat by the children, thanking Éomund as he left to return to his King's side.

Faramir leaned his head on her shoulder. "I am tired."

"I know, little one," she used his father's term of endearment. "'Tis a long road we take. I need thee both to rest this afternoon. Please do not stay awake. Let thy bodies recover from this mishap. Wilt thou promise me thou wilt try to sleep?"

They both nodded their heads. Boromir looked at her quizzically, but kept silent.

Listöwel knew better than to ask questions. Indis was in command now, no matter what Théoden King might think. She could tell it in her friend's eyes. She had seen that look many a time during sword practice, just before Indis swung a blow that would be fatal if they were fighting for their lives.

When lunch was over, the soldiers assembled. Théoden King addressed them. "We will not let this misfortune slow our progress. The wain has been repaired. We must reach Minas Tirith so the Rod of the Steward may be passed to the rightful heir, Boromir. Gondor is weakened without a Steward. If Gondor is weak, then so is Rohan."

Erkenbrand shouted the order to mount; the column formed slowly and methodically. The likwain, with its burden of sorrow, followed.

All four waited on the side of the Great West Road, watching the company file by, led by Grimbold. "'Tis time to speak now," Théoden King stood up in his saddle. Indis brought her horse closer to his. He looked into the lady's eyes. "Do you have the stomach for this? It will be quite dangerous. Traveling at night on the road between Rohan and Gondor can be treacherous. There are gullies and hidden breaks in the land. The moon is only just begun to grow. You will have little light. You could easily lose the road."

She nodded. "I am ready."

"No one will see you, if you go quietly."

"What are you saying? Do you think them all blind?" Théodred wondered aloud.

"When evening comes, we will camp for the night," Théoden King said, stopping with a look any further outbursts from Théodred. "Boromir and Faramir will be put to bed. At mid night's time, Éomund will bring the children to the horses. Orders have already been given for provisions. I know those I trust. I used to believe I could trust them all." He suddenly lowered his head.

"Father. It is not one of our own, not one of the knights. It must be someone from outside Edoras, mayhap one of the sons of..."

"Nay, 'tis one of the nobles of Rohan, but I agree with you, my son. I do not think it is one of our knights. Yet sometimes a tongue wags and others find ways to use the tongue's tale."

"We will say that the children were frightened by the mishap, have taken ill, and that you, Indis, ride with them in the wain to comfort them. Listöwel must remain with the company. She can come and go from the cart as if she were fetching things for you and caring for you." The king saw the look on her face. "I am sorry you must lose your companion."

"As for you," he turned towards Éomund, "you will accompany them. I trust none better. You will take your second. The men will be told that you have been sent to Minas Tirith to prepare for our arrival. None with sense can believe that Gondor will not be concerned when a column of well-armed Rohirrim enter their land. I have already sent a messenger to Gondor with the news of my coming, but none know of these actions. I will send Grimbold and his second with you; his excuse will be that he has been sent ahead to scout the area."

He turned towards Indis again. "My heart misspeaks me in this endeavor; however I am most concerned for the children. I fear another attempt will be made on their lives. Better they are away from here. Orc were about; you know it as well as I do, yet I deem them gone, now that the deed has been done. I do not think anyone would consider sending a band against the might of Rohan now. It would take a large band indeed to o'ercome two éoreds of my men." He was interrupted by his son's harsh voice.

"And where am I to be? Am I to stay with the column? As a serving maid or some such?" The anger in Théodred's voice sounded very much like tears. "Am I to leave my friend alone on such a dreadful ride, and him with no friend to help him?"

"What is the Lady Indis? A toy? What is Éomund? A pet? Nay, Théodred, he will be well tended. You have naught to fear for him." Yet his father knew it was fear for Boromir that made the lad so outspoken. "You, my son, will stay in your own tent and wait for the dawn to come. I would have you ride at my side."

"I must go, Father. Please."

"I deem it too dangerous, my son. Do not let your concern for your friend o'ershadow your duty. You are to stay with me and the column. I have spoken."

Indis took pity on him. It would be most difficult to ride with the soldiers for two full weeks. "My Lord, might you reconsider? Boromir and Faramir would be most pleased to have your son with them."

Théoden King looked long at her. Was she devising some plan? Nay. "Théodred, go to the cart with Boromir."

"Father!"

"Now."

Théodred hung his head, disconsolate, and rode off.

"The men of Rohan are now suspicious of their own allies?" Indis asked.

Théoden King grimaced. "Aye… and nay. I have told you it is dangerous. Would you have me put my own son into danger?"

"'Twould seem to be more dangerous staying with the column than with a small party riding at night. This column has already been attacked. If your son stays here, and pretends to be near to the Steward, he courts trouble."

'The Steward. Well, she is not so compliant as I thought.' He smiled. "Where will you meet us? When the column enters the Pelennor or once we have entered the city?"

"Nay. I know of a hidden door into Minas Tirith. We will stay out of sight at all times, traveling at night. Once we cross the Pelennor, we will enter and disappear into the bowels of the city until we hear of your arrival. I will not come forth, even if Prince Adrahil himself comes, until I hear your horns."

Théoden King smiled, laid his hand on Indis' shoulder and spoke. "You are quite the woman, Indis of Húrin. I beg you be careful. I will allow Théodred to accompany you, though I do not lightly send my son with you."

"I will take good care of him, my Lord, and I will be careful. As should you be. The assassin might consider his state and afear your might, leading to a rash act. Guard yourself well."

Théoden King nodded, then, noting Théodred had ridden no further than a stone's throw, motioned the lad back to him. "You may ride with Boromir. You are a knight of the Mark. I place Faramir and Boromir under your protection."

"Thank you, Father." His face beamed. "I will not fail you."

"I know, my son," Théoden King leaned over and hugged the lad, then turned his horse and rode to the front of the line. Théodred and Indis rode towards the cart. Éomund sat in silence, pondering the road ahead, then clicked and his horse moved forward.

Soon after, voices were lifted in song as the Rohirrim marched towards Minas Tirith.

Night fell, horses were billeted, the meal was taken, and the camp settled down. Indis lay in the cart, her heart beating wildly. Their course of action was dangerous, she understood that, but what caused her distress, as she lay in the quiet warmth of the furs Théodwyn had given them, was the memory of the wain's crash. Even with her eyes open, a part of her could see it. She wanted to pull the boys to her and never let them go.

"I must speak with you, Amma," Boromir whispered into her ear.

"I thought you asleep," she answered in surprise.

"How may I sleep when I see your eyes constantly shift as if you are frightened, watch the scowl on the King's face grow long, and see Théodred's eyes fastened upon his father? Adar taught me well how to watch for signs. I will be squire in just a few short months. Do you think I am going to that appointment untrained? I am to be the next Steward, am I not." It was not a question, but a statement. "Has not Adar trained me all these long years for that? Though I be but eleven, Amma, I am ready. Aye, even if I must take the Rod now, though I would it were not so, that Adar were here with us instead." Tears fell in a rush as he spoke the brave words. "I am my Adar's son, Amma." He did not bat the tears away, as was his wont. He let them fall. "I know my duty."

She bowed her head to him. "Forgive me, my Lord." She sat in silence considering her response. Finally, she raised her head. "I have taken council with Théoden King. He advises me to place your uncle, Prince Imrahil, as Steward until you come of age. Then, Prince Imrahil would pass the Rod to you."

"What think you of that, trusted counselor of the Steward?" Boromir asked quietly.

Surprised again, Indis stared at him.

"Do you think I do not know that you were Adar's chief counselor? So now you will be my counselor, will you not?" he asked gently.

"Boromir. Many terrible things have happened, things you do not know of. I myself am not wise enough in the ways of the world to counsel you as fully as you would need if you were to become Steward now. This is not the world I grew up in."

"This was no mishap with the cart, is that what you are saying? Did you think that I would believe it was but an accident? I know the men of Rohan. They leave nothing to chance. The traces would have been inspected and sound before we ever began our journey. That they broke leads me to believe they were tampered with after we left Edoras."

"'Tis true, Boromir. Théoden King believes it was no accident. We are leaving, in stealth, at the mid night hour."

"Will you pass the Rod to him, to Uncle Imrahil?" His eyes were large, but boyhood had left them.

"Nay, I will not. Théoden King believes I agreed to his plan, but I did not. He wants your uncle made Steward; I will accept him only as Regent."

"'Tis true, I am but a lad, not yet grown. Give me the Rod, Amma, and I will appoint you Regent. You will rule Gondor until you deem me ready. I will not let the title pass to another, even if it be to my own uncle. He is not of the line of Húrin. Adar's father's fathers would not allow it."

"My Lord, there are other considerations."

"The assassin. Aye. Who would do this, Amma? Was it hatred of Adar? Was it the need of power? What was it caused Adar's death?"

"I have no insight on this, Boromir. I truly wish I did. I cannot begin to think who among those we count as friends and relations, nor any in Gondor, who would do such a thing. But more importantly, no matter the reason for your Adar's death – to consider taking yours and Faramir's life? I find it loathsome. I can comprehend nothing more heinous."

"Should Faramir be sent back to Edoras, Amma?"

She drew in her breath. 'His thoughts are like lightning!' She calmed herself. "'Twould probably be safer. Could you stand being separated? Could Faramir?"

"I could, if only to protect him. Otherwise, nay. And I will be hard-pressed to continue my life as it was with Adar gone. Faramir's safety is the only thing I care about at this moment; I cannot lose him, too, Amma."

"I know." She sighed and wearily rubbed her hand over her forehead.

"Faramir is so young. The loss of your Naneth only a few short years ago; now you have lost your Adar. I deem it too cruel a blow to leave him here, alone, though I realize your concern. Now that we know the danger, we will be able to protect him," she said to assuage Boromir's fears. "I promise, Boromir, as your Regent, my first concern will be your safety and the safety of your brother." Impulsively she enfolded him in her arms. "This will be my last embrace as your aunt, dearest nephew." Tears coursed down her face.

He returned the hug with all his might. "I trust you in all that you do, my regent. Teach me as quickly as you are able."

Indis tried to guide Boromir to her horse, but Éomund asked for the lad and Boromir agreed, hugging and comforting Faramir before being lifted up to sit in front of Éomund. Théodred climbed upon his horse and his father placed Faramir up in front of the young prince; Faramir clung tightly to the pommel, his eyes never leaving Boromir. Two packhorses were tied to the other riders' mounts. Indis would ride directly behind Éomund. He would take the point and his second the rear. She would have to learn these men's names.

To her surprise, Théoden King had hugged her; then helped her to mount. She had bid her farewells to an inconsolable Listöwel while they were still in the cart. Indis left her with many tasks to perform. The most important, Indis had told her, was to decide how they would protect Boromir and Faramir. 'Who would have ever thought we would need to worry about such a thing in Minas Tirith?' Except for the normal guard set for each member of the Steward's family, there had never been a thought for more than that. Now, they had an assassin on their trail.

It was difficult for her to leave the dim light of the camp. She heard a sob from Faramir as Théodred followed Éomund's lead, urging his horse onward. 'How has this happened?' she wondered in her grief. 'How has it come to this, fugitives in the night, fleeing assassins, riding towards a city that once stood for safety, comfort, and warmth, but now has become a snare where murderers await?' She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and urged her horse forward. The muffled padding on the horses' hooves, devised by Théoden King to hide their departure, lent an eerie quality to the ride.

~*~

The sun rose all too quickly. They decided they would ride till mid morning; find a cave or den -- some protected place near the road, and rest until the sun set. All felt the need to travel as much as possible during the night, though their travel time much increased during the day. While the road was in good repair, they were still hard-pressed to stay upon it. The elements seemed to conspire against them, for dark clouds hid the light-giving moon and stars.

Éomund's second was familiar with the road to Mundburg and places for rest alongside it. He led them to a cave, which proved small, but adequate. Faramir had fallen asleep again, just as they were ready to dismount. She left her own horse and took the boy into her arms. Boromir had slid from Éomund's horse by himself and waited. They spread blankets on the floor, and laid the sleeping Faramir to bed. Then they had a cold meal.

Éomund deemed it wise to introduce his men to Indis and Boromir. "Baldor and Aldor, knights of the Mark, twin sons of Elfhelm, a captain himself of the King's éored," he said proudly. "Baldor is my second and Aldor is Grimbold's. I cannot tell you how I know which is which, but I do. It will come to you in time."

Indis smiled. She had heard of Elfhelm from Denethor, knew him to be a wise and steadfast soldier. If their Captains trusted them, then she would too. She thanked them for their care; then turned to her own blanket, lying down in utter exhaustion. Sleep o'ercame her instantly.

~*~

"None know we are here and yet there are crebain circling o'erhead," she heard Grimbold's whisper. She pushed herself upright and swiped back the hair that had fallen into her face.

"Ah, I see you are awake," Éomund whispered. "The boys still sleep—"

"I am not asleep." Boromir's voice was hushed but firm. "Do you not know how to observe more closely?"

"Boromir!" Indis blushed at his insolence.

"Nay, he is right to chide me. Such a mistake could cost us all our lives. Thank you, Lord Boromir, for instructing me."

It was Boromir's turn to flush. "Truly, I am sorry. I am trying to…" He was not sure what he was trying to do or why he made such a remark. It had truly been rude. "I spoke in haste."

"I know you are trying, Boromir. You have much to learn, but you have already learned much. Do not be discouraged. We will help you." Éomund stepped forward to hug the lad, then thought better of it. The boy was trying hard to transition from child to Steward. A hug would not be appropriate at the moment – even warrior to warrior. Boromir would misconstrue it. The boy's reproof had been more from fear than haste, Éomund felt.  Anything Éomund could do to help the lad he would do, but he felt totally helpless in this respect.

"Thank you," Boromir whispered, shame still etched upon his face.

"The first thing you must do, when you return to Mundburg —" Éomund began.

"I think I will be the judge of that," Indis spoke firmly. "But we tarry here too long. We must wake Faramir and depart. A full seven days at least, I deem, till we reach the Rammas."

"Aye. At least. The road has been straight along the route we have taken thus far. Further west, it twists and turns. The foothills cut across it in many places. Snow will begin to fall the closer we come to the mountains. I fear we may have at least ten days ride ahead of us. You are right, Indis," Éomund held his hand out to help her stand, "we must be on our way."

~*~

The days passed in a blur. Never had she ridden for such a long period of time. Her backside and legs burned. For the past two days, the mountains had fulfilled Éomund's prophecy and dumped snow upon them. Even at night, there was no respite. The small caves that Baldor found for them were wet and chilly. No one spoke as they rose for the night's ride. The children's laughter had disappeared. All were discouraged, tired and bone-cold. They had not had a fire since leaving Théoden King's company. Indis sat holding her knees to her chest. "Here we sit in the midst of a great forest and we cannot even light a fire. My heart needs some warmth." She looked towards Faramir, sleeping soundly near her and her heart ached. "The children need warmth, too. Might we not have the comfort of a small fire?"

"I do not think it wise, Indis; we only have a few more days ride to Mundburg." Éomund stood and stretched.

"I know. I am concerned for the children. The furs are warm, but these caves are abysmal."

She moved to Faramir's side and gently shook him, but the lad only moaned and turned away from her. "Faramir," she whispered, "'tis time to rise. We have some food for you. Are you not hungry?" He moaned again and concern washed over her; the lad normally awoke quickly and in a pleasant mood.  She touched his forehead. "Burning," she accosted Éomund, "he is burning with fever."  Anger over the conditions she was forcing upon the children and her inability to do anything about it, and fear for Faramir, caused her to lash out at Éomund. 

He stepped towards the boy and touched his forehead. "We must return to the caravan." He motioned for Baldor and Aldor to saddle the horses.

"Wait!" Indis cried. "We cannot. There is sickness here, but there is death in the column."

"Indis. Be sensible. We have no leech here, we dare not light a fire, and the damp will only hasten whatever illness assails Faramir."

"I know that," Indis said with forced calm, "but there is the beacon-warden of Nardol close by. We will go to his hut. A fire there will be acceptable. None will consider who lights it; the warden lights it. While you are leading us to the hill, Baldor can return to the caravan and bring the company's healer back with him. He must ride like the wind, then wait until cover of darkness, impart our need to Théoden King, and bring the healer back with him – at speed."

"The caravan is two days away."

"Two days away with a sick child becomes at least three. Baldor can reach Théoden King's army in a night and a day. They can be back here in three days time. And we will not have put the children at risk."

"I could ride to the garrison of Nardol and bring back their leech?" Baldor asked quietly. "We could be back before morning."

"Nay, we still know not our enemy. Better to return to the column." Éomund then nodded to Baldor who stuffed some meal in his tunic and quickly mounted.

"I will be like the wind, my lady," he said and wheeled the horse away.

The Steward's aunt picked her way slowly through the rocks. The bitter cold had hit her full in the face when she turned the corner of the little hut. It did not matter; she needed space and time to think. The closeness of the hut crowded her very being. How Denethor had lived in one for five years, she could not fathom. Finally, pulling her cloak about her, she sat amidst the rocks and scrub. The wind did not abate. It blew off the mountain and down her back. She tugged the fur even closer to her, but nothing could keep the wind out.

Her thoughts drifted back to Denethor's time at the beacon hill of Amon Anwar, his banishment rather. It had all been for her. Their father had discovered, somehow, that it was Denethor who had arranged her marriage to Arciryas. The Steward had been furious, more so than she had ever seen him before. Tears began to fall. Denethor had been a brother like no other. He knew, when he devised his sister and her beloved's marriage, that he himself would be punished. None could keep secrets from Ecthelion. Yet, Denethor had thrived on the border of Rohan, made friends with a Marshal of Thengel King's and ridden with that company, learning battle strategies from one of the very best.

Éomund found her thus. "You should not be out in the elements. You will chill and end up with a fever, like Faramir." He sat next to her and drew his own cloak about him. He was used to the winds off the mountains. He looked out upon the star filled sky. A peace settled upon him. Far off, the sound of a wolf rent the night air. He noted she did not move. A strong woman, Théoden King had called her. Éomund wished, for the moment, that she were not. She needed to speak with someone; her taut body, her tears bespoke her need. But she would not speak with him. He shook his head.

Indis could not tell him the doubts that assailed her. Much as she needed his strength and support, she could not look weak before him. She needed Listöwel. She needed to speak her thoughts to someone who would understand, and not judge. "I will come in presently."

Sadly, he stood. "The leech should be here soon. Night is almost o'er," he said before leaving her. 'Tis a pity she will not share her thoughts with me. Mayhap, I could help her decide our path.' He pulled his own cloak tighter and walked back to the hut.

They had skirted one of Gondor's garrisons, Nardol, during the night as they rode towards the warden's hut. The smoke from the garrison's fires had set a longing in her heart. It spoke of warmth and good food and dry flooring. It would have been better for Faramir if they could have stayed in the stronghold, but danger was too close and too hidden. She knew not whom to trust.

The warden, though astounded at his late night visitors, opened his hut to them and moved to his own home further down the mountain. Éomund had promised they would watch for the signal and light the fire, if need be. They had laid the boy on the watcher's cot, covered him with furs, and then kept vigil.

Dawn would arrive soon. She hoped the healer would come quickly. Faramir's moans tore her heart. 'We should have stayed with the caravan. I should never have brought Faramir with us. He is too young.' She tried to push the accusing thoughts away. The cold did nothing to dispel them. She trudged back to the hut.

"Boromir," she cried, as she entered the little room and saw Faramir cradled in Boromir's arms. "Do not hold him. You will succumb to the fever yourself. You are Steward. You must protect yourself."

The lad looked up at the sound of his name. Holding Faramir in his lap, he would not let her take him. "If Faramir dies, I wilt die," his anguished voice broke. "For a thousand Minas Tirith's, I wouldst not leave him. Do not ask me to, Amma."

She knelt at his feet. "Holding him wilt not make him well, Boromir, and it increases the fever's touch. Thou must put him back on the cot."

"Nay. He does not moan when I hold him. Please, Amma. I cannot let him go." Tears ran down his cheeks.

She pulled him towards her. "All right, Boromir." Piling furs up around his young body, she continued to hold him, and he to hold Faramir.

The thick entrance curtain was quietly pushed aside and one of Théoden King's leeches bent low to enter. Baldor followed behind him.

Éomund grabbed the man's shoulder and spoke quietly, telling of the lad's illness. The leech's eyes widened. "We thought they were in the wain. Who was—"

"There is naught for you to know but to heal the lad."

Stepping forward, the man tried to take Faramir from Boromir. But Boromir held him tighter to his chest. A soft moan passed the elder brother's lips.

Indis took Boromir's arm. "Little one, thou must let the healer tend to Faramir. Let him go, Boromir, let him go."

"I cannot," Boromir, for all his courage, started to wail. "Amma, I think he has stopped breathing."

She turned to the healer. "He does not breathe!"

The healer quickly forced Boromir's arms away, placed Faramir on the cot, and started to examine him. "Nay," he sighed in relief. "He breathes, but it is very slow. He sleeps. There is no fever. It must have broken in the night."

Boromir shuddered and slid to the floor. Éomund stooped and held him as the boy rocked back and forth in his arms. "This has been a hard journey, my Lord. You need rest, too. Perhaps you would lie next to your brother and sleep?"

Boromir gave a tear-streaked smile. "Thank you. I would like that very much."

Éomund helped him to the cot. Boromir fell instantly asleep. Faramir did not stir. Éomund spoke quietly with Grimbold and then turned to Indis. "Grimbold sent the soldiers who accompanied the leech back before they reached the edge of the forest. They have no tale to tell. We are still hidden from others. For the time being."

The adults had spoken in whispers, but Boromir woke. "Is it evening, yet?"

"Nay, 'tis at least an hour before the sun sets. Go back to sleep."

"I have slept enough, Éomund. May I step outside?"

The Rohir nodded and Boromir rose from Faramir's cot. His brother still slept; Boromir left his side and walked through the door.

Théodred was sitting on a water barrel outside the door. He smiled. "So Faramir is well?"

"He sleeps deeply now. I suppose he needs it," Boromir sighed.

"I need some time walking. My legs are stiff." Théodred motioned for Boromir to join him. "Let us go up by that rock. I'm sure we can see far if we stand upon it."

Boromir looked up; a smile lightening his face. "Race you there!" He bolted forward. Théodred was hard-pressed to keep up with him. By the time he reached the rock, Boromir had climbed up, his eyes turned eastward. "I will be most happy when we finally enter Minas Tirith," he said quietly, the laughter washed from his eyes.

Cold, wet snow hit him in the neck and fell inside his tunic, making him gasp with shock. Looking around, he saw Théodred preparing another missile. Quickly jumping off the rock, he scooped up a wad of snow and threw it hard and fast at his friend, but Théodred ducked. Boromir scrambled further from him, lunging towards another rock to hide as Théodred's next throw almost caught him again.

Boromir had missed twice now and was beginning to regret leaving the hut. Another shot struck him full in the face. By now, a little angry, he jumped behind another rock, scooped up more snow, packed it tighter than before, and then, peeking around the stone, located his quarry. He found Théodred only paces from him. He threw the ball of snow at the surprised boy, finally hitting his target. Théodred sputtered as the snow covered his mouth and nose. He lunged forward, grabbed Boromir and the two boys went tumbling down towards the rock. Hitting it hard, Boromir grunted, and then laughed as Théodred's motion propelled him into the same rock. They sat there for a moment, both trying to catch their breath.

Indis' call wakened them to their mission.

"We will continue this another day, my friend," Boromir said as he quickly stood up and brushed the snow from his tunic.

"You are now the Steward of Gondor?" Théodred asked softly.

Boromir stared at him. A shiver ran down his arms, his spine and to his toes. "I suppose I am now."

"Then we will probably never do this again." Théodred looked wistfully at his friend. "I will miss these times."

Boromir finally understood why his friend asked the question. " Théodred, I am not dying. I am not being held prisoner. Indis will be Regent while I train. It will be hard work, but I know we will see each other again, and still be able to laugh. Do not think this way, afore I yield to sadness." While he spoke, he reached down, pulled another wad of snow into his hands, shaped it, and threw it at Théodred. It hit the lad with a whack, much to Boromir's delight. He turned and ran as fast as he could to the hut. Théodred never caught him.

The frown on Éomund's face stopped him as he ran into the hut. He closed the covering behind him and walked towards Faramir's cot. Touching his brother's forehead, he sighed. No fever. "He still sleeps?" He turned towards Indis. "Is he well?"

"Aye, Boromir. But he needs his rest. We have pressed him too hard. We have all been pressed too hard. I have decided to stay here another night and day. The warden is an old and dear friend of your father's; he can be trusted." She smiled at the question in his eyes. "Did not your father ever tell you of his days as beacon-watcher?" He shook his head. "I will tell you one day, but not now. I do not think anyone knows of our whereabouts. We would keep it this way. Théoden King should be passing our position on the morrow, according to Baldor. I have decided not to use the North Gate. We will go through the Drúadan Forest and come in behind Minas Tirith. There is a small entranceway where Rath Dínen and the mountain touch. We will enter there, find Théoden King and, come what may, place you as Steward."

"I know the entrance well, Amma. Faramir and I…" he paused, his face red with embarrassment as he realized he had been found out by his own admission. "We oft snuck out that way to play on the mountain." At her look of shock, he tried to explain. "It is so much faster than going all the way down to the Great Gate, across the Pelennor and back to the mountain. I am sorry."

She smiled tiredly. "You should know all the secret places of your city, my Lord, but I had not expected you to find that one. It gives me grave concern to know its whereabouts are so easily discovered."

"Nay, Amma. It was well hidden. We were kicking stones and discovered it. We were most careful when we used it. No one saw. I promise."

She did not want to ask him why they were kicking stones in the Hallows. Her head suddenly ached. While Boromir had been gone, a debate had raged between her and Éomund.

Boromir looked at her quizzically. "What have you been discussing?"

Éomund glanced quickly at the lad, then turned his face away.

"As you know, Théoden King asked me to invite Prince Imrahil to take the Rod of the Steward - just till you reached adulthood." She stared hard at Éomund. " Éomund believes I gave my word to Théoden King, but I did not."

Éomund grunted.

"You promised me, my Regent."

"Aye, Boromir, I did. That was after Théoden King offered me his council."

"Then it is settled," Boromir stated flatly. "When we reach Minas Tirith, I will be named Steward. You will pass the Rod to me, and I will name you Regent. I will then begin my studies as squire. Does not this seem wise to you, Éomund? I value your thoughts."

"I… My king suggested a different course. You must do what you think is best for Gondor." He paused. "I am concerned, as is Théoden King, that your people will not accept you as Steward."

Boromir's face dropped. "How can you believe this? I am the rightful heir. Do you think the people will not follow Gondor's traditions?"

"I believe there are those who wish you dead!" he said vehemently and instantly regretted his words. He had not meant to frighten the lad.

Indis, shocked, sputtered, "How could you…?"

"I only speak the truth, my Lady. You know that." He turned towards Boromir. "I am sorry, my Lord, but you know the situation. Have you already forgotten?"

Théodred, who had been listening quietly in the doorway, turned towards his uncle. "Your speech is harsh. You speak to the Steward of Gondor."

Éomund turned and looked at the prince in surprise. One look at the scowl on the lad's face convicted him. "Forgive me, my Lord," he bowed to Boromir. "I misspoke."

Silence descended upon the little hut. A sob from the cot caused all four to look towards Faramir.

Boromir ran to him. "What is wrong, little one? Do you hurt? Do you feel ill?"

Faramir flung his arms around his brother's neck. "I dost not want thee to be Steward, Boromir," the boy whispered, slipping into the old tongue. "Thou wilt be too busy to play with me. Thou wilt always scowl, as Ada did.. Please, do not become Steward!"

Boromir laughed. "I promise thee I wilt not scowl. I promise. But whether or no I become Steward, Faramir, I must leave thee."

His little brother's arms tightened further. His breath caught.

"I am to be a squire. Dost thou not remember?"

"I dost not want thee to squire either."

"Faramir.'Tis the rule, the tradition of Gondor.'Tis Ada's wish. Wouldst thou have me disobey Ada? Especially now?"

"Nay," his brother said quietly, shuddering. "Wilt thou visit me now and again?"

"Oh, Faramir. I wilt visit thee every day, if I am able. Now, art thou not hungry? And didst not Ada ask us not to use the old tongue when with the Rohirrim?"

Faramir's face reddened. "I forgot."

"Well, you have been sick enough to forget. I will get you some food. Lie back on the cot and I will bring it to you."

Faramir did as he was bid. Indis watched as Boromir walked away, his tears spilling upon his face. He wiped them away, filled two plates from the little oven where Aldor had prepared supper, and took it back to Faramir. They sat and ate together and Théodred joined them.

An icy wind hit them as they mounted. It would get colder the further up the mountain they went, but Indis knew it could not be helped. She was grateful the boys were not mounted separately; the body warmth from their companions, their protectors, would help mitigate the frigid temperatures. She had forgotten how bitter it was on the heights. Shivering, she pulled her cloak closer about her.

"'Twill become colder the higher up we travel," Éomund stated dryly.

She knew he was still dismayed by her decision. She could hear it in his voice, the condescension as he spoke the obvious. Though he had been civil since their debate, the warm camaraderie that she had begun to cherish had vanished. In the light of day, with the fire cheering the hut, her decision had seemed so right; now, it seemed wrong. She shook her head. 'How I wish I had Denethor's quick wit,' she rued. She once again held the debate in her head, studying it from all sides, hoping to see that she was right, but ready to admit if she was wrong. 'How I wish for the simple things I used to do when a child. The times, sitting with my sister, creating bobbins for lace stitching, reading…' She stifled a sigh; she did not want to appear weak to the Rohir.

"How long do you think it will be till we stand in Rath Dínen?" Éomund asked.

"Forgive me. I did not hear you." She blinked, pulling herself out of her thoughts. She had been distracted again. Boromir was telling Théodred about Vëantur. Her tears fell. Would Denethor now have met the great captain, his hero? Would he be on some noble vessel exploring the seas as he had dreamt as a child? Sobs shook her. How he had suffered his whole life. Suffered at the hands of his own father. Ecthelion had been a loving father, but harsh and strict, giving Denethor no chance for a childhood. Always, their father had looked towards the weal of Gondor and not the weal of his children. And for too many years she had watched and not spoken a word in reproach. Until their grandfather had died; then she resolved to stop the madness that was the father and son relationship. And she had, for a time, but always, strife would come and their bond would be severed. She could not understand it, had no explanation for it. Even on his deathbed, Ecthelion had scorned his son openly.

The tears fell harder. She would not see him again, this dear brother. Sniffling, trying to compose herself, trying to find some inner strength, she pulled her horse up, and hurriedly wiped her eyes as Éomund rode back to her.

Éomund stopped. "Is something amiss?"

"We must stop for now. The day is almost upon us. Has not Grimbold returned with news of a suitable resting place?"

"Nay. But if you wish, we will stop and wait for him. He should be along presently. The light grows, as you noted, in the eastern sky."

She sat silent as her mind raced towards Minas Tirith. 'I will fight for Boromir. I have learned my lesson too well. Nothing must come in the way of his happiness. Nor of Faramir's. Gondor will not be lost to petty squabbles, pride, nor the need for power. If I am not strong, if I do not hold the throne for Boromir, Kin-strife will once again descend upon Gondor. I cannot let that happen.' She clenched her teeth. 'No matter if I die, I will fight for Denethor's sons.' She slid off her horse and knelt in the snow, overcome by emotion, tears again streaking her face. 'Upon my father's grave, I vow to protect Boromir and Faramir, to hold Gondor safe and prosperous until Boromir comes of age, to pass the Rod to him, and to stand behind his Chair.'

Éomund immediately joined her on the ground, trying to help her to her feet. "Lady Indis! What ails you? Is there aught I can do?" The fell look in her eyes alarmed him.

She saw Boromir looking back, and stood. He could not see her distress, her anguish nor her resolve. She knew she must not frighten him.

Grimbold had returned by this time. He motioned them forward but held a finger to his lips, signaling for silence. The rest of the company dismounted and followed him. A short way along, they espied a cave and Grimbold led them inside. Aldor and he then pulled the horses in after them. The cave was small; the horses whinnied in fright. Baldor wrapped cloth around their muzzles to keep them quiet, making sure their nostrils were free so they could breathe. Aldor used more cloth as binders to cover their eyes, hoping this would lessen their fright.

"Forgive me for this inconvenience," Grimbold whispered into Indis' ear. "Orc are about. We could not leave the horses outside. The sun will rise soon, though, and the enemy will hide."

"Are you certain this is not one of their caves?" Théodred asked in fear, looking about for any sign of habitation.

"Shh!" Grimbold murmured, sword drawn as he stood at the cave's entrance. Aldor stood behind him. Éomund and Baldor drew their swords, also.

Théodred hung his head, embarrassed. Boromir stepped over and placed his hand on his friend's shoulder. He did not speak, but Théodred knew his friend understood his shame at having spoken aloud when the need for silence was so great. Théodred had made a mistake that could cost them their very lives.

Indis moved the boys to the back of the cave, looking about, herself, for any sign of Orc. Faramir scrunched down as far as he could, pulling on Boromir's hand, trying to make him hide from view, too. Indis motioned for them to cover themselves under the fur blankets and such that they had brought with them. She then took her sword from the back of her own horse, moved to stand behind Éomund, and waited.

The Rohir looked at her, astonished. She put her finger upon Éomund's lips and smiled. "My sword has not sung in many a year," she whispered directly into his ear. "It hungers." She felt as if she had come out of some daydream. Her vow encompassed her heart and gave her strength. And a sense of freedom. She was no longer assailed by doubts.

They heard the dreaded speech of their enemy and smelt the Orc before they drew close to the cave. Éomund sighed. 'Of all the luck,' he thought, 'they are headed this way.' He motioned for Indis to move back, but she only smiled, and moved forward. 'Women!' he thought, remembering the times that Morwen had gone out on patrol against the King's own wishes. Lady Morwen had been a force to reckon with though; he hoped Indis was made of the same steel.

"It is useless to stay here, bunched together and waiting for them," Éomund whispered. "Let us leave the Lady Indis and the leech to guard the cave. You and Aldor skirt to the west, Grimbold, while Baldor and I take to the east. As the Orc near the cave, we will attack."

The healer, forgotten until this moment, squealed in fear. Baldor took him by the throat, covering his mouth with his hand, and dragged the man towards the front of the cave. "Stay here and guard the children, you coward!" he spat.

They left their shelter in silence, slithering on their stomachs through the snow. Indis held her breath. The Orc were still talking loudly. They were, as yet, undiscovered. Perhaps the Orc knew not of the cave. She could only hope. Another moment, and she heard a shout. She recognized Éomund's voice. She held her sword before her, waiting patiently. The fray had begun.

"If only the king had listened to me, none of this would have happened. Captain Thorongil would be on the Chair of Gondor and Rohan would be safe. That man had neither the wit nor the drive to do anything but take orders. He would have been perfect." He wiped the spittle from his mouth, noting the other listened attentively. "Thengel King had great influence upon Ecthelion, you know, as his Captain-General, before he returned to Rohan. Pity he did not stay in Minas Tirith; better to have one loyal to the Mark so highly appointed. I could easily have stood on the throne in Edoras in his stead. Held it for him."

"Now, we must send a message to Minas Tirith, to the master's agent there, warning him of deceit. Where will they enter the city, I wonder? There must be dozens of secret entrances, as has the Golden Hall. To stay hidden as long as possible, it must be either from the north, near the North Gate, or from…. Ah," he smiled and it chilled his audience. "There must be an entrance by their tomb city. What is it called again?"

His listener could not answer.

"You say the leech was dispatched late yesterday afternoon? Well, it will take some time to travel to wherever the need is. I wish the fool would have sent that information. Oh," he snarled, "I know he gave you as much information as possible in the short time he had. Never the mind, they will be met by force. I will send the message at once." He suddenly laughed hard and long. Waving his hand, he dismissed his underling and turned back into the Golden Hall. It was becoming quite cold.

~*~

She held the sword before her, but none of the enemy came near the entrance. Sounds of fighting, steel slashing, hisses and screams filled the air. She chanced a quick look at the boys. They were well hidden. The healer cowered in a corner, covering his face with his hands. She realized she could see them more distinctly. The Orc had another foe to battle; she smiled to herself – the sun. They were cowards and only came out from their caves at night, though they would, if necessary, fight during the day. Well, today they would be most uncomfortable. It should be over soon.

Just as that thought came to her, an unshod foot stepped into the entrance. She swung her sword at waist height and felt it slice into something. The Orc fell forward, dead, at her feet. She tried to push it aside, but could not.

Another stepped through, this time managing to get further into the doorway before she hacked at it. It stepped back and swung a pointed mace. She ducked and the weapon hit the wall of the cave with a resounding thud, covering her back with dislodged mud. She could still see and her sword arm was free, that was all that mattered. She swung again and this time, the Orc fell, dead.

She heard a scream and turned in time to slash at an arm holding a wicked scythe-like weapon. The arm fell to the ground, but the Orc did not stop. It used its weight to shove against her; she fell to the ground. Its left hand held an axe. It smiled as it raised the weapon; she tried to swing the sword, but had no leverage. Unexpectedly, the axe clattered to the floor; startled, she saw the creature's head roll into the cave.

Éomund stood before her. "Now does your sword sing?" he asked, laughing. He offered a hand and she took it and stood. "You did well," he said approvingly. "Two dead and another would have been."

"It would not have been. I would have been the one dead. You saved my life."

"I am certain, with the way you handled yourself today, that the favor can be returned."

She started to laugh herself. Their friendship was mended. She was very glad.

Grimbold walked through the door, saw the carnage before him, and patted her on the shoulder. "I see you represent Gondor well, Shieldmaiden."

She blushed at his compliment. "I have Eledhwen, my sword mistress, to thank for that." She turned to the boys. They ran towards her, arms flung wide. She knelt and took them into her own. "It is over, my loves. We are safe."

"'Tis time to lick our wounds, I think," Grimbold said. "I have taken one to my sword arm. It is not serious, but should be looked after, and Aldor has also been hurt. He will not be able to ride alone for many days."

Indis looked up in alarm. Baldor was helping his limping brother into the cave. Blood ran down Aldor's leg, pooling at his feet as he stood waiting for some direction. He seemed addled and Indis knew that meant great loss of blood. She quickly asked Boromir to start a fire. Then she pulled the healer up by the arm and pushed him towards Aldor. While the healer shuffled forward, she threw furs and blankets on the floor and motioned for Baldor to lay Aldor down. Then she sent Éomund out for snow, fresh and clean, if it could be found, what with the marks of battle all about the cave entrance.

"I am not accustomed to treating battle wounds," the healer squeaked. "I am just a house leech. I do not think I can help this man. We should take him back to the caravan."

She pushed him aside. "I will cut the cloth and clean the wound. We will have fresh hot water in a moment or two. Since you cannot take care of this wound," she said contemptuously, "you will tend Grimbold. His is not as serious." She turned and started ministering to Aldor. The leg wound was not life-threatening. The weapon, whatever it was, had cut through skin and some muscle, but had not touched the bone. It would require a bit of stitching, but not too much. She breathed a sigh of relief.

Baldor smiled as he watched her tend his brother. "Your touch is gentle. Have you done this before?"

She smiled up at him. "Too many times to count. I had offered my services to the Master Healer…" She stopped. Tears filled her eyes. She shook her head and continued working on the wound. An uneasy silence filled the cave.

Baldor did not speak. Aldor looked at Éomund, who had returned with a bag full of snow, just as Indis had finished speaking. "The Master Healer in question, Baldor," Éomund said as he put the snow into a pot and placed it over Boromir's fire, "was none other than the husband of our fair lady. He was slaughtered, along with Denethor, on their way back to Gondor."

"I am sorry, my Lady. I did not know."

She shrugged. "So much has happened in these last two weeks." She laughed quietly. "Théoden King said there would be no time for mourning. If the pace continues as it has, I will die having shed only a few tears for my beloved husband and for my brother. I savor each teardrop. So few for so much sadness. I do not, in fact, believe I will ever have the luxury of grief. So I thank you, loyal warrior, for a moment to spill a tear for him who deserves so much better."

Boromir ran to Indis' side. "Please, Amma, do not cry. Faramir and I love you. We will not leave you." The soldier in him strove to stop the tears from falling; the child, just now leaving, could not stop them.

"It is good to cry, Boromir. I have told you that before," Éomund knelt next to the lad. "It is our way to honour our dead. It helps cleanse us of the wounds of grief and gives us resolve to avenge them. That is why we are on this journey, to avenge the death of your father and all his men, to see you arrive safe in Minas Tirith, and to discover what foul creature devised their murder."

Boromir's eyes widened. "You will help me find the murderer of my father?" he asked incredulously.

"Aye, Boromir. I will not leave your city until the beast is found and punished. I promise you."

Indis looked up in surprise and gratitude. "That is a heavy vow you take upon yourself, Éomund. I do not recall your king giving you such permission."

"There are certain things a soldier and a friend does not need permission for. My king sent me to escort you to Minas Tirith and to keep you safe. The only way my mind sees that happening is with the finding of the assassin and those who paid him. Then I may return to Rohan with honour."

'Certain things a soldier and a friend does not need permission for.' Boromir remembered Éomund's words. It was certainly time for not asking permission. He had had the thought in his mind for too many days now. He was very much afraid for Faramir, and for Indis. If they came back to the city with him, would they be safe? Perhaps if he went alone? No, they would just follow him and still be in danger. What could he do? His brow furrowed.

Éomund noted and sat next to him. "What causes you distress, Lord Boromir? We only wait a day or two for Aldor to heal properly. We will be in your city soon."

Embarrassed, Boromir said nothing. Running away was a child's ploy, yet he could think of no other solution.

"It is been a long and hard road we travel, my Lord. Sometimes, in the middle of distress and great trial, thoughts come to us that would be better spoken. May I have your confidence? Have I not vowed to protect you?"

"I am not sure I can put it into words. I do not want Faramir hurt." Boromir's voice dropped to a whisper, not so that others would not hear, but so that he could think as he spoke. "And Indis, though she is strong and courageous… she could be hurt too."

"And who would hurt them?"

"I do not know." The pain in the boy's voice belied his courage. "But I know that I am the cause of it. Mayhap, if I did ask Uncle Imrahil, he would take the Rod. Then they would be safe." By now, the lad was crying silently. "Father would be sad, but I know not how to protect them. If I were older…"

"The threat that is upon us would not be lessened if you were older, Boromir. You are quite old enough now, I think. You recognize the danger and the causes for it. Yet, and I am surprised myself as I say this, you are the rightful heir. If we put another in your place, even if for a short time, we risk further danger. I believe Lady Indis is well spoken in this situation. Yet, I am concerned. Have I not vowed to protect you? Do you question my loyalty -- or my ability?"

Boromir looked up. "Never your loyalty. Father loved you; I know that. What can you do against all the forces of Minas Tirith? If there are those there who wish me dead, what can one man do?"

Éomund shivered. To speak so openly of his own death… he was amazed at the boy's courage. "True. One man cannot stave off treachery. But I am not alone. I carry the weight of Rohan behind me. Prince Imrahil will stand with you. And that means the weight of Belfalas is behind you. We will triumph, Boromir, you will see. There will be danger until we find those who plot your death, but we will find them. Even now, Théoden King has agents in the Mark searching for those who might be involved. They will be found, I promise you."

Théodred came over. "May I sit with you?"

"Of course," Éomund agreed before Boromir had a moment to deny the lad. The discussion was too weighty to last overlong. Let the boy think on what he had said, the promises he had made. It would help, he was sure of it, as would Théodred's presence. Éomund saluted and left them alone.

They sat there, the two boys, for a very long time. Finally, Théodred spoke. "Is there something I can help you with? Perhaps, it is time for another round of snowballs?"

Boromir smiled.

"Am I not your friend?" Théodred asked quietly.

"Of course you are. Why would you ask?"

"I was taught that friends rely upon each other, share secrets, help each other. If you do not want me as a friend…"

"Already too many people know of my fears. I had hoped to save myself some embarrassment by not telling the world," Boromir said ruefully.

"I am not the world; I am your friend," Théodred said quietly, pain at the slighting evident in his voice.

"If I speak now, I will certainly cry," Boromir whispered. "I cannot do that. Faramir will be frightened and Indis, well, Indis will come over and try to 'mother' me." He smiled.

"It is light outside. I need a moment. Let's go." Théodred grabbed his arm and pulled him up.

They both stood and ran to Indis. "We need to go outside for a moment."

She smiled, told them to take Faramir with them, and turned away, returning to her task of changing Aldor's bandages.

Boromir stopped. "I cannot take…" His brow furrowed. "Well, come along, little one," he used his father's term of endearment. "You need to be outside too, I suppose."

Faramir smiled in delight.

They walked through the entranceway and were stunned by the blood staining the snow. There was no sign of Orc. Éomund and Baldor had spent considerable effort, over the last two days, to rid the area of the bodies. From the amount of blood, there must have been a large band of the enemy. The boys moved as quickly into virgin snow as they could. Relieving themselves, they then walked to a clearing where rocks jutted out of the ground. Sitting, they viewed the damage before them.

" Éomund is very brave," Faramir said at last.

"They all are. We are in the company of many brave men," Boromir said.

Théodred basked in the compliment to his countrymen. "Someday, we will be just as brave, I hope."

"Aye," Boromir smiled broadly. "Indeed. We have guides and counselors who teach us well. If we but follow their lead, we should be fine."

Silence again engulfed them.

"I had thought to run away," Boromir whispered as Faramir left them to investigate some animal tracks that he had noticed nearby. "I am afraid for Faramir and Indis. I did not know where I would go or what I would do, but I thought it the only way I could protect them."

Théodred sat, taken aback, his mouth slightly open. After a moment, he said, "I will go with you."

"I believe Éomund would say it would do no good, but I thank you. I would listen to him. Théodred," he turned and grabbed his friend by the shoulder, "if I…" he shuddered, "if I am murdered, swear to me that you will take Faramir to Edoras and protect him with your life." Tears streamed down his face. "I must know he will be safe."

Théodred's own tears fell. "I promise, Boromir," he said solemnly. "Are you sure you will be murdered?"

" Éomund has vowed to protect me, but I cannot believe that one man can do this. I will go with him. If only I had thought further on this," he berated himself, "I would never have allowed Faramir to leave Edoras."

"Boromir," Théodred reminded him, "there is an assassin in Edoras, too!"

Boromir looked into the clear blue eyes of his friend. "Aye. I had forgotten that. The danger before me made me forget the danger behind. I will speak with Uncle Imrahil, if he comes… I will ask him to take Faramir to Dol Amroth. Grandfather will protect him."

They heard Indis' call. "Please do not speak of this to anyone, Théodred."

"Of course not." Boromir made as if to stand up, but Théodred put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Boromir, our swords are on the packhorse. Did you know?"

"Nay. I did not. Before we reach Minas Tirith, we must convince Éomund to let us wear them. It would be useless to ask Indis. She still thinks me a child."

Théodred laughed. "I know what you mean. Sometimes Grandmother does the same."

They walked back to the cave, arms slung over each other's shoulders. Faramir scampered behind them, incessantly chatting about the pinecones he had collected

 "Oh!" Indis' breath was taken from her in an instant. Before her, in all its splendor, was the White Tower of Ecthelion, catching the westering sun. Never before had she seen it from this angle. Only from north or south, once or twice from the east, but never from the west. It just appeared; they had climbed a little hill and turned southward, and it burst forth before them, tall and brilliant and beautiful. The mountain and trees had hid it. The rest of the city was still hidden, but that white spike reaching up to the sky - it was unbearable, incredible. It proclaimed, 'I am Gondor. You are on hallowed ground.' Some would say it was only a tower, but it embodied everything that was good and pure and strong and noble of its makers. Tears stung her eyes.
 
She heard other gasps. The little party stopped. None could speak. The boys slid off their horses and sat on the sward. Indis joined them. The grass smelt sweet and clean. With the white tower before them, the scene was beautiful, idyllic.

Aldor was healed enough to ride for short periods, and so, two evenings ago, they continued their journey, leaving the safety of the cave. Shortly after that, the terrain changed and they left the snow and the cold behind.
 
Éomund had been chafing at having to wait so long. "By now, Théoden's entourage will be at the gates of Mundburg," he moaned, turning to Indis. "How many days till we reach the city? I have never traveled this route before."

"It should be two, if I am not mistaken, as the crow flies. We, unfortunately, do not fly. Therefore, I would think at least three. I am not certain as to where the door is, exactly." She creased her brow. "I do not even know what the terrain is like on that part of the mountain. Boromir said he and Faramir have used the doorway. We shall ask him, in the morning, when we rest."
 
Éomund found it strange that Indis would set off without knowing exactly where she was going, but he had faith in her. If the Lady of Gondor put her mind to anything, he was discovering, she could do it. So he rode beside her remembering his fair Théodwyn. They finally decided to travel during the day. None would find them in the thick mountain woods.

Now they had arrived. The city itself, though they could not see it, blocked the winds. Another day's journey and they would be before the very wall itself.
 
"We must decide upon the best course for entering," Indis said after they had eaten. "I am - concerned. If any have heard of our leaving the group, in fact, if Théoden King raises the alarm when he enters the city and does not find us…" she paused.  "We must be prepared for the worst." The food was running out; it was fortunate they were almost at their destination.

"Or the best," Éomund said, puzzled. "Will not the Lords of Gondor greet Boromir as their Steward? They cannot hide the fact that Lord Denethor is dead. His body will be before them. They must then accept Boromir. Or am I green in the ways of Gondor? I know that there is likely an assassin there, or at least the one who commanded the deed, but will he dare to move with the whole of the Mark before him?"

"Do you think Théoden King will raise the alarm? I have reconsidered. He is wise, Éomund. When he realizes we are not there, he will most likely send out a party to find us, but secretly. I think he will make some excuse as to why Boromir is not with him. That would be the logical thing to do."  She paused for a moment.  "Our enemy is cunning.  There are other ways, than facing an army, to take the Rod.  Coin bought treason in Edoras; is Gondor any less vulnerable?"

Éomund flinched at the reminder of treason. "And if no one is looking for Boromir, the assassin is free to try to find him? So you deem it wise to prepare for any unforeseen event as we enter the doorway?"

"I do." Indis paused for a moment. "I must admit I am not filled with confidence. I would prefer to walk through the entranceway and see no one. Yet, I am not sure that will happen. There is no guard there. Only a few know of its existence, but still, as clever as the assassin was to destroy Denethor and his entire party, I do not trust to open doorways."

"Then we send a decoy and see what happens?"

"My thoughts exactly," she said excitedly. "We send Baldor and Grimbold. His arm will be near to strength by that time. If any attack, we assess the danger, and then either enter after them or flee."

"A sound plan, my Lady," he smiled. 'A sound plan indeed,' he thought.

~*~

At first morning's light, the company began the final leg of its journey to Minas Tirith. The terrain progressively worsened and they were forced to walk. Speaking only in whispers, they were soon near the wall. The mountain sloped down to meet it, the angle steep. By noon, the band had gone no further than a league. Treacherous rocks thrust out of the west side and the slope ended at the wall; huge spikes of steel stuck out from the ground, ready to impale any who were foolish enough to try to climb down.

"Are you sure this is the way, Boromir?" Indis wondered.

"Aye, 'tis. The corner lies ahead, and there the mountain meets the door. The Hallows and its wall are on this side. There will be no trouble once we move a little further along."

"You will know the door when we reach it?" Éomund asked.

"It is hidden. But Faramir and I have come this way too many times not to know it."

"Where exactly does it enter the Hallows?"

"Far above the House of the Stewards. There are small tombs near the gate, for the lesser families."

"How long till we reach it?" Théodred asked, for he was hot and tired. He had slipped further back, scraping his knee, and now was looking at it, scratching the thickened blood from it. It started bleeding again and Indis went to him.

"You know better, Théodred," she exclaimed.

He hung his head. "It itches."

She poured water on to a cloth and wiped the wound. "Leave it alone, for now. Once we enter the city, healers will tend it." She almost said, 'We have the best in the land,' but she decided it would be impolite. Arciryas had, however, endeavored to employ the very best. He never stopped teaching them either, and she was most proud of them, as he had been. She took a small breath to steady herself.

"We had best be on our way," Éomund rose. "I would prefer we continue this hike while the sun is still with us. Even now, it slips behind the mountains."

They rose as one. Faramir held Éomund's hand while Boromir and Théodred ran ahead.

"Slow down," Indis cried.

But Boromir was most anxious to show Théodred his city and he yelled back, "We will wait for you at the door. Hurry, we are almost there." Excitement tinged his voice. He was hard put not to run full out.

Baldor caught up with them. "My Lord," he chastised Boromir gently, "we should be whispering."

Boromir reddened. "Of course. I am sorry."  He started forward again and stopped.

Suddenly, he ran back toward Indis. "It is here!" he whispered. Awe and joy filled his eyes. "We are home!"

A sound from Faramir made her quickly turn. She cried aloud as she saw tears running down the little face. She held her arms open and he ran to her. "Ada," he sobbed brokenly over and over again. Her whole being hurt for the pain in the little voice. "We will stop and rest for a bit," she said, looking up at a concerned Éomund.

"Aye. Come boys," he motioned to Boromir and Théodred, "let us build a fire. Find only dry wood; it will smoke less. We should be safe. This is a desolate area, but open. We would see the enemy well before they were upon us and we are blocked from any from the city seeing us. The sun has a few more moments left to her. Let us prepare a last meal."

Grimbold shivered. He hoped Éomund's words were not prophetic. Baldor quickly lit the wood the boys collected. He warmed the last of their mead and gave a cup to Faramir. 'Twould help settle the child, Grimbold expected. Then, he stood guard, sending Baldor off a little further north and Aldor south. The leech sat on the ground, gobbling his share, oblivious to all about him. 'If we could only have sent him back without fear,' thought Grimbold, 'it would have been better all around. The man is like a millstone around our necks,'

"Is something wrong?" Éomund asked.

"Aye. I do not trust that little weasel," Grimbold showed his anger and frustration by pointing his finger in the man's direction. "Look at him! Forgive me, my Lord, but I wonder at his presence. I do not think Théoden King would have sent an incompetent to take care of Faramir in his fever. But then why, if he is a leech, did he not think he could aid Aldor? This I do not understand. If he were only a household servant, why would the King send him?"

"You speak true. Indis and I have already wondered at this. But he had a token of introduction from the King or I would never have allowed him into our camp." Éomund suddenly shivered. "He could be a spy. I do not know. I have not turned my back on him though, nor will I."

"I will keep watch also."

Holding Faramir's hand as his brother snuggled in their aunt's lap, Boromir sat quietly next to Indis. Théodred stood guard over them, a protective look on his young face. Indis noted Boromir pressed close to her, trembling slightly. What would they do, how would they react when they saw the Citadel, when they entered the Great Hall for the first time, and when they crossed the threshold of their own quarters? Horror threatened to overwhelm her. The blue skies, the green of the mountain, and the cheerful call of birds did nothing to ameliorate the situation. Nothing could dispel the chill that shook her body. She felt entirely useless. She had not thought their homecoming would be this difficult. In fact, she had given it no thought whatsoever, so focused had she been on their safety. They were crushed, she could now see, and she felt helpless in the face of such grief. All she could do was hold Faramir and whisper his name while she stroked Boromir's arm. The family sat thus until the sun, not waiting for their grief to abate, deserted them.

At last, Indis spoke. "Faramir, we must be off, you know. Your bed awaits. You will be sleeping comfortably soon. Cook will have made your favorite sugared biscuits and warm buttermilk. Shall we go now?" She looked down; the little one was sleeping. Éomund came and took him from her. Théodred helped her up. She quickly hugged Boromir, then retrieved her sword from her horse and strapped it on. Éomund had Boromir help put out the fire and then the party turned southward. Excitement had left them; exhaustion threatened to overcome them.

As they walked, Éomund was surprised to find Boromir and Théodred walking next to him, one on either side. "Hoy, is there something you need? Something I might help you with?"

"We need our swords," Boromir said flatly. "Indis will probably not allow it, but we need our swords."

His tone, Éomund had to stifle a laugh when he heard the command, brooked no argument. Indeed, he had none to offer. Both boys had been trained, not that they were ready for battle, but at least they might help intimidate any who faced them. Their company would look fiercer with two more swords in view.

Théodred nodded his head in agreement. "We know how to wield them, Éomund. You know that."

"Aye. You may have them. However," he stopped and looked at them, trying to imbue his words with as much force as he could, "you have never killed anyone. Nor have you faced such a situation. How will you feel, Théodred, plunging your sword into the belly of a man?" He had to use harsh words to make them understand the gravity of the situation. "Boromir, these will be your countrymen. Will you pause if one attacks whom you considered an ally? You will lose your life if you do!"

The smile at Éomund's agreement to their demand faded instantly as he spoke. Théodred nodded his head, not trusting to words.

Boromir flushed. "None who are considered ally would ever attack me!" His words were hot, but Éomund noted the flash of moisture in his eyes. "I know what you think, what Indis thinks. The House of Húrin has enemies in the city, but those soldiers who were true to Adar will not attack me."

"Aye. I believe you, Boromir, for I know the loyalty of Gondor's Knights. Still, there may be those you considered trustworthy who are not. We have seen it already in the Mark with the treachery done to Lord Denethor and the near-fatal attack against you and Faramir. Be prepared for this!"

"I will."

In a short time, Boromir stopped. He pointed towards a spot in the wall. The door was truly indistinguishable from the wall itself, but Boromir went right to it. Éomund put out a hand and stopped the lad from opening it. Boromir looked up.

"'Tis time for caution, my Lord," Éomund whispered. "We will send Baldor and Grimbold in first, to discover what might be waiting for us on the other side. Does this meet your approval?"

Boromir nodded. "You are wise. It is a good plan."

"'Twas Indis' plan."

"Oh," he smiled back at his aunt. "We wait here?"

"We wait here," Indis answered.

Grimbold and Baldor moved forward at Éomund's signal. Slowly, they opened the door. Both were surprised that it opened so easily, with nary a noise. They peeked inside, their eyes slowly becoming accustomed to the dark, for it seemed as if no light penetrated the Hallows.

A shiver ran down Grimbold's spine, but he moved forward, Baldor close behind. They walked several yards in. There was undisturbed dust on the floor.

Baldor breathed a sigh of relief. They walked a little further, one on each side of the quiet road. There seemed to be some kind of moss on the ground, probably planted for its quieting properties. No noise was permitted in the Hallows, according to Indis' accounts, no noise to disturb the dead. Finally, Grimbold signaled to Baldor who moved back to the entranceway. He looked through the door and gave the all-clear sign.

Silently, the company moved forward. Aldor trailed behind covering their backs. Éomund handed Faramir to Indis, who gently woke him. Éomund's hand was on his sword's hilt, ready to unsheathe it. Boromir and Théodred had put their own swords on. They were still sheathed, but both boys were alert and ready.

After placing Faramir on the walkway behind her, Indis, too, took hold of the hilt of her own sword. It felt good, comfortable, and proper. She hoped with all her heart that she was wrong about their welcome. Slowly, her confidence built as they walked further down Rath Dínen. She noted the only tracks before her were those of her companions.

Her skin prickled. A sudden sense of danger assailed her.

She whispered a warning to Éomund who nodded his head without turning. He felt it too. He kept moving his head from side to side, ears alert for any sound. Grimbold continued on ahead of them, stepping lightly, not making a sound. He motioned to Baldor to go ahead. Houses for the dead lined the road, most of them smaller in this section of the Hallows. The larger ones, for the wealthier and more important lords of Gondor, loomed ahead. It was still very difficult to see; however, it would be suicide to light a torch here. Grimbold heard a noise and the hair lifted on his arms. He motioned for Baldor to circle round the house they were nearing. The noise had come from there. He left the road himself and circled around the other side. If the enemy were there, he hoped they would be caught unawares.

Silence reigned. Éomund crouched slightly, watching Grimbold and Baldor in the distance. He motioned for the rest of the company to stop. An age passed as the two warriors disappeared from sight. He stiffened. Someone was turning the corner. It was Baldor and Grimbold meeting at the front of the house. He sighed, gave the all clear sign and they continued.

They had only walked a few steps when a muffled cry from Aldor sent chills down Indis' spine. She whirled around and found a hand reaching to cover her mouth. Trying to scream, she kicked as hard as she could. Her sword was still sheathed and she cursed herself for her foolishness. She could not break free; she was literally picked up and carried behind one of the houses. Losing sight of the boys, she sobbed.

Éomund had heard Aldor's muffled grunt and turned at the same time as Indis. He saw her assailant capture her and moved to strike him down. A blade found Éomund's arm and his sword fell, useless, at his side. Blood rushed down through his fingers and was greedily sucked up by the ground. He was struck again, this time on the back of his head. The Rohir fell face forward.

Faramir screamed at the same time and ran towards Boromir, but a hand grabbed his arm and he felt himself being lifted. A sack covered his face. He bit the hand that held him and heard a stifled curse, but the arms did not drop him.

Baldor lay dead on the ground at Boromir's feet. Rushing back to help, he was rewarded with a sword cut to his throat. Théodred and Boromir crouched, back-to-back, swords drawn, but their enemy laughed at the sight. At least thirty men, dressed in the livery of Gondor, stood around them, faces twisted in cruel mirth.

"Give it up or you will be dead like those around you," their leader stated as he strode to the front of the thugs, stepping over Baldor's body, "and after that I will kill your brother." He patted Faramir, still trussed in a sack and carried over the back of one of his men. Boromir looked at Théodred and they both dropped their swords.

"Do you know who I am?" Boromir tried to sound calm.

Laughter greeted his words. "You are an upstart, a pretender to the Steward's Chair. You are under arrest, by authority of Lord Amandil, Steward of Gondor."

Boromir's mouth dropped. He did not know a Lord Amandil. "I see. And what will you do with my brother and me?"

"Your fate is in the Steward's hands. Come, we have tarried too long. He will be waiting."

One man shoved Boromir forward, another pushed Théodred. Théodred swung around, furious. "You have laid hands on the Prince of the Mark! My father will make you pay!"

"Your father thinks you dead, Prince," the man answered scornfully. "Remember the Orc attack at the cave? Do you not know how effortless it was to find bodies matching yours? Disfiguring the faces was an easy enough task. You are dead in your father's eyes!" He threw back his head, laughing uproariously, his men joining with him.

Their laughter rang through the Hallows, echoing until Théodred had to place his hands over his ears, tears falling. He could not help it. His father thought he was dead.

"My aunt?" Boromir called back to the leader. "Where is the Lady Indis?"

"She could be dead for all I know," the man laughed cruelly once more. Boromir was beginning to hate that laugh.

Shoved unceremoniously forward again, they walked the length of Rath Dínen. When they came to the door, they found it unattended. Boromir was not surprised. Vaguely, he wondered where the keeper was, but that thought only stayed in his mind a moment. He knew the man was probably dead. His head ached from the fear and the horror of what had just happened. Grimbold, Baldor, Aldor and Éomund were dead. Indis? He shuddered. What had happened to Indis? He fought the tears. He could not, would not let these men see him weak. He stole a glance at Théodred. His friend walked beside him, head held high. But Boromir caught the slight tremble of Théodred's chin. It almost undid him. He wished terribly to reach out and take his hand, to try to comfort his friend, but knew he could not. He caught Théodred's eye and tried to smile. It came out twisted, but he didn't care. Théodred would understand.

Before they passed out into the light and onto the Sixth Circle, the men moved forward and surrounded them again. Boromir's hands were caught and bound. He struggled to keep himself free, but he was no match for the two men who held him. A third man placed a sack over his head, but before it covered his eyes, he saw that Théodred suffered the same fate. They were then picked up and swung over the backs of their enemy. Boromir called out to Faramir, but had no reply. Someone struck him on the head, yelling at him to keep quiet; the pain, so intense his eyes blurred and he knew no more.

Listöwel stood stock still. If Théoden King and Erkenbrand had not been on either side of her, she knew she would have fallen. As it was, she slowly tipped backwards. A hand stopped her, gently preventing her fall. Elfhelm whispered in her ear, "It is lies, my Lady. All lies. Look at how his eyes shift. The children are alive. Do not believe him. Have hope." She straightened.

Amandil, usurper to the Chair of Gondor, turned towards her as he noted her slight movement. "You are no longer needed here. Your things have been packed and sent by cart back to your home in Dol Amroth."

"I am to leave today?"

"I think it would be best." The ingratiating voice droned. "Best for your recovery from this shock. Best if you were with your family. People you love. It is a terrible time we live in."

She wanted to slap that hideous face, that lying face that told her that Indis was murdered by Orc. That the bodies of Boromir, Faramir and Théodred had been mutilated beyond recognition and now lay in vaults in the Silent Street. That this being before her was now calling himself Steward. That she was no longer welcome in the city that she had called home for years beyond remembering. She began to shake and felt the strong hand of Elfhelm again touch her, giving her strength. She took a deep breath and bowed. "I thank you for your kindness, my Lord. I will say my farewells and leave."

"There are hardly any left here to farewell, my Lady. I suggest you leave now."

The audacity of the man! She wanted to wring his neck. "I will do as you bid, my Lord," she said between tightened lips. "Mayhap Théoden King would accompany me to my carriage?"

"Ah, I am most sorry. We cannot afford to offer a carriage. A horse has been saddled and waits for you at the Great Gate. My man will show you to it." With that, he motioned and a soldier stepped forward. "As for speaking with Théoden King, I think not. I have further business with the King of Rohan. You may go now."

She turned to Théoden King in despair, but he kissed her and whispered, "We will meet you at my tent on the Pelennor. Do not go further than that."

She turned, bowed to Amandil and left the room.

Almost running down the street to the Great Gate, she stumbled. A hand reached out and helped steady her; then she felt arms hugging her tightly. "Oh! My lady!" The hands dropped quickly. "Pardon me, please. I was so happy to see you. I had not expected to see you here in the city. They said you had gone back to Dol Amroth." Tears fell from the eyes of her rescuer. "So much has happened. Such pain and sorrow I do not think I can stand it. The Steward dead! It cannot be. Can you believe that the Steward's sons are also dead? It near broke my heart. I have not stopped crying since the moment I heard. And the Lady Indis, too. It is too much. I am beside myself. I have not eaten nor slept since I heard the news."

Listöwel held her hand up. "It is Ioreth?" she asked. "My brain is addled, forgive me for not recognizing you."

"Nay, my Lady, 'tis sorrow that addles our brains. I have not had the wit to even think straight these past days. First the news of Lord Denethor. How could this have happened I thought to myself, and then just this morning, the new Steward announces that Boromir and Faramir are dead and now entombed, along with their father in the City of the Dead. And the Lady Indis," the woman's tears flowed and great sobs shook her body, "that kind sweet lady. She is dead also. I can bear it no longer." And the woman sat in the middle of the street and wailed.

Listöwel looked about her; the soldier sent to accompany her didn't know what to do. She turned to him and said, "I must help my friend to her home. I promise I will leave as soon as I see her safely home. She is too distraught to be left alone." The man scowled. Listöwel bent and held Ioreth tightly. The other woman's wailing increased in volume and intensity. "You must see that she cannot be left alone. I promise I will leave the city within the hour."

"You best be done quickly. I will wait at the gate for you. Be there soon. I have an appointment at one of the inns. A very important appointment, if you get my drift." He leered at her, turned and left them.

"Are you well enough to walk to the Houses?" Indis helped Ioreth stand.

Ioreth gave a short laugh. "I am well enough to dance a jig, if need be. Amandil's soldiers are all fools and easily duped."

Wide-eyed, Listöwel stared at her. "You pretended you were o'ercome with grief?"

"Of course! How else were we to get a moment alone! But I am distraught, even unto falling on the ground, though I would not let one of that man's soldiers see me thus, without good cause!" She laughed at the thought of her stunt. "But come, we cannot stand out here." And the woman led her back to the Houses. When they entered the main hall, she steered Listöwel towards a side door. "Here. We can sit here, take some tea, and talk." She quickly put a kettle on the stove, brought out cups, spoons and plates. I have some cake left over from nuncheon. You look like you might need a little something?"

"Are the children dead? Did you see their bodies?" Listöwel asked, her eyes brimming with tears. Mayhap Théoden King was mistaken.

Ioreth stopped. "I did not see them. But that is what is being said. I can hardly believe it myself. Rumours always fly about, but these are not rumours. As I said, the new Steward, just this morning, proclaimed a day of mourning for the Steward's family. I…" Ioreth sat. "I cannot believe it is true. I will not believe it is true, unless someone I trust tells me." Her tears flowed. "I played with them, tucked them into bed at night when Mother had other duties, took care of them when they were sick and brought here for treatments. They cannot be dead." Her chin shook, but she wiped the tears from her eyes, stood and took the kettle off the stove, placed the leaves in the pot, and covered them with the hot water. She cut the cake, placed it on two plates, and brought them and the tea to the table. "They are not dead," she stated flatly. "'Tis time to eat."

"The King of Rohan does not believe they are dead," Listöwel said while they ate their cake. "I do not know what to believe, but I am to meet him on the Pelennor. I must not tarry. I cannot thank you enough, Ioreth, for your kindness." She stood.

"'Twas nothing, my lady. I ask only one favour in return. Please find them. Then tell me they are alive and well."

"I will. I promise!" She gave Ioreth a hug, quickly left and ran down the street.

The soldier startled her as he stepped out of an alley near the gate, pulling a bedraggled horse behind him. "You were gone too long," he chided. "Must be on your way, else the Steward will have my skin. Here." And he shoved the reins into her hand, turned and left her.

'Not even a leg up,' she thought bemusedly. 'Well, better this way. At least he will not be able to tell Amandil which direction I took.' She clicked her tongue and the horse started forward at the slowest pace possible. 'If I have to stay on this horse the entire way to Dol Amroth, I will get there by next spring!'

As Listöwel entered the King's tent nigh unto an hour later, she was surprised to see Théoden King standing before her. "We were concerned," he said quietly. "None knew your whereabouts. The soldier assigned to you did not look too savory."

"An old friend needed to bid me farewell. So I tarried for a moment. Then, the mount I was given must be a hundred years old. It walked slower than a snail." She smiled.

"You are feeling better?" the King asked.

"Aye. I do not believe the boys are dead, nor Indis. No one, it seems, has even seen their bodies."

"I am sending an aide tonight. Someone who knows the city well. We should have a report before morning. Would you want to be notified?"

She walked towards him. "Surely you jest, my lord. I will not sleep till the man returns."

"Then stay here. We have things to discuss and plans to make."

Supper was brought in; Théoden King, Erkenbrand, Elfhelm and Listöwel ate and talked well into the night.

"We have a dilemma before us. We came to support Boromir, see him seated upon the Chair of Gondor; now, we find a usurper on that very Chair and no sign of the company I sent forth. They should have been here already. If there was, in truth, an attack, they may have sustained injuries that have delayed them."

Silence filled the tent as each considered Théoden King's pronouncement.

"My King," Erkenbrand said, "their is another possibility. They might have been imprisoned, once they entered the city."

"The Lady Indis was certain she would be able to hide until we came," Théoden King stated.

Elfhelm stood. "We had treachery in Edoras. Mayhap there is treachery here also. A traitor could have discovered our plan, sent word to this scoundrel, and our friends discovered."

"Or," Erkenbrand stated, "they are, in truth, dead."

At that very moment, the tent flap was pushed back and a soldier stood in their midst. He saluted and waited.

All in the tent stood. "What did you discover?" Théoden King asked with as much force as he was able to muster, though his heart was in his throat.

"According to your direction, my Lord, I viewed the remains. They were still in the Houses waiting interment. The body was not Théodred's."

Boromir heard sobbing through the ringing in his head.  It sounded like Faramir.  He tried to open his eyes, but could not; the pain, every time he tried, was unbearable.  He shifted and a hand touched his.  He drew his own back in alarm. 

"Boromir, 'tis I, Théodred.  I thought you were dead.  It is pitch black.  I could not see if you were breathing or not.  I could feel nothing.  My hands and feet are bound."

"I am alive," Boromir smiled, but pain shot through his head as he answered and he gasped.

"You are hurt!" Théodred cried. 

"Nay.  I do not think badly, at any rate. My head throbs.  It seems I was hit with something very hard.  Faramir?" he questioned Théodred.  His friend did not reply.  "Are we alone?"  He did not want to ask the question, but he had to know where his brother was.

"Aye.  I am sorry.  Faramir is not with us.  I have been sitting here for hours, hoping you were alive, that you would wake.  We are in some dark cavern or some such.  There is no one here but us."

"Was that you crying?"

"Aye."

"Are you injured?"

"Nay."

"Your Adar will not believe you dead, Théodred.  What is a stranger's body shown to him?  He knows yours.  Wait," a thought came to him, "do you have an old scar, or perhaps a birthmark of some kind?"

"I do."  Théodred sounded hopeful.  "I have a scar on my ankle.  A foal kicked me last year.  He will know it is not me." 

Boromir heard fresh sobs.

"He will know it is not me," Théodred repeated in joy.

"Aye.  And if he knows that the body shown him is not yours, he will know the rest of the tale told him is false, too.  We are saved by your ankle, Théodred."  He laughed aloud; then moaned.  He tried to put his hand to his head, but he could not. "Théodred, am I bleeding?"

"Nay.  I tried to discern your injuries when first we were thrown here.  You have a horrid bump on the back of your head, but I found no other injury."

Screeching, the cell door opened.  Boromir and Théodred huddled together.  Faint light shone through and Boromir knew where they were - the dungeons of the Citadel!  Something was thrown inside; something that groaned.  The door protested again as it closed with a clang.

Boromir and Théodred held their breaths.  Who could have been thrown in?  Boromir, trying to shake the pain from his head, rolled over and over towards where the sound had ended.  He could feel something in front of him.  He reached out and touched it.  "Oh!  It is a body, Théodred," he shuddered and moved back. 

"Is he warm?"

"Aye."  Boromir moved forward again.  Haltingly, he touched the body again.  It was warm and alive, whoever it was.  "Do we have any water?  He is alive."

"Nay.  Nothing."

Tenderly, he pushed the hair back, hoping it was one of their company.  As he did, he felt a great lump on the back of the person's neck and congealed blood.  Again, he pulled his hand back. 

"He is hurt.  I do not know what to do," he lamented.  There was only one thing to do.  He touched the head again, gently stroking the hair and murmuring, "You are safe now.  You are safe."  He was rewarded by a moan.  Still, he knew not who lay before him.

"Perhaps if you call a name?" Théodred suggested.

Boromir thought for a moment.  It was the body of a man, that was definite.  Hard muscle lay under the clothing.  "Éomund?" he asked, hopefully.  "Éomund."  There was no answer.  He tried again, "Éomund."  This time another moan escaped the man's lips. 

"Éomund, it is I, Boromir.  You are safe now." 

A gasp answered him.  "Boromir!  Is it you?"

Boromir sobbed at the sound of the beloved voice.  "It is I and Théodred is with me!"  He moved closer to the man, tears streaming down his face.  "We thought you were dead." He sobbed uncontrollably, all the fear and terror of the last hours overwhelming him.

~*~

"Come here, boy."   A huge man in a chair motioned the boy forward, but he refused to move.  Another man, this one behind Faramir, picked him up by the collar and threw him forward.  He landed at the feet of the man in the chair.  "You will obey me if you ever want to see your brother again.  Do you understand?" 

The smile on the large man's face sent shivers down the boy's back.  He started shaking violently. 

"Where is he?" Faramir cried. "What have you done to him?"  He stood up and started hitting the man on the chest.  The man slapped him and the force of it flung him backwards.  He cried out in pain and fear.

"You have not been taught manners, son of a cur," the man sneered.  "When I ask you a question, you will bow, and say, 'Yes, my Lord,' and then you will answer me.  Am I making myself clear?"

The boy burst into tears.  "Yes, my Lord," he sobbed.

"That is better.  If you do these simple things, you will be treated well.  Do you believe me?"

The boy thought for a moment; his hesitation earned him a box of his ears by the other man.  He whimpered, "Yes, my Lord."

"Good.  Now, come and pour me some wine while I consider what to do with you."  The other man laughed aloud.  The huge man scowled up at him.  "Keep quiet."  The other man frowned. 

"Yes, my Lord Steward," he spat out the words.

Faramir looked in astonishment.  Forgetting himself, he shouted, "Boromir is Steward!"  The man again struck him, and the child, flung across the floor by the force of the blow, dropped the flagon of wine.

"Now look at what you have done!" the large man shouted.  Faramir tried to raise himself, but his ankle hurt terribly.  He screamed.  He could not put weight on it.  The other man came over and pulled him up by the arm; Faramir shrieked.  Pain shot through his shoulder.  Sobbing, he fell to the floor.

"He is worthless, my Lord Steward.  Perhaps you should exchange boys?  The other one might have more intelligence, know how to treat his elders."

Through a fog, Faramir realized Boromir still lived.  He cried out in joy and was quickly struck again.  This time, the fog took him.

~*~

Indis paced in a tight circle.  Never, in all her wildest imaginings, had she thought they would be treated in this manner.  She shivered.  These men that had ambushed them were none that she knew.  They acted like animals.  She had been slapped about and taunted mercilessly.  One had even tried…  She shuddered.  He would not be able to walk without pain for a day or two!  She would have smiled, but the actions of the beast had brought to mind her sister's foul death at the hands of the Haradrim.  One expected such behavior from the men of the South, not so from men of Gondor. 

She rubbed her bruised shoulder.  Were the others dead?  She had seen naught of them since she had been dragged behind the house and…  Again, she put those thoughts out of her mind.  She must concentrate on where the children were, what she could do about it, and consider the fate of the others.  Had they managed to escape?  Nay, it was not possible.  If they had escaped, she would not be here.  The cell was dark, but she knew where she was, had known almost immediately.  Morwen, Listöwel, and she had spent many an hour in a chamber just like this, but it had been with their mentor, Eledhwen, the Shieldmaiden, training with swords to become warriors.  She slumped to the floor and wept.  Warriors indeed.  For all her planning, everything had gone wrong. 

Her head shot up as the door grudgingly opened. 

"Is anyone else with us?" Éomund asked.

"Nay.  It is just Théodred and I.  We have been here for hours, according to Théodred.  I was not awake most of the time."

"Are you injured?" Éomund cried in concern.

"My head.  I was struck by something before they carried us here.  But it is just pain and a big bump.  I will be all right."

"And you, Théodred, are you all right?"

"They told Father I was dead," the boy whimpered.

Éomund laughed.  "He will not believe them!"

"We think not," Boromir said.  "But the men told us they took the King to the cave where the Orc attacked.  They said they put bodies that looked like ours around the entrance.  They…"

"They marred the faces?"  Éomund spoke when Boromir did not continue.

"Aye," Théodred began to cry.  "They told them we were all dead."  He sniffled and then said, "Boromir says Father will not believe them."

"I believe Boromir is correct.  Your father is wise, Théodred.  And – he is your father.  He knows you.  He will not believe them.  Now, we must find some way to escape.  Has it been this dark the entire time you have been here?  Have you heard nothing?"

Théodred spoke up.  "Aye.  Dark and cold.  There has been the sound of doors opening and closing and some laughter, but I have heard no voices speaking."

"Have you seen any of our company?"

"Nay.  Baldor is dead.  I saw him fall.  I never saw Grimbold once the battle began."

"Aldor is dead too," Éomund said sadly.  "The Lady Indis was dragged away.  I was hewn down as I tried to reach her.  I know not if my hand will ever hold a sword again."

"We are in the dungeons of the Citadel," Boromir offered.  "I think the bottommost cells."

"That is not very good, is it?  Well, somehow we will find a way out of here, I promise."

The door opened again and this time a tall, burly man could be seen in the light from the hall.  He walked to Boromir and lifted him easily by the scruff of the neck. 

Éomund lashed out with his legs trying to bring the man down, but the man just growled and kicked Éomund in the head.  Éomund still tried to move, though stars burst before his eyes from the pain.  He thrust out his leg again, but the man was already past him, dragging Boromir behind him.  Éomund could see the lad kicking and heard his screams.  Théodred's voice joined Boromir's.  The door closed and Éomund fell back, listening to his nephew's sobs.

~*~

An object was flung in and the door clanged shut again.  Indis held her breath.  She could hear nothing.  'What is it?' she thought.  She stood up, making her way through the darkness of the cell, and felt her foot touch something.  She drew in an unsteady breath and bent down.  Touching it, she discovered a child lay at her feet.  'Dead?'  She shook. 

"Please let it not be one of the boys," she whispered. 

Moving her hands across the face and down the small shoulders, she knew it must be Denethor's youngest.  No sound issued from the boy's mouth.  A sense of dread filled her as she tried to listen for some breath of life.  His body seemed unnaturally cold.  She knelt and held him, sobbing uncontrollably at the feel of the unresponsive body in her arms.  Despair, fear and pain filled her.

Hours passed and the child still lay silent.  She clung to him, rocking back and forth slowly, whispering his name over and over.  'If only I had some water,' she thought distantly, 'something I could wipe his little forehead with.'  In her delirium, she started to hum a little lullaby the boys' mother had sung so many times. 

Tears fell again as she remembered the quiet evenings when Finduilas allowed her to share their nightly ritual.  After spending an hour with their father, Denethor would then bring them to the nursery.  After hugging and kissing him goodnight, they would run into the wardrobe, returning in their bedclothes; then, Firieth would scrub their hands and faces.  Bringing them back into the main room by the fireplace, they would sit before it, waiting for their mother, Finduilas, to come.  Once a week, the Steward's wife would invite the boys' aunt to join them.  A large wing-backed green chair was where Indis would sit and watch as both boys jumped up and climbed onto the settle next to their mother.  Finduilas would bring out a book; the boys accompanied the discovery with squeals of delight.  She always seemed to know which one they were interested in that night. 

At least, that had been Indis' thought at the time; now, she realized the children did not care which book she read, they squealed in the delight of seeing their mother.  She almost choked on her tears.  Bowing her head, she cried out her sorrow.

~*~

Boromir was dumped upon a marble floor.  It was not the Great Hall, he knew, but the floor reminded him of it.  Groggily trying to remember this room, he tried to stand. 

"Good!" he heard a voice say.  "At least this one seems to have some wit about him."

'What did the voice mean?  This one.  Which one?  Who else has been brought before him?'  Shaking his head, he looked forward and stopped in fear.  Blood spotted the floor.

"Well, come forward," the voice called. 

Boromir stood up and recognized the man.  This was Lord Amandil.  Now he remembered him.  Huge and very ugly.  He was very rich, if Boromir remembered correctly.  'So, this is my enemy,' he thought.  'I must be careful.  He must have some power to have taken the Chair so easily.'

"I said come forward."

Boromir felt a hand hit him hard on the back of his head, but he stood his ground.  He slowly moved forward.  "Forgive me.  I am still addled from the earlier blow that I received from your men," he said softly.

"Ah!  So you have manners?  I am glad.  You know then who I am?"

"Aye.  I was told you are the Steward of Gondor."

The man laughed uproariously.  "This one indeed has wit," he chortled, shoving the other man in glee.  "I like you, boy.  Would you like to know a secret?"

"If it is your wish, my Lord Steward," Boromir spoke quietly again, hoping to allay any suspicion.  He knew he must spend this time learning all he could as to the state of Gondor.  This man had the answers.

"Ah ha!" the man laughed again.  "I truly like you, boy.  It would not please me to see you dead."  The man raised an eyebrow as he spoke.  "Do you understand?" 

"Of course, my Lord Steward."

"Good.  Now, I will tell you this.  I have been named Steward by the Council and the people obey me.  But it would be most beneficial," the man almost pleaded, "if you would stand before the men of Gondor and bow to me."  He stood and walked to Boromir.  "Could you do that, little man?" he said as he grabbed Boromir's chin.

"Aye, my Lord Steward," Boromir almost whispered, "on one condition."  The hand holding his chin began to tighten.  "It is a little thing, my Lord Steward," Boromir said quickly.

Amandil let his chin go.  "What is this little thing you ask?"

"Let my brother go free.  Send him to Dol Amroth. I will write a letter to my Adadhron," Boromir rushed on before the man could stop him.  "I will tell Prince Adrahil that you are my guardian and that you wish him to be Faramir's guardian.  It is a little thing, my Lord Steward.  It would cause you no harm or distress.  And you would not have to… dispose of another body.  And – Prince Adrahil would accept you as Steward without question."

The man sat back in his chair, his eyes wary.  "You would write the letter yourself?"

"Of course, only putting down the words you tell me to."

"I like this idea.  Faramir is no use to me anyhow.  You, I will keep near.  Just in case any have a thought to usurp my claim."

"That is most wise, my Lord Steward," Boromir said, "But how are you going to say I am alive?  I was told you claimed me dead, along with everyone else in our party?"

"Humph," the man belched, "I was misled, told an untruth by an unscrupulous knight.  We will hang someone as proof of this.  Then all will be right."

"Very good, my Lord Steward," Boromir bowed.  "One other little thing, my Lord Steward," he smiled gently, "Might I see my brother before he goes?"

Amandil looked at him, ever suspicious.  "And what would you do if you saw him?  What would you say?"

"I would say my farewells is all, my Lord Steward.  After all, he is my brother."

"I will arrange it, after you have written and signed the missive.  You do know how to write?"

"Thank you, my Lord Steward.  Of course I do."  He was shown to a table where he was instructed to sit.  Parchment and a quill were brought to him. 

"Go get Faramir, take him to my healer and have him looked after," Amandil whispered to his second. "I will bring Boromir to him, but not till tomorrow. I hope the boy still lives." He grabbed the man's collar. "If he is dead, let me know immediately." The man nodded and left.

"Now. How would you like some food and drink? You must be hungry after your long journey?" He walked towards the writing table Boromir sat at and took the letter the boy had written. "Very good!" he said after reading it, patting Boromir on the back. "This is excellent. Here, come to my table and join me." He pulled Boromir's chair back and helped him to stand. "You are a little weak, I see. I should have those who brought you on this journey flogged for their lack of care!"

"Is the Lady Indis well?" Boromir tried to couch his words so that they were not accusatory. "It would be nice to see her again." He knew not how long he could continue his requests.

"She is doing quite well. Has a room all to herself. She seemed to need some quiet, so I instructed my men to protect her well."

Boromir sat at the dining table. He took a sip of wine. Then he ate some carved venison. It tasted extremely good. He took another sip of wine, but he felt his head sway and he stopped. He was growing tired of this cat-and-mouse game. In fact, he was growing very tired altogether. His head slumped forward.

Amandil laughed. 'That will keep you asleep for quite some time. By the time you do wake, Faramir should be looking a little better, if he lives." He chided himself for some of what he had done to the lad. It would not be good if Boromir changed his mind; though he had the Council behind him, every advantage, every tool would be needed help him retain the Rod. The speed with which he had usurped the Stewardship had caught the knights unaware. Those in the field did not even know what had happened. Ah, but what did he care? He had the letter to Adrahil and that protected him from the south. That fool, Théoden, seemed to accept his tale of the Orc slaughter and had left the city a day ago. Everything was working out better than he had imagined. He smiled to himself. Calling an aide, he had Boromir carried back to the dungeon. He couldn't afford having the boy slip away. His men were not the sharpest.

~*~

Her moans increased. Faramir would not wake. She had torn her dress and cried for hours, catching her tears in the cloth; then using the wettened fabric to wipe his forehead. She had found there was blood running down the side of his face. Every new discovery wrenched her heart and brought fresh tears. But she was grateful for them; they were being used to give him some comfort. She had wiped as much of the blood away as she could feel. She still hummed the lullaby intermittently, but her throat was parched. She had no idea how long she had been there, holding the little one.

Her head jerked; she had fallen asleep. She cursed and then laughed. Denethor had been appalled to hear the curses she had learned from the soldiers of Gondor. Those soldiers lying in the Houses, close to death, cursed Mordor and anything else their feebled minds could remember. Arciryas had discovered, a long time ago, that she had learnt and was wont to use the same. She had picked up the speech quickly and never ceased to startle her husband when she was particularly furious at Ecthelion. She sighed.

"In- dis?"

Did she hear that beautiful voice call her name? "Faramir," tears flowed harder, "Faramir, my love." She pulled him closer to her. He screamed in agony. She released her hold.

"Faramir, where does it hurt?" She noted he held his breath. She was in torment herself trying to think of some way to help him, some way to ease his pain. "Where does it hurt, little one?"

He slowly let his breath out. "My sh… sh… shoulder an… and my head," he whimpered.

"I will lay you flat, that should help,"

"Nay," he whispered, "please do not, oh…"

"Faramir! Faramir!" but he did not reply, drifting off into some pain-free place, she hoped. "Oh Faramir," she wailed. "What have they done to you?"

At that very moment, the heavy door swung open. Two men walked in, one carrying a lamp. The other stepped towards her. She tried to draw back, pulling Faramir closer to her. He would not now feel the pain, but she must keep him from these monsters.

The one slapped her hard. She fell backwards. He scooped Faramir into his arms and turned. She stood and jumped on his back, beating his arms and scratching and clawing at him, all the while biting his neck and ears, trying to stop him from taking Faramir from her.

The other grabbed her by the hair and pulled. She fell off the other man's back and onto the floor. He kicked her; she swooned.

~*~

Théoden King watched his men ride before him. He had let them pass, hoping they thought it was grief kept him from leading them. Still, and he was furious with himself and his spies, he did not know who the traitor in their midst was. He had almost died himself when the cloth was thrown back, and the young man that lay dead before him was said to be his son. He would not believe it. In the middle of the night, one of his own had gone to examine the body. It was not Théodred! A thousand thanks went to the Valar.

Amandil had offered him Gondor's condolences and he had accepted them, almost choking on the words of thanks. Then, he mustered the Rohirrim and rode out yesterday afternoon. His son must be in the Citadel somewhere. He hoped that Boromir and Faramir were with him.

As night fell, the Rohirrim camped to the north of the Rammas Echor. He sent those men he trusted to Osgiliath and Cair Andros under cover of darkness. He remembered the names of those Denethor trusted and knew where they were stationed. They would sneak back onto the Pelennor at night and meet in the farmhouse that belonged to Amdir's kin. Then, when the Captains had assembled and they were ready with a plan laid down, they would sneak into the city and find their lost. And Amandil would find himself hanging from a gibbet, if Théoden had his way! Now all he could do was wait.

When morning came, the Rohirrim assembled again and rode west. The next night, they camped outside the garrison at Eilenach. Many of his men went to the inn to spend the night in quiet mourning, away from their King. The pain on his face could not be endured. In the dark of night, he too slipped away. Erkenbrand would say he went ahead to prepare for the burial. Most would believe the story. He and his chosen men headed for the Pelennor. Secrecy was of the utmost importance. They could not be discovered.

~*~

"Boromir!" Théodred cried as Boromir was carried into the cell. He still slept, but Théodred mistook his state, so thoroughly frightened was he. "Dead! Oh no, not dead!"

"Nay. He is not dead. Here is food for you all." The guard laid plates on the ground; then unbound their hands. "When he wakes, give him this. It will help the pain he will feel from the drug." He laid a vial down next to the food. The thug slammed the door behind him, opening a grate in the door to let some light in.

Éomund quickly untied his legs, fumbling with his good hand. Then he tried to stand; his legs would not respond. 'How long have we been here?' he wondered.

Untying his own legs, Théodred ran to Boromir's side. "Boromir," he cried, "Boromir!" He cradled his friend's head in his lap. "He looks dead, Éomund."

Éomund finally made it to the boys' side. "Let me see." He lifted one of Boromir's eyelids and noted the drugged state. Éomund cried aloud - a sound of pain, frustration and utter desolation. "Such a little one. How could they do this to him?" He pulled himself together. "Come, I can see a cot. Let us put him there. Théodred, I cannot lift him. Would you be able to?"

The lad nodded. He slowly gathered his friend in his arms and carried him to the corner that Éomund pointed out. He saw the cot and laid Boromir gently onto it. Éomund brought a flask of what he hoped was water from what the guard had left and tasted it. Weak mead - even better! He put it to Boromir's lips. The lad never moved.

"What are we going to do, Éomund? Will he die?"

"I think not, Théodred. They left the food for him, I think. They must have plans for him and that is good. I wonder why they drugged him?" He sat next to Théodred and the lad moved closer. He felt him shiver. "We will get out of this mess. Did I not promise?"

"Why did you tell the king that all were murdered by the Orc?" the leech asked in frustration. "How am I to go back home?"

"Ah, a small detail I forgot," Amandil said, bowing slightly to the man before him. "We must do something about that, mustn't we?"

"Of course! I delivered them into your hands as I promised my master. Now, you must keep your end of the bargain and give me my reward and safe journey back to Edoras."

Amandil gestured to one of his men who stepped forward. "We must take care of the healer. Would you show him to his horse?" He turned and smiled at the Rohir. "I will write a letter to Théoden telling him I was told wrongly. He will welcome you with open arms."

The leech smiled back, holding out his hand. He grimaced as the sword went through his heart, and fell forward.

The soldier wiped his blade, smiling. "That should seal the bargain, my Lord Steward."

"Take him and bury him in the back of the Hallows. No one goes there." Amandil smiled and walked back to his supper. After a few glasses of wine, he asked, "How fares the brat?"

"The healers have him now, my Lord Steward. They think his collarbone is broken. His ankle is merely sprained. He will be able to walk again. There is a nasty cut to his forehead, but it has been stitched. The healer believes he will be better in two or three days." He ducked to avoid the glass thrown at him.

Amandil shrieked, "He must look well by tomorrow! He must be able to stand and smile and simper for his boffel-headed brother!"

The man bowed and ran for the door. "I will inform the healers," he said, dodging again to escape another projectile.

"Fools and idiots!" Amandil grumbled.

~*~

Indis woke to darkness. Her side was on fire. Slowly she tried to piece together what had happened. Then she started to shake. Tears fell; the pain was intense as sobs wracked through her. Every breath was an agony. 'At least one of my ribs must be broken,' she thought. She hung her head down, but the pressure only made her side hurt worse. If she didn't move, didn't cry, and tried to breathe as shallowly as possible, the pain lessoned. Her face, however, cried for attention. She felt her cheek. It was ablaze. She had been slapped hard; she remembered it now. If only she had some water to put on it. But wishes were for children.

'Faramir!' her heart cried. She bit her lip to keep from sobbing; the pain was near too terrible to endure when she sobbed. "Where are you?" she called out quietly, hoping that he was still in the cell with her. There was no response. 'He could still be here,' she thought, 'brought back while I was insensible, but he is unable to answer.' She moved slowly, grabbing her side as she did; she had to try to find him. Calling his name, she went around the entire cell; small though it was, by the time she finished her search, her breathing was strained. She felt light-headed. "I must find him," she sobbed and utter exhaustion took her.

~*~

Boromir stayed in his drug-induced sleep. Éomund was becoming concerned. It had been hours. Why would they keep him drugged for hours? He paced around their prison. 'How many days has it been?' he wondered. 'Where is Théoden King now? He must be doing something, must have some plan. If only I could get word to him, tell him where we are.' But that seemed an unlikely prospect. Only soldiers ever came to their cell; Éomund could tell they were not the soldiers of Gondor. Too sloppily dressed, too undisciplined. Denethor would never have let any of these men serve under him. Their only hope was Théoden King.

"When do you suppose my father will rescue us?" Théodred inquired softly. "It has been at least two days, maybe more. Did not you think he was already in Minas Tirith long before we arrived?"

"Aye. And I still hold that true. What your father is about, at this moment, I am unable to fathom. Yet, I believe he has some plan and is executing it right now. We must be patient, try to stay together, and hearten each other. That, my young liege lord, is what soldiering is about." He went on to recount tales of soldering to keep the lad's mind from dwelling on their own dire straits. And he succeeded for the most part, he thought, until he saw Théodred's quick glances towards Boromir.

He wondered how long it would be before they, too, were murdered. If Théoden King did not come soon.

~*~

Grimbold woke to darkness and pain. He gently felt his left temple; he could feel the sticky blood covering his fingers as he pulled his hand away. He stood slowly and looked about. He discovered Aldor's body just a few steps away, and then Baldor's further back. He grunted, cursed their murderers, and continued searching - time for tears and farewells later. Try as he might, he could find no sign of the children, or of Éomund and Indis. Where was that stupid leech, too? They must have all been captured. He breathed a sigh of relief. At least they would be safe for the moment.

He looked up and stars greeted him, faint and somehow hidden. He knew it was not the same night; the bodies of his companions were too cold. So he had been out for a night and a day. When would they come back to bury him? Or would they leave him there for the carrion eaters? He noted a fog seemed to cover his eyes; it wasn't fog, it was his own blood. He tried to wipe it away and discovered that the head wound had started bleeding again. He tore his sleeve and wrapped his head with it. Then, he moved forward. He must find a way out. As he walked, he heard voices in front of him. Quickly, he ducked behind one of the pillars lining the street; he had recovered his sword and held it in front of him, ready for anything.

Three of them strode forward, one carrying something heavy over his shoulder. Grimbold watched and followed. They moved towards the back of the Hallows. One of them stopped, grabbed Aldor's arms and dragged him along. The other grabbed Baldor and did the same. The third did not stop; his burden too heavy.

When they reached the wall, they turned to their left and walked to a clearing. Markings told Grimbold that it was a simple burial ground. This was his only chance, while their hands were burdened. The third was dragging far behind. Aldor was a big man and took much effort to move. Grimbold pulled his knife with his left hand, came up behind the soldier, and cut his throat. The man fell silently. He crept forward and dispatched the second as easily as the first. The leader had not noticed, but put his burden down and picked up a shovel, joking about the men they were going to bury, and proceeded to dig. He looked up when no one answered. At that moment, Grimbold shoved his sword through the man's belly.

Grimbold looked about him. "I do not think any will look for this lot too soon!" He laughed as he espied a flask tied around one of the soldier's waist. "They were planning on celebrating, it seems, once they finished their task. Well, I will celebrate for them!" He cut the flask from the man's waist and raised it to his lips. He was parched; it was good ale and most welcome!

Boromir stirred. Éomund locked the door again and hid the key under the cot's leg.

Théodred had woken as soon as he felt Boromir move. He looked up, hopefully, to Éomund. "Is he waking?"

"Oh!" Another moan, then Boromir's hand moved, ever so slightly.

"Boromir," Éomund called softly, but before the boy could respond, the door opened. Éomund cursed quietly. 'Too late.'

"Move, else I move you myself," the churlish voice called out from the door. "Back away from the boy, now!"

Éomund took Théodred's hand and, pulling the struggling boy with him, moved towards the other end of the cell. 'I cannot let him take Boromir,' he thought furiously. 'But how can I stop him?'

He watched as the man walked into the room. Ideas flew through his head. Then he heard a noise by the open door. Three more men stood outside. He had not noticed them. It would have been hard enough, with his wounds, to take one; he could not take three. He placed Théodred behind him; else they might consider taking him also.

"You're a smart man," their captor noted as Éomund moved away from him. "We will take this one and bring food in his stead. Now doesn't that sound nice?" The men in the doorway laughed.

"Leave him here. He is still drugged. He is of no use to you."

"Nay," the man laughed again, "The drug wears off. He is waking. I know how to give just the right amount. I am a wizard, you see!" And the men at the door laughed uproariously at the joke. He picked up Boromir, threw him over his shoulder, and walked out. The door was closed and locked behind him.

Éomund slipped to the floor in despair.

~*~

"You are ready to see your brother, now?" Amandil asked him.

Boromir's head hurt and he couldn't remember having put on new clothes. Yet, here he stood with his good black tunic on emblazoned with the White Tree, and clean hose and dress boots. When had he changed? His mouth tasted horrible. The last thing he remembered was drinking some wine. What was the man saying to him?

"I said, you are ready to see your brother, now?"

"Oh! Yes! Please! Where is he?"

"First, we have that favour you were going to do for me, before I let you see your brother."

Boromir looked at him in confusion. "I do not understand."

Amandil smiled. 'It will be most easy to have the lad speak the words I want,' he thought. 'He can hardly remember his name!' He took Boromir by the shoulder and squeezed it lightly. "You remember. You promised you would speak to the Lords of Gondor about our arrangement."

Boromir stood for a moment, dazed.

"Do not be concerned, Lord Boromir. I have written the words you are to say. Now, would you be so kind as to come with me to the Council's chambers? They are waiting for you."

Boromir followed the man down the hallway and into the Great Hall. Turning to the left, they entered the Council's chambers. Boromir stopped for a moment, trying to get his bearings. Before him sat many of Adar’s friends. He did not understand. How could they let this man take his Adar's chair?

Amandil pushed him forward. "My Lords," he said graciously. "Have I not told you that Lord Boromir would speak with you? Here he is, ready to answer your questions, but first, he has prepared a speech. If you would give him the courtesy to listen." He thrust a sheet of parchment into Boromir's hands.

"Lords of Gondor," Boromir started haltingly, "friends and counselors of my father." He stopped for a breath and felt a knife's point in his back as Amandil leaned over, pretending to show him his place on the sheet. "It is my right and privilege," Boromir continued, "as Heir to the Steward, to do with the Rod as I will. I deem myself too young for this position, and also, not willing to take it upon myself. Therefore, I have asked the Lord Amandil, counselor and friend of my father's, to assume the Stewardship and all the rights and privileges that belong to it." Boromir choked on the words and started coughing violently. The knifepoint dug deeper. He put the paper down and spoke. "My father loved many of you. I hope you will remember that in the days ahead. Thank you." He bowed, turned and walked back through the door.

"I am so very sorry, my Lords, but it seems that the Lord Boromir has been taken by grief and will not answer your questions. Please, come to me with any questions you might have and I will do my best to answer them. Thank you for coming today. You may now leave." With that, he turned and followed Boromir out the door.

As soon as he reached the hall and the guards had closed the Council's door, Amandil grabbed Boromir by the shoulder and swung him around, slapping him soundly across the face. "Do not ever say anything unless I say you may! Do you understand?"

Boromir nodded, but his heart felt lighter. He hoped someone on the Council understood his last words.

~*~

"Stand straight!" Faramir swayed a little to the left and the man struck him on the back.

"Ow!" Faramir cried out. "Please, my shoulder."

"When your brother arrives, you will not move. Do you understand me? You will sit very tall and straight in this chair and answer all his questions with a yea or a nay." He took Faramir's chin, tilting it so the boy was forced to look at him. "Do you understand?"

"Aye." Faramir sat before he fell.

"Ah! That is a good lad. Now remember. You feel fine. You took a stumble in Rath Dínen and hurt your shoulder. But you are fine. You want to visit your uncle, but you will miss your brother."

"Aye."

"Good." The man signaled to the guard. "Tell Lord Amandil that we are ready for him."

Faramir swayed a little in the chair again, but the man’s back was turned and he did not notice. The boy put his hand on the arm of the chair and closed his eyes. A tear slid down his face. He batted it away with his sleeve. He could not cry. They said they would kill Boromir if he cried. His head hurt terribly and his tongue clung to the top of his mouth. "May I have a glass of water?" he whispered.

The man whirled about, anger evident on his face, but Boromir stepped through the door at that exact moment.

He saw Faramir immediately and started to run towards him when a hand grabbed him, hard, and pulled him up short.

"You must remember. Your brother was hurt before we found him and must stay seated. You may approach him, but do not get too close. He had the fever and we would not want you to sicken also."

Boromir nodded his head and walked slowly towards Faramir noting the ugly wound on his brother's forehead and his arm in a white sling. "Little brother," he said. "I have missed you. Are you well? Are they taking good care of you?"

"Aye, Boromir, I am well." Faramir’s guard took a step forward and Faramir jerked.

"I have seen you look better, Faramir. That was a nasty fall, was it not?"

"Aye," Faramir said, his eyes shifting towards the guard. He saw the knife behind the man's back and his breath hitched. "I want to go to Dol Amroth," he blurted out quickly, "to live with Uncle Adrahil."

"Of course, Faramir," Amandil broke in. "You will be leaving this afternoon."

"He looks too weak to leave so soon!" Boromir protested.

"We have arranged for a cart. He will sleep on the way and arrive refreshed and well in Belfalas."

"Faramir?" Boromir tried to read his brother's eyes, but they were too full of pain and fear for him to know what he was thinking. "I bid you farewell, my brother. I hope to see you soon. I will try to come for your birth celebration, if I may?"

"I would like that very much." Faramir's mouth began to quiver.

Boromir knew he must leave, else he would start crying, too, and then Amandil would carry out his threat and have Faramir killed. "I will leave you now. Give my regards to our uncle." He bowed, turned and left the room. Biting his inner cheek so hard it bled, he walked as fast as he could away from Amandil.

"Stop, young Boromir," the man said pleasantly. "You have done well. In fact, you have done so well that I have decided to allow you to return to your own quarters. There will, of course, be a guard on your door, but you may rest there and recover from your ordeal. When I need you, I will know where to find you."

Boromir ran out of the Great Hall and stood, retching miserably against the marble wall. A guard had followed him, pulled him from the wall and pushed him towards the Citadel. Boromir ran up the stairs to his own rooms, locked the door behind him, and fell to the floor, sobbing.

Dawn would soon be upon them and the would-be rescuers were no further in their discussions than they had been when they began. Captain Amlach snorted in disgust. "Time is too precious. Every moment we sit here discussing what to do is another moment that could mean the end of the lives of the children. We must act, and quickly."

Théoden King stood. "We all agree on this, Captain Amlach, but we cannot be hasty. If we rush in, with our plans still half-formed, we risk even more than death for the children or for ourselves. We risk war. I cannot allow that."

"Of course," Captain Húrin agreed. "Let us see, once more, what it is that causes us to move no further."

"We must have someone inside. That is the crux of the matter," Captain Hathol sighed. "We want to move in at night, so that none will be recognized, and the Great Gate will be barred. There is no way to enter once the gate is barred."

"And if any of us try to enter, we will be recognized," Captain Dúinhir stood and stretched. "We have no orders to enter the city. That is the crux of the problem."

The farmer's mother brought in wine, cheese, and bread. She curtsied, apologized for the lack of provisions, and turned away.

Théoden King gently caught hold of her by the shoulder and turned her towards him. "You and your son are loyal to Lord Denethor and the line of Stewards. You have given your home to us, though you would be deemed traitors and hanged for such actions. We need more from you, I am very sorry to say."

She blinked. "My Lords, whatever you need, ask it. My son and I are yours. All that we have is yours."

"What is your plan?" Captain Dúinhir asked quietly.

"Her son will take some of their produce to the city in a cart. We will hide in the cart and gain access. It would be simple."

Captain Hathol laughed. "Is it that simple to get into Edoras, my Lord? If it is, I am surprised you still hold it!"

Captain Dúinhir turned on the man. "Hold your tongue! You speak to our guest and our supporter. This man," he put his hand on Théoden King's shoulder, "will go down in history as the man who saved Gondor. I am shamed to hear your words to him."

"My deepest apologies, Théoden King."

"No apology is needed. You are right. I cannot see five men of our size hiding in one cart. I am tired."

"Nay, my Lord, 'tis a good thought. One man would be able to enter with the lad. Then, when night comes, he… Nay! What am I thinking," Captain Dúinhir slumped into a chair, frustration tingeing his voice. "The gate takes six men to open. One man cannot do this."

~*~

The jostling of the cart did nothing to ease the pain, no matter what Amandil had told Boromir; it shot through Faramir with every bump, every lurch. Near to tears, he held onto the side with his good arm. Sleep was impossible. He had cried so, when they left Minas Tirith, that he was now sick to his stomach. He missed Boromir terribly. He did not trust the men he was with. And he did not want to go to Dol Amroth. He did not care if he was safe or not, as long as he was with Boromir. Now, he found himself a day's ride down the North South Road heading towards Belfalas. What would become of Boromir without him to care for him? Who would Boromir sleep with when he was frightened? Nothing made sense anymore. He started to cry again.

He heard someone call for a stop for the night. Then - screams filled the air. He quickly flipped the covering back; he could see almost nothing in the blackness. A man, riding alongside the cart, fell off his horse; but Faramir could not tell why. The cart lurched to a stop and Faramir was flung against his shoulder. He screamed in pain and fright; then lay still, sobbing. Clashing steel and shouts filled the air; he tried to hide under the furs that were laid upon him. Every now and again, he could feel a horse bump the cart. Fear sounded in the horses' snorts, and in the grunts of those dying about him. "Boromir!" he cried out in his fear.

~*~

Éomund whispered to Théodred to keep still, retrieved the key, and then walked quietly to the door. He listened closely; then opened the door. Looking to his right and his left, he heard no noise. He motioned to Théodred who ran to him. They stepped outside. Both gave an audible sigh of relief. No matter what else happened, it was good to get out of that cell.

Éomund pressed a finger to his lips and Théodred nodded his head in acknowledgement. They turned right and walked to the next cell. Éomund put his ear to the door. Nothing. They walked along the entire corridor, Éomund listening at every cell. He still hoped someone of their company was alive. Turning, he walked down the other side of the hall. Théodred was starting to panic; he wanted to be out of there entirely, but he took Éomund's hand to steady himself. Éomund looked down at his nephew and smiled. "We will be all right," he whispered, "I know this is difficult, but we must find the others." Théodred nodded, but still clung to Éomund's hand.

They heard a sound near the end of the corridor and both stiffened. Nothing happened. No one came. Éomund continued his task. He felt Théodred's grip tighten. They were near the last cell when Éomund pulled back against the wall, dragging Théodred with him. Both held their breath. The sound came, not from the hall, but from the cell before them. Éomund looked through the grate. He could see nothing, but he knew he had heard a sound. Mayhap one of their party was hurt and could not move. He slid the key into the lock and pushed open the door.

~*~

Boromir had watched the cart leave the Seventh Level, watched until he saw Amandil looking up at him. He quickly ducked down; he could not let the man see him in his pain. His heart ached for the loss of Faramir, for the horror of their farewell, for not being able to take his brother in his arms and say, 'I love you. Please do not leave me.' Sobs shook his little frame. His eyes burned from all the tears shed this day, but he could not stop them. He had held onto his courage as long as he could, but it was all spent now. How he wished Adar were here, his Naneth. He had never in his life felt so abandoned. He could not contain his fear nor his pain any longer. He wept until sleep came.

When he woke, it was dark. His room was black and cold. The fire had not been started and he was terribly hungry. He couldn't remember when last he had eaten. Walking to the door, he opened it slowly. A guard stared down at him.

"Where do you think you're going?" the man sneered.

"I need a fire and some food, please."

"Go back into your room. I'll see what I can do."

Boromir walked back into the cold and dark. The man was not even Gondorian. He could tell by his speech, though he could hardly see him in the dim light of the hallway. He sat on the sill of his window, looking out into the gardens of the Houses that lay on the next level. He wished he were there, or in his Naneth’s peaceful garden. A noise made him jump. He turned and an arm was about his shoulders, a hand lay across his mouth. He started to wriggle, trying to free himself.

"Keep still!" And the arm tightened.

Morning came, the sun shining warm and bright through the little bush. Grimbold woke, his wound worsening under the heat of the sun. He looked about him, startled. In the dark of night, the bush had seemed a more than ample hiding place. In the light of day, it was quite a pitiful little thing, and barely covered him. He pulled his legs in tightly to his body. He could not stay here; he would surely be found. Looking about, he noted a thick bush, a type of plant he'd never seen before, just a little way past a courtyard. It was perfect, low-lying with full branches. He would be well hidden. Now, how to get there? It was late morning already, he could tell, but no one seemed about. 'Sad to see a garden not put to use,' he thought, momentarily taken by its beauty. At that very instant, he heard a voice.

"What are you doing under there? Have you lost something? Come out and I will try to help you find it."

His blood turned to ice – discovered! When his heart returned to normal, he remembered he was in the livery of Gondor. No one would question him except another soldier. He peered from under the leaves. It was a woman, dressed in simple clothing. He could hoodwink this one easily, he hoped. He stood.

"You are not from Gondor?" she asked.

His heart beat furiously again. 'You fool,' he thought, 'that is what you were counting on, now wasn't it? All can see you are not Gondorian.' He bowed low. "I have come from the south to serve Gondor for my fief lord."

"Ah!" She looked at him, puzzled.

He wondered what he was doing wrong. He knew it was not his speech. He had spent long years with Théoden learning the Common Tongue; he was fluent in it. He looked at his uniform. All looked right. "Is something amiss, my Lady?"

She burst out laughing. "My Lady, indeed," she quivered from laughter. "Know you not one of the healer's assistants from one of the ladies of Gondor? Cannot you tell by my clothes and the piece covering my head? We all wear the same garments." Her eyes twinkled. "Or are you pulling your soldier way's on me? You will get nothing from me, young man. I know a soldier's words can trick a young maiden like myself. I was not born yesterday, you know."

He smiled. By the look of her, she was definitely no longer a young maiden, spinster, probably. Her laughter was infectious; however, he found himself wondering if would she ever stop speaking? "I am new to Gondor…"

"Well, then, I can spend a little time teaching you some of the ways of the people here in the city, though we are different from those from the country as my sisters will tell you. Now, here in the city we…"

"Forgive me. But I am hot and tired. Might you show me to a fountain where I may wipe my brow and slake my thirst?"

She fell still. He rued his words. He should have taken his time, but he was close to fainting from thirst and hunger. The sun made his eyes burn; the woman seemed slightly out of kilter. Could she not stay still! She swayed so.

~*~

As Éomund stepped into the cell, he was thrown against the wall and fingers reached for his eyes. He grabbed the hands and tried to keep them away from his face, but whoever was attacking him was crazed. The hideous breathing, laboured and loud, only compounded the sense of madness in the person before him. Not a sound other than that issued from his assailant, but the attack never stopped, no matter how hard he tried to push himself away. At last he used his full body weight to press his attacker to the floor, holding the hands down hard against the ground. He punched with all his might at where he hoped the chin was and was rewarded with the sound of a grunt. The arms he held flopped down, all fight gone out of them. 'I must have knocked him out,' he thought gratefully.

Théodred came into the cell with a torch from the hall. "Who is it?" he whispered, holding the torch aloft. His gasp made Éomund stare.

"Indis!" He bent over her, astonished and sorrowful. How could he have hit her so? What had driven her to attack him? "She must not have looked to see who was coming into the cell, Théodred. She just attacked. Let us lift her to the cot. We must find some water. Can you go?" He looked long and hard at the lad. "It is dangerous, but we must have some. There must be a spigot or barrel somewhere here, at least to help slake the guards' thirst."

Théodred's eyes were filled with tears at the sight of the brave woman before him, disheveled and hurt. "I will find something, I promise."

"Do not go too far."

"I will not. I will return as fast as I can."

Once they placed her on the cot, Théodred turned and left the cell. Éomund turned towards Indis. 'What could have driven her to such a wild act?' he thought sadly. He turned her face and realized he had only caught her a glancing blow. There must be another reason for her faint. He examined her limbs and head. No sign of injury. Just as he moved to turn her, she hissed in pain. He stopped.

"Indis, it is I, Éomund. Can you hear me?" Her eyes were still closed and her mouth slightly open. "Indis. It is Éomund. Are you well?" Still, she did not move. He decided he must look at her back; see if there might be damage there also. As he did so, she stiffened, drawing in her breath, and opened her eyes. "You are sorely hurt, are you not?" he asked wretchedly. "Where, Indis?"

"My ribs. I think some are…"

She took another breath and he could see it tore through her. "Your ribs are broken?"

She nodded, trying not to move.

"Is that your only injury?"

She gave him a look that made him laugh. "That is enough?" he smiled, glad to see she was so alert.

"Aye," she whispered. The smile left her face and she clawed at his tunic. "Faramir has been beaten horribly. He was here for a time, but they took him again. Éomund, I am so afraid. Afraid he is dead. Please, help me find him." Great tears fell and she shuddered as the pain racked her body.

He held her hand. "We have a friend somewhere in the city. He left a key. I was able to free Théodred and I, and now we have freed you. We will find Faramir."

"Boromir?" She struggled to sit.

He hung his head. "I do not know. He was with us for a time, as was Faramir with you, and then they took him. That was quite some time ago. I do not know where he is." He turned as he heard footsteps coming towards the cell. He stood, ready to do battle, when Théodred entered the room.

The lad had a smile on his face as brilliant as the sun. He held a small ladle in his hand and the other cupped the bottom. "Water," he said simply and walked to Indis' side, “but it is bitter and warm.” Gently, he placed it to her lips. "Slowly, dearest Lady, else you choke."

She cried in joy. The water tasted like the finest wine. She obeyed Théodred and sipped sparingly, as Éomund held her head. "Thank you," she whispered.

The boy turned and ran back out the door. In another moment, he returned with more.

Éomund tore a piece of his shirt off and ran out the door. He returned shortly with the cloth soaked. He gently wiped her forehead and cheek. There was a nasty bruise on the other side of it. He knew he had not done that and wondered what she had been through. He kissed her forehead. "Gentle lady, we must leave here. Are you able to walk?"

"I would run if it would help find Faramir and Boromir." She took his hand, sidled her legs off the cot, and stood. She smiled as Théodred ran and took her other hand. "Thank you."

Boromir stood very still. The hand that held him slid on his tears and almost off his mouth. He bit, hard, and was rewarded with a small yelp, but the hand did not ease its grip.

"You fool! Keep quiet. I am trying to save you!"

Boromir stilled and almost fell, so amazed was he.

"Listen to me. I am Targon, cook's apprentice for the Third Company of the Citadel. I brought food to the dungeons yesterday and saw you there. I have been watching ever since. Please, may I take my hand from your mouth? Will you promise not to scream?"

Nodding his head, Boromir felt the hand loosen, then the arms fell and he was free. He turned quickly and saw, in the moonlight, a lad only a few years older than he, standing before him. "Do you have any food?" he begged.

"I am sorry, my Lord. I brought none," the boy berated himself. "I should have thought…"

"Nay," Boromir interrupted him. "Someone will be coming along shortly. The guard promised he would have the fire lit and food brought."

Targon choked as he tried to stifle his laughter. "He will not send for anything. They do not care about anyone. Except to make them suffer. They derive pleasure from making others suffer." He shuddered as he spoke.

"How did you get in here?"

"Through the secret door. Faramir showed me last year. I… I had made the boy cookies and then we played hide 'n seek. He was very good at it. He has truly been sent away?"

"Aye. To Dol Amroth." A sudden chill swept over him. "Amandil promised he would send him to our uncle. I am not so sure."

"Others are watching, too, my Lord. Others not under Amandil's thumb. But we must be careful. He has spies everywhere. He has sent many of our finest soldiers to Harad as slaves for their ships. At least, that is the rumour I have heard."

Boromir drew in his breath. "It cannot be. Do you suppose someone will have watched Faramir leave? Some ally, some friend?"

"I know he has been watched. And I know for sure that, if he was sent away, one of our people followed." He smiled grimly. "Amandil thinks he has beaten Gondor, but he has not." He looked around as the door rattled. "Someone comes." He disappeared behind the drapes.

Boromir sat quickly on the sill as he heard the sound of a key in the lock. The door swung open and light came through from the hall.

"Here is your fire. The Lord Steward has been gracious to you. You best be grateful," a man scowled as he walked into the room, carrying wood. He lit the fire, growled and left.

"And food!" Boromir called after him. "May I have some food?" He heard the guard laugh as the door slammed shut and locked.

A sigh escaped Boromir's lips as Targon stepped back into the room.

"That was a good thought, about the food, I mean. It will have the guard laughing for a while. You will not get food tonight, for he knows you want it. Though I am surprised about the fire. Why do you suppose Amandil gave it to you?"

"Because I did something he wanted very badly. And I think he needs me to keep the Council in check."

~*~

"Where am I?" Grimbold asked groggily. His heart beat fiercely. He tried to keep his eyes closed, for he was almost afraid to look. He was no longer in the garden; he could feel some sort of a bed beneath him. He best keep quiet; discover where he was before he spoke further.

"You are in the Houses of Healing and I am taking care of you."

He heard the woman's voice and was grateful to realize it was the same voice from the garden. She had seemed friendly. Better than a stranger, he smiled to think of her as a friend already.

"How comes it that you were wounded and no one gave you aid? It is not like our Captains to leave one of their own hurt without helping. But nothing has been the same these last weeks," she continued on, "not since Lord Amandil took the Rod. I do not understand it at all. And do not think that we, here in the Houses, do not hear what happens in the rest of the city. We do not sit and twiddle our thumbs all day as some think."

He tried to block her voice. At first, it had been pleasant, but as she rambled on, he began to wish for silence.

"Are you well? You look a little green. Perhaps I should call the healer?"

He shook his head, but had realized that nothing he did seemed to have any sway upon her. He felt her stand.

"I will bring the healer. You just stay here nice and quiet and I will be right back."

Grimbold smiled as he heard the door close. Then, concern flooded his heart. Any more interaction with Gondorians than he had already had would not be good. Every time he opened his mouth, he was afraid he would give himself away. He opened his eyes, trying to ascertain where he was and what condition he was in. He remembered the world swaying. He must have fainted. He looked down. He was not bound and that was a good thing. Trying to swing his legs over the side of the bed, he found they barely responded. He needed food. It was still daylight; he hoped it was the same day. Time seemed to be flying by with him getting nothing accomplished. He swore to himself. All could be dead by now. 'I must get out of here, find the others and leave this wretched place!'

The door opened and Grimbold quickly lay back down, closing his eyes.

"Please, Ioreth, leave us. I will take care of this soldier. You have other duties." The door closed. "You may open your eyes now; she is gone."

Grimbold heard the laughter in the man's voice and, smiling, opened his eyes. A fairly young man sat on the bed beside him. His face was kind, but Grimbold knew that did not mean he was loyal to the old regime.

"My name is Siriondil. I served under Lord Denethor, if that makes a difference," he said, his smile quirking slightly to the side of his mouth.

Grimbold sighed. "I am Grimbold, a soldier under Éomund of the Riddermark. I have heard of you from the lips of Arciryas. He valued you highly."

The healer's eyes filled with tears. "He was lost with Denethor?"

"Aye. I am sorry. You did not know?"

"I was away until this morning. I had heard of the loss of Denethor, but…" He sighed.

"Faramir? Are you there?"

He recognized the voice, but could not place it, fear and pain clouding his mind. He kept silent.

"Faramir?" A hand moved back the canvas covering him.

The only thing now between him and his captors were the furs from Théodwyn. He held his breath, hoping he would not be found.

Someone pulled the fur; he held on tightly. Another whisper, "Faramir?" He would not let go. He could not be found.

"Boromir," he cried quietly, "Boromir, save me."

He felt himself lifted, furs and all, into someone's strong arms, someone too strong to break away from. He screamed as the pain shot through his shoulder and he felt the arms stiffen.

"Faramir. It is I, Théoden. Will you not let me see you?"

Faramir flung the fur away from his face with his good arm. Tears ran down his cheeks.

"Théodred's Ada?" he cried.

"Aye, Faramir, Théodred's Ada. I have come to save you."

The boy started to sob. Théoden gently lowered him to the ground. The boy stumbled; Théoden laid him on the soft grass of the Pelennor. Men stood about with torches lit. "Let me look at your shoulder, Faramir. It is hurt?" The boy nodded his head. "Well, I have a leech with me…"

Faramir turned away from him and sobbed. "No!"

What ails you boy?" he stopped the man with his hand, while trying to understand the boy's sudden terror. "He is a good leech. He will make you better." The fear in the boy's eyes tore at his heart. "A leech has already hurt you?"

Faramir nodded again.

"Then I will let none touch you until you say yea. Is that all right?" Faramir turned towards him, the fear in his eyes diminishing. "Now, will you tell me about your shoulder?" He moved the lad's hair back and drew a sharp breath as the shoddily sewn wound across the boy's brow came into view. "Oh!" He stopped himself. The boy must not know how badly he looked.

"So you hurt your head, too?" Again, maddeningly, the boy nodded, but refused to speak. "Is there anywhere else?"

He pointed to his foot. Théoden looked down. "Can you step on it?" The boy shook his head. "Well, we have a lot of work to do to help you recover so you can see Boromir again, is that not so?"

The child's eyes widened. "Do you know where Boromir is, Faramir?" Another nod. Théoden knew they had not much time. Somehow, he must help the boy speak, else Boromir's danger increase. "Will you tell me where Boromir is, Faramir?" The boy started to sob again; Théoden could not understand this. Why did not the child tell him?

Captain Húrin stepped forward. "Mayhap there is a threat to Boromir's life if Faramir speaks?"

Faramir shrank back. "Someone has told you they will kill Boromir if you speak?" Húrin asked.

The boy sobbed and flung his good arm around Théoden's neck. "Please help him," the child shuddered.

"Oh, Faramir. We will. I promise you, we will save Boromir." Théoden kissed the sweat-soaked forehead. "You are safe now, my son." 'Oh,' he remembered the term Denethor used. "Ion nîn." Faramir looked up in surprise.

Just then, a warrior rode up, jumped off the horse and ran forward. "Faramir!" a woman's voice cried. The boy looked up. A dam broke in his heart and all the fear, pain and horror that had been upon him these last days was loosed. He fainted.

~*~

"I am concerned, my Lord Imrahil," Ragnhild said quietly. Indis' counselor chafed at the newest holdup. "If we keep delaying our journey with these side trips, we will surely find chaos in Minas Tirith when finally we arrive."

"These side trips that you so hastily dismiss, Ragnhild, are to recruit more troops. We must enter Minas Tirith in strength. A fortnight, more or less, will not matter if we are strong; it will matter if we are weak and easily overcome."

She bit her lip. Every fibre in her body screamed of danger and she could do nothing to make this man understand. She had considered breaking away and riding to Mundburg herself. She shook her head; even if she knew where it was, she would most likely be attacked on some road leading there and need rescuing.

Prince Imrahil saw her unease, her lack of trust in his judgment. What could he do? She was a woman and a healer. Her dearth of tactical experience was not her fault. He would be patient. Obviously, Théoden King trusted her enough to send her to him with that incredible message.

As his mount trotted along, he thought of the missive. His sister's husband was dead. The thought of the Steward's death still sent shivers down his spine. How could this have happened? Well and good it was that Finduilas was dead herself. She was not a strong woman; this would have been too much for her. He thought of his sister; how beautiful and kind she had been. She had loved Denethor fully and he had believed the match a good thing for both Dol Amroth and Minas Tirith. Never would he have suspected that she would be dead in such a short time. He could not blame Denethor. The man's love for her had been extraordinary.

'`Tis a pity my father did not feel the same.' No love was lost between the two men, and, once Finduilas was dead, a hatred grew in Prince Adrahil's heart for the man he believed was the cause of his daughter's death. Imrahil was surprised when Adrahil authorized this sortie to the city.

"You are still not sure that my missive is true?" Ragnhild asked.

Imrahil started. "Nay. I believe it, as my father does. I was thinking upon my sister. You would have liked her," he smiled sadly.

"I very much like her sons. If they are anything like her, then she must have been a wonderful woman."

"Aye. The boys were much loved by her. She spent considerable time with them. More time than many of the ladies of Dol Amroth would have. She was like that, though. Always at odds with tradition, proper manners, or our father's will." He sat back in his saddle, trying to relax. "Father did not want her to marry Denethor, did you know that?" He found this woman easy to talk to. She nodded and he continued. "Of course. Indis would have told you. Are you friends with Indis?"

"She has named me Counselor of Gondor, though I do not deserve such a title."

"Ah! Do not underestimate that woman, Lady Ragnhild. She is wise. Her father, Ecthelion, thought highly of her and included her in most of his decisions in his later years. Except those impacting Denethor, of course."

"They did not get along?"

Imrahil laughed sorrowfully. "'Twas the saddest relationship I have ever seen; both in need of each other's love, but both too stubborn to relent. Though Denethor, when he was younger, bowed to all his father's demands. Whether right or no. Denethor was my friend. My teacher." His eyes shone. "Strategy in battle was his gift. None were better. Though many claimed Thorongil was great, and he was in his own way, in my mind's eye, none could devise a better battle plan, or an ambush, or negotiate better than Denethor. I spent many years with him in the field." He paused. "I loved the man as a brother." He rode a little further in silence. "Thank you for listening. I needed to speak of him." His voice caught. Kicking his horse, he turned and rode towards the back of the column.

Ragnhild continued on, lost in thought.

Climbing the stairs was more than Indis could endure. She stopped on the third step and touched Éomund's arm. "My ribs must be bound."

He looked at her and smiled sadly. "I understand. Let us find something."

Théodred understood as well. "The blanket, back in our cell – it is worn and should tear." The lad turned, jumped the three steps, landed easily, and ran before Éomund could stop him.

Éomund helped Indis sit. "I do not understand why you sprang upon me when I entered your cell?"

"I had just made a vow to myself. To let nothing, even death, keep me from saving Boromir and Faramir. I was prepared to die. And then the door opened. I thought it was my captors again. I hoped Faramir was with them and that I could, somehow, wield enough damage to save him. Forgive me."

He smiled. "There is nothing to forgive. You fought like a warg, and, if not for your wounds, would have o'ercome me."

Théodred ran up as he finished speaking and gave Éomund the blanket. The boy helped Éomund tear a large piece off; then they helped Indis stand, and quickly wrapped the cloth around her chest. "We must pull it tight," he apologized, "else it will do no good."

Through clenched teeth, she murmured, "I understand."

When they were finished, Éomund noted her eyes were moist. Acting on impulse, he kissed her gently. "You are a brave woman, Indis of Gondor." Then, he took her arm and helped her climb the stairs.

A door barred their way when they reached the top of the stairs. Éomund tried the key; he was amazed that it worked. Opening the door slowly, he stole a look. This did not feel right, but he had no choice. "Indis, please stay here with Théodred. I will go ahead, see what may lay before us."

She nodded and smiled at the look of chagrin on Théodred's face. As she watched Éomund go through the door, she put her hand on the lad's shoulder. "One of the most difficult things, I find, about soldiering – is staying put when ordered. I want to draw my sword and surge forward. Obedience comes with difficulty to me."

Théodred turned a miserable face towards her. "It is the same for me. I am not very good at it."

"Nay. You are quite good at it, my dear Prince. During the Orc attack, in the Silent Street, and now – you are a true liege subject to your Marshal. He places his trust in your obedience, your loyalty. Cannot you see that?"

"Do you believe this is so? I have tried very hard, my Lady. Éomund has been my uncle only a short time, but he has been my mentor for many years. I would like to become like him someday."

She had to smile. So young and so intense. And then a frown creased her brow. 'Like unto Boromir,' she thought. 'Too intense for ones so young.' It was as if the world they lived in was all fear and pain and death. It hurt to think this. She remembered, when she was growing up, that life was not so hard. She wished it could have been the same for her brother and for these children. Yet, she realized the life given her by Turgon had been illusory. Because of his poor Stewardship, Gondor was now even further weakened than it had been during the days of the last of the Kings.

Théodred stirred and she recalled herself. Anxiously they waited for Éomund to return, all the while, Indis kept up a steady murmuring for the lad beside her, to encourage and comfort.

~*~

Targon's eyes opened wide. "What could you do for that fat good-for-nothing Amandil?"

"I failed my Adar and Gondor. I told the Council that I willingly gave the Rod to Amandil." Boromir shook suddenly, sobs overtaking him. He angrily wiped the tears away. He did not want this boy to see him like this. "Well," he asked furiously, trying to hide his discomfiture, "do you have a plan or are we to stay here the rest of the night, waiting for Amandil's thugs to throw me back into the dungeons?"

Targon shivered. "Nay! I have no plan but to take you with me to the buttery. It is the only safe place I know. I cannot imagine anyone looking for you there – unless the guard remembers your hunger," he replied impertinently.

"Then let us be off. I would rid myself of this room, this prison, though once I loved it."

Targon walked ahead to the hidden entrance and opened the path. Boromir followed in silence. Tears still glistening on his cheeks.

They descended the small steps, keeping their fingers splayed against the winding stair's wall as they went down. At last, they came to a landing. Targon stopped, put his hand on Boromir's shoulder and whispered, "I will look first. Wait for me."

Boromir nodded.

After only a moment, Targon returned. "All is clear. Come with me." He led the way down a servant's hall, down some more stairs, and into the Third Company's buttery.

The smells almost overcame Boromir, so famished was he. He leaned against a table. "I am sorry. I can go no further. I cannot even remember the last time I had food." Suddenly, he did remember. It was with Amandil and he remembered he had been drugged. He looked at the food about him with suspicion.

"Well, if you are hungry, come over here. We can eat quietly and none will see us." He led Boromir to a table in a far corner of the room and then ran to bring cheeses, bread and wine. He broke pieces off the bread, quickly sliced the cheese and handed it to Boromir. Then he poured a cup of wine.

Boromir sat still. His skin prickled. 'I will not be fooled again,' he thought guardedly. Though it felt like all the foes of Gondor rode in his stomach reaching for the food before him, he would not eat. "You first," he said, unceremoniously.

Targon looked at him as if he had lost his mind. Scowling, he took the food and bit into it; then drank a long swallow from the cup. Angrily, he slammed the cup down. "There!"

Unshaken, Boromir smiled. "I am not sorry. You must know, I have been drugged only a day ago. By the very same kind of food." His eyes shone with tears. "Thank you," he whispered and dove into the meal before him.

"Stop!" Targon cried and Boromir spat the food out, sure now that he was eating something foul.

"Nay!" Turgon laughed through his own tears. "`Tis not poisoned. But if you have not eaten in such a long time, you should eat and drink slowly. Else your stomach rebel."

Boromir started to laugh, but the laughter turned to sobs. "I do not know whom to trust," he said wearily. "I am sorry." He laid his head on the table and gave into the fear, confusion and pain, weeping bitterly as he thought of Faramir, alone somewhere, mayhap with no food, certainly with no comfort. It was more than he could endure.

Sadly, Prince Imrahil watched as Ragnhild worried the perimeter of their camp, walking back and forth in the dark. There was naught he could do to help her, 'cept mayhap, find a willing eagle to soar her to the city she so longed to be in.

As he started towards her, a warm cup of mead in his hand, a rider startled him. Fast-paced, the man entered the circle. He looked right and left, saw Imrahil, and rode directly towards him. Guards, at the first sound of the horse's hooves, ran to flank their Prince, but Imrahil held his hand high and they retreated, hands still on weapons, eyes sharp.

"What news do you bring?" the Prince called.

"A band of men camped near the site of the Battle of the Crossings, only about three hours ride south from here. I recognized none, though they wear the livery of Gondor. They have slaves," the rider spat. "Shackled. I saw one being beaten. What do you make of it, my Lord?"

Ragnhild had run towards the Prince as soon as she saw the rider, hoping it was a missive from Listöwel or Indis. She heard the last of it.

Galador stepped forward. "It goes ill in Minas Tirith if they are now using slaves."

Prince Imrahil nodded to his Captain. "It goes ill indeed. This cannot be something that Lord Denethor had ordered." He motioned to Ragnhild. "What did your mistress say about her plans?"

Ragnhild held her breath for a moment. She had not been instructed to share any of Indis' plans with the Prince of Dol Amroth. She had been merely told to give him the missive Indis had written. However, she had grown to trust this man. "The Lady Indis was to proclaim Boromir Steward of Gondor, pass the Rod to him, and then Boromir was to name her Regent."

"Did she… How do I ask this? Would she begin to trade for slaves?"

"My Lord!" Ragnhild cried in distress. "Never! And she has not been in the city long enough to do such a thing."

"I thought not. Galador, muster a company, well armed, and take this band of renegades. I do not believe they have Gondor's authority. Bring them to me, along with their slaves."

"Aye, my Prince. It will be done."

~*~

Blackest night still covered the land as the riders returned. Ragnhild ran to Imrahil's side. There were no Knights of Gondor amongst them, only ragged, beaten men. Galador dismounted and stood before his Prince. "They were only a small band, easily taken. The slaves turned against them as soon as they saw us advance." He chuckled. "The rogues never had a chance."

"Are none left alive?" Imrahil asked incredulously.

"Nay! Ciramir would not allow it."

"Captain Ciramir was with them? Denethor's advisor?"

"Aye. He is most anxious to speak with you."

Stepping forward, Captain Ciramir fell to one knee. "My Lord, your men were a most welcome sight. I offer Gondor's thanks to you." He began to weep.

Prince Imrahil helped him rise and brought him to the fire. Food and wine were brought and the man quickly wolfed the repast down. After a few moments, he raised his eyes. "A missive from Théoden King was received and somehow reached Amandil's hands first."

The Prince looked at him questioningly. "Amandil? What part plays he in this?"

"He has stolen the Rod. In the night, many of us were wakened, bound and taken to the dungeons. There was no time for rebellion. We knew nothing of Lord Denethor's…" He stopped for a moment, trying to compose himself. "All the Captains who were in Minas Tirith at the time were taken. Many slept with their swords and offered resistance. They are no longer with us. Amandil's men were brutal. After a fortnight with rare water and almost no food, we were whipped, bound again, blindfolded, gagged and led out of the city in the dead of night. We have been on the road for almost three days. I had given up hope of rescue." Tears again fell down the face of the brave Captain. "To have lost the entire line of Húrin in one fell swoop – it is unbearable."

"What do you speak of?" Prince Imrahil asked. "Lord Denethor and his Captains were murdered, but Faramir, Boromir, and Indis have been saved. They are in the city now."

Ciramir looked up in mixed joy and horror. "Then they have surely been imprisoned or murdered. The man has named himself Steward! And the Council was browbeaten into accepting it."

Ragnhild stepped forward. "Are there none left in Mundburg to help us?"

"Aye," he looked at her quizzically. "There are many. They have hidden. I know they will help us."

Prince Imrahil spoke up. "This is Ragnhild, advisor to Indis. She brought the missive asking for our help. My father sent us. But the news you bring is worse than I had imagined. I thought we would stand behind Boromir until he was seated as Steward. We knew there were enemies, but never had I thought one would go so far as this." He shook his head slowly. "We march to battle, then. Galador. Muster the troops at first light. We should arrive in the city by noon." He turned again to Ciramir. "Will your men be able to help us?"

"Aye. Give us a few hours rest and some food and we will lead you."

The Prince laughed warmly. "You will indeed lead us, Captain." He helped the man stand and walked him to a sleeping roll. "Sleep well. Tomorrow we win Gondor back!"

~*~

"Faramir!" she screamed as he swooned.

Théoden King picked the lad up and put him back into the cart. "Listöwel, he is well. He has been badly treated, and hungry, but he is well. My leech will look after him. I asked you to stay at the farmhouse."

"My Lord, I stayed back till I saw the battle won. That is all you may ask of me. In fact, it was more than you should have asked, but I bowed to your judgment. But only so far, my Lord. I am…" She could not say yet that she was to be Indis' Captain-general, but she would not let this man order her about. Especially when it came to Faramir's well being. "I am Faramir's guardian, while he is away from Indis."

Théoden King looked at her. "Very well." He helped her into the cart.

She bent low and stifled a cry of alarm as she saw Faramir’s bruised body, the dirty sling for his arm, and the brutal, ill-stitched wound above his eye. "By all the Valar, I will kill whoever did this to him," she vowed quietly.

Théoden heard her and turned away from her grief and anger. Walking to the fire, he was handed a cup of wine.

"My Lord. Do we have time to stop like this?" Dúinhir asked. "Is it wise to light a fire?"

"What would you have me do? The boy needs aid and he needs it now. The leech needs a fire to prepare his medicaments and I need its comfort in this Valar-forsaken land." He paused for a moment, staring down into the cup before him. "Now that we have Faramir, we will find the door Listöwel spoke of and enter the city. Has there been news from Durahil?"

"Nay, my Lord. He should be well into the city by now."

"Once Listöwel shows us the entrance, we will leave her outside, with the leech and the boy, and enter. After that, we will see."

"She will not stay back." Dúinhir replied sharply. "You have seen her."

"Aye. But for Faramir's sake, she will."

~*~ 

The healer assuaged Listöwel fears. He had ministered to Faramir and then left her with him. Gently, she stroked his hair away from the wound. Tears fell. 'Who could have done this? What kind of monster now holds Minas Tirith? Is it an agent of the One we do not name? Where are Indis and Boromir? Are they still alive?'

Her head ached from the questions swirling about it, but Faramir stirred and every other thought left her as she bent nearer. "Faramir, melethron nîn, it is Listöwel. Canst thou not hear me, garn nîn?" She spoke the Sindarin, knowing it comforted the lad, reminded him of his father.

His eyes opened, blurred and ragged with pain. "Listöwel? I hurt."

"Oh my love, I know thou dost," she cried quietly. "But thou wilt be better soon. I wilt take such good care of thee. Now, rest thy head against me and sleep."

"Boromir? Listöwel, hast thou seen him yet?"

"Nay. But Théoden King assures me he is well. Rest easy, my love." She looked up as Théoden King stood beside the cart.

Faramir tugged on Listöwel's arm. "Ada said we must not speak the old tongue when Théodred’s Ada is about. He does not understand it."

She sobbed at the kindness of the lad, so horribly wounded, yet remembering to be courteous.

Faramir turned to Théoden. "There is a very bad man in the city. He has put the others in the dungeons. Aldor and Baldor are dead, I think. And Grimbold, too. They were kind to me. I heard men telling another bad man about burying them. Will you save Boromir, please?"

Théoden put his large hand on the child's small head. "Of course, I will, Faramir. That is why I have come. And you will help me by being brave and staying with the cart?"

"I want to find Boromir."

'I know you do, my lad. As soon as we find him, I will send for you."

The child hid his face in Listöwel's garments. She looked up in surprise. "You would leave us here?"

"You will show me the entrance and then you will stay with Faramir. You have your sword. I will leave Éofor behind to help guard the boy. I cannot take him with us. His safety is of utmost importance. You must understand that? When we have the city, I know we will find allies. Then you will be sent for. You cannot ask me to do more."

"Yes, my Lord. I will stay with Faramir, but tell your men to blow their horns when Minas Tirith is ours."

"Of course. Now, Faramir, may we take Listöwel with us for a short time? You remember Éofor, Hild's husband? He will stay with you." He motioned towards a young Rohir who walked over and smiled down at Faramir.

"Hoy, Faramir! Are you ready to help me watch for any enemies that might try to ambush our men whilst they save the city?"

Faramir's eyes widened. "Aye, my Lord. I will help you."

"Good," the man said and nodded to Théoden.

"Listöwel. Come with me now?"

She kissed Faramir and left him. Mounting her horse, she rode next to the King under cover of night. Riding for less than an hour, they were soon standing before the walls of Minas Tirith. Tears streaked down her face as she saw her beloved city. "There is the door, my Lord," she pointed, "I have told you how to open it." They dismounted and the men handed her the reins to their horses. As Théoden King moved forward, she bent over and touched his arm. "Remember your promise. You will order the horns blown as soon as the Minas Tirith has been taken."

"I will, my Lady," he put his hand gently on her arm. "Trust me. We will save them. No matter what the cost."

She turned without another glance and rode off.

Théoden King looked after her, tears in his own eyes. "I pray we find them alive."

Targon walked to the door to make sure no one was near, but more to give his young Steward privacy. When he returned, he found Boromir fast asleep. Panicked that they would be found, he considered waking him, but knew, from the little he had observed, that Boromir had suffered. He placed aprons on the floor behind the table, then gently moved Boromir to the floor, and put more aprons on top of him. He must find help. He ran from the room and bumped into Baranor.

"Have you finished those dishes yet?" the kindly old cook asked. "What ails you, lad?" he asked when he saw the terror in the boy's eyes.

"Nu… nothing. I saw a rat in the buttery and was running for a broom."

"A little rat," the man laughed gently.

"'Twas a big rat, Baranor. Very big."

"Then mayhap you will need my help."

"Nay!" the boy shouted.

Baranor looked at him shrewdly. "A big rat that you do not need my help in ridding the buttery of?"

He took the boy by the shoulder and marched him into the room. Targon was beside himself. He'd made a wretched mess of his attempt to save his Steward's son.

Looking around him, Baranor noted the pile of aprons in the corner, but said nothing. "Go. Find the broom and bring it back to me. I will stand guard against this ferocious creature until you return."

"I will stay. You can find the broom." The boy trembled as he spoke.

"Targon," the cook said, quietly. "Do as you are told."

The lad, feeling absolutely miserable, left the room.

The cook walked to the pile, nudged it with his toe, and then picked up one of the cloths. Nothing. He picked up two more, then three. Drawing in his breath, he laid the aprons back. He left the buttery, passing Targon as he went.

"I have the broom!" Targon yelled to the cook who was running down the hall. Targon sat down heavily next to the table.

Once he left the Third Company's quarters, Baranor stopped running and stooped low, holding his back as one aged and infirm. None looked at the old man and he was able to reach the stables on the Sixth Level. He whistled low. Two men stepped from the stalls. "Gildor, Gorlim, I have found the Steward! That young rascal, Targon, has him hidden away in the buttery. Let us go!"

~*~

"We will set off for the Citadel in a few hours. The guards will be changing soon; those on duty now will likely have fallen asleep. We must be beyond them before they change." Siriondil looked towards the sky through a tiny slit that he mockingly referred to as a window in his study. "And before dawn comes."

Grimbold held the warm cup of tea in his hands, grateful for the moment's peace. He had been well-fed, twice now, and had even slept some. Though he had not seen Ioreth since early afternoon, he was puzzled to realize he missed her voice. "Is there some way to enter the Seventh Level unseen?"

"There is; I am not privy to it, but Ioreth is. As a youngster, she played in the halls of the Citadel. Her mother, Firieth, was nanny to Boromir and Faramir."

"Will she help us? Can she be trusted?"

"Her eyes have been red since the news of the boys' death. I could not comfort her for days. Your appearance has given her hope, though I have not said a word as to who you are. The woman may jabber like a magpie, but she is clever. I believe she does not think you are one of Amandil's men. They are heartless, cruel people. She saw kindness when first she saw you."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Had I known, I could have appeared cruel."

A gentle laugh filled the room. "Forgive me, Master Healer, I was walking by and the two of you spoke too loudly for these times. I thought I might offer a word of warning." Ioreth turned to Grimbold. "If you had appeared cruel, when you collapsed, I would have fed you to the peregrine that haunt the Citadel. My sisters have told me how to handle soldiers. Many have passed by our farm in the country and tried their wiles on…"

"Be still, Ioreth," Siriondil scolded lightly, "and shut the door. No. No. Come in," he said as she turned to leave. "You are needed."

"But my tongue is not; is that what you are saying, my Lord Healer?"

He laughed. "Aye. That is what I am saying. We must get into the Citadel unseen. Will you help us?"

"I will. But it is a foolish thing to attempt. Mayhap you would be better to go to the buttery of the Third Company. There are strange concoctions being brewed there besides the evening meal."

"What do you know?" Siriondil asked impatiently, pulling her into the room.

"I mean that, if this man is who I think he is, then you are better to go find allies. And quickly. I told this man that I do not just sit and twiddle my thumbs. I know a few things that you, Master Healer, obviously do not."

"I am admonished. Let us be up and away, Grimbold. I do not want to wait too long." He stood and ushered the man through the door, taking Ioreth with him.

~*~

They heard the clash of steel-scraped steel; then silence. Indis sent Théodred to the bottom of the stairs. She saw the anger in his eyes, but felt danger too near; she had to protect him. She stepped through the door.

"Indis!" Éomund laughed. "We have allies!" He ran to her, clasping her hand in his.

Bewildered, she looked beyond him and saw a cook. "A cook?"

He laughed when he saw her face. "I have been masquerading as a cook visiting from Dol Amroth since Amandil started on his rampage. Not many know me here in the city. I retired to a farm on the Pelennor many years ago. Those that do know me are enemies of our Steward." He spat the title. "My name is Baranor. Would you follow me? We must leave this place ere we are discovered."

"Théodred," she whispered. The lad came bounding up the stairs, two by two.

Cutting through a hallway and then up some more stairs, Baranor kept a brisk pace. Indis finally had to stop. Théodred called to Éomund. Both men turned back.

"Forgive me," she panted, "I had to catch my breath. Please, do not wait for me. Leave me here. I will only hold you back. You must rescue Boromir and Faramir."

Baranor looked at Éomund, questions filling his eyes.

"The Lady Indis has some broken ribs. How many, I do not know. I have bound her chest, but we have not eaten in a very long time. She has no strength left, though her heart beats for Gondor's weal as furiously as mine does for the Mark."

"I am taking you to Boromir," the man said. "It is up two more levels. You may rest then, and eat and drink to your fill." He turned towards her. Gently laying his hand upon her shoulder, he looked into her eyes. "I am sorry, my Lady, but you must try. If you are found, they will begin a search. You would not want Boromir found?"

Tears spilled from her eyes. Shuddering, she shook her head; then pushed Baranor aside and walked on ahead.

He smiled and quickly caught up to her. "My Lady, I do have good news. Faramir has been taken from the city. He is being sent to Dol Amroth as Prince Adrahil's ward."

She turned to him in horror. "And who takes him? Do you trust any of them?" Her voice rose to a shrill pitch.

He put his hand over her mouth. "Hush, my Lady. There are more than rats in these dungeons. We must not be heard. You are wise. I had not thought… I assumed he would be safer away from the city. Amandil's minions took him. They would not kill him." But uncertainty hung on his words and did nothing to assuage the fear he saw in her eyes. "If that is the case, if what you believe is true, then haste is even more important." He ran towards the next flight of stairs. "Boy," he grabbed Théodred by the shoulder, "help her up the stairs." Then he turned and ran as quickly as he could, leaving the little company alone in the stairwell.

Targon waited and worried. Had Baranor found Boromir? Why had he run off so quickly? Should he wake Boromir and take him somewhere else? Where could he take him? This was the only place he knew that was safe; that had been safe. Tears filled his eyes. ‘I cannot abandon him, but if we are caught…’ He shuddered. Suddenly, the touch of a hand made him jump. Captain Gildor stood before him.

"Baranor sent me. He suggests we carry your rat to a safer place." In answer to the surprise on Targon's face he said, "We are loyal to Lord Denethor's son, Targon. A few of us. Come with me. You have been most brave, and more clever than any of the rest of us to have found and freed our Steward. Come," he said as he saw the hesitation in the lad's eyes, "have not you trusted Baranor these past weeks?"

"Aye. He sent you?"

"Baranar has gone to the dungeons. Once he realized whom you had under that rat's nest, he knew the others must be Amandil's prisoners. He and Captain Gorlim have gone below to free them."

"I hid a key under their tray," the lad whispered. "They may not be there."

Gildor laughed loudly. "You are a treasure, young man. Have you considered becoming an esquire?"

Now it was Targon's turn to laugh. "I love to cook," he said simply.

"Well, then, cook, let us take our chicken and hide it from the hungry Amandil."

Targon bent over and shook Boromir. Seeing the lad's eyes opening wide in fear, he said, "This is a friend, Boromir. We are taking you to a safer place. Please, be quiet."

Boromir nodded. Placing his hand on the soldier's arm, he whispered, "Faramir? Have any heard of Faramir?"

Gildor shook his head. "I am sorry; I have heard nothing."

They walked down the hall and into a stairwell. Ascending quickly, they came out onto the Seventh Level. Boromir shuddered as he saw the Citadel before him. Amandil was there, in the Citadel. He hung back; fear and suspicion fell upon him. He felt a hand on his shoulder and drew away.

"I promise you, upon the memory I hold of your father, I am a friend," Gildor said. "I will not give you over to Amandil. We are heading towards a room in the lower reaches of the Great Hall. There are others waiting for us. Someone you might know has joined our merry band."

Boromir wondered, but held his tongue. They turned left and skirted the parapet. Boromir's heart broke as he gazed upon the White Tree and the Fountain. His whole life had revolved around this Level, yet here he was, afraid of being here.

The sky was already lightening and Gildor hurried them along. They ran quietly. They reached the Great Hall and turned into a side hall. Running quickly through it, they found themselves in another stairwell. Boromir was tiring. His sides and his head ached.

At last, at the bottom, they turned into a little room. Boromir cried in delight. "Indis!"

~*~

Théoden King and his men quickly closed the door and started climbing down the stairs.

"How many levels did she say till we reach the dungeons?" Captain Hathol asked. "I have never been to the dungeons."

"It is six, Captain. And be grateful that we have so rarely used them. In olden times, they were full. Who knows, mayhap Amandil has filled them again," Captain Húrin sighed.

"Filled or no, we should find Durahil waiting for us. The map Listöwel drew is quite good. He should have no trouble finding his way, unless he is stopped," Théoden King said, quietly. "But whether he meets us or no, our first duty is to find our people and free them."

A look of pain flitted across his face. "I hope they are together. It will not be well if we must search many cells, or many levels for that matter. I wish Listöwel had been with us before we sent Durahil off. At least the rider was able to meet with him and give him the map before he entered Mundburg. Discovering that she knew a secret entrance would have been more beneficial at the beginning of our sortie!"

He shook his head in amaze. "She is as stubborn and self-sufficient as Indis. I told her to stay with the troops until I sent for her, and what does she do? She disobeys and comes by herself. By herself, mind you! I do not understand the women of Gondor. They disobey, they come where they are not wanted, they do what they think is right and good, all the while throwing tradition to the wind."

Captain Húrin spoke quietly. "They have learned through suffering, my Lord."

"Aye. I have seen it in their eyes. I see it in Morwen Steelsheen's eyes. Mayhap I should let my mother ride with an éored now and again." He pointed down a hallway that led to their left. "There is where we are to find the next set of stairs."

"Sh!" Captain Amlach whispered. "I hear something."

They drew their swords and stepped back into the stairwell they had just emerged from. A contingent of soldiers raggedly marched by. Théoden surmised they were bent on returning to their quarters for the breaking of their fast. The sun should be full in the sky by now. They were running out of time. As they turned the corner, they were met with swords to their throats.

"You are, no doubt, Théoden King," the leader of the group bowed low. "Welcome to Minas Tirith." The smile on his face left quickly. "If you would live, you best follow me."

"Baranor! Is that you, my friend?" Captain Amlach cried, hitting the man vigorously on the back. "Gorlim! About time you two decided to join the fray!"

Théoden King breathed a sigh of relief.

"It is I. If you continue to make this much noise, though, and if I rightly remember you were always prone to noisy entrances, we will surely be captured."

~*~

Grimbold walked quietly behind Siriondil. Ioreth had wrapped his head with a large white cloth that covered both his eyes. Siriondil hoped it would disguise the Rohir well enough to get them past the guards at the Seventh Level's gates.

They were stopped, but when Siriondil said he was bringing an injured soldier back to the Third Company, the guards let them pass. They crossed the Court of the Fountain and into the Great Hall. Turning left, they followed the same path that Targon and Boromir had. Entering the room, Ioreth helped Grimbold remove the cloth wrappings. When he could see again, he smiled in joy. Boromir ran to him, stopped in embarrassment, and then hugged him.

"We thought you dead, Grimbold!" Then he begged, "Have you heard aught of Faramir?"

The hope in the boy's face stole Grimbold's heart; the pain wrenched it. "Nay, Boromir. I know nothing of Faramir's whereabouts. And that is a good thing, I think. I thought you dead. Let us not think such thoughts again, what say you?"

Éomund stepped forward and hugged the man fiercely. "It is good to see you again, my friend, but you are wounded?"

"Nay. Just a scratch. The head wrap was our healer's idea. We made it past guards using it as a ruse. And you?" he noted the arm hanging at his Marshal's side, and remembered the one-armed hug.

"I fear I am in need of a healer myself." He smiled and moved towards Siriondil. "Do you think there is hope I may wield a sword again with this arm?"

Siriondil moved him towards a chair. "Sit. Let me look at it." Ioreth brought the healer's bag over. For once, she kept still, handing Siriondil instruments, salves, and cloth.

The others in the room stayed still. After a short time, Siriondil stood up. "You will have a long recovery. It should have been tended to immediately, but it will be useful again. Mayhap within the year, with rest and good care."

"Thank you, my Lord Siriondil," Indis said quietly.

The healer looked at her in surprise. "Forgive me, my Lady. I did not see you there." His eyes filled with tears. "I cannot express the pain in my heart from the news of Arciryas' death. Would that I were with him!"

At that moment, the door opened again. Swords were quickly drawn and then sheathed as Théoden King stepped into the room. His presence made the room seem small.

Théodred ran to him, crying out. "Father! Father!" Tears wet both faces as they embraced.

"Faramir?" Boromir cried, running forward. "Have you found Faramir?"

Théoden King knelt down and held the boy's face in his hands. "Aye, Boromir," he said quietly and with deep feeling, "He is well and with Listöwel. As soon as we have taken the Citadel back, she will bring him to you."

The boy collapsed against the king, deep sobs wracking his body. "Thank you," he repeated again and again.

Targon ran into the room, breathless. He leaned against the wall, trying to collect himself.

Captain Baranor strode forward. "What news? You were sent to bring back food."

"They have discovered Boromir is gone. They just now sent troops to the dungeons. They will find the others have escaped. The Citadel is in an uproar. Soldiers are running everywhere. There is no escape!" the lad cried in panic. "We are trapped."

Captain Baranor smiled kindly at the boy. "We are not trapped, young lad. Keep to your cooking and let your elders plan our escape."

Théoden King moved forward. "We need more weapons. We have doughty men here, and a woman," he checked himself as he looked at Indis, "who can wield a sword and help us defend Boromir. Send someone to collect them, and let us fight."

Motioning to Captain Amlach, Captain Baranor said, "Let us find swords for our friends that they may raise their hands in defense of Minas Tirith!" Amlach smiled, bowed, and left the room.

"Much as my sword longs to run itself through that usurper, our first concern is Boromir," Indis said. "I would take him away from here, quickly and quietly."

"A good thought," Éomund said. "I can fight, but in a sustained battle, I would be useless. Let Indis and me take him back towards the Houses. Once we get there, it is an easy step to the Silent Street. We can stay there, hidden, until the battle is won."

"We will bandage the boy, as we did Grimbold," Siriondil suggested an alternate plan, "and take him with us. I can hide him in the Houses. None would look there."

"That is the better plan," Théoden King agreed. "The leech is a familiar sight in this area, I would think. That seems to be the easiest and safest plan."

"But I want to stay and fight!" Boromir interrupted. Théodred stepped to his side. "And I too!" Both boys were vehement. "It is my city," Boromir said slowly and quietly. "It is my city that he has desecrated. I am old enough to fight, am I not?"

"You are old enough," Captain Húrin bowed before him, "but you are also the Steward and must be protected at all costs. Therefore, young lad, I would brook no arguments from you. As Steward, you know you give orders and they must be obeyed, as your father did. Give us the order, now, to fight and wrest Minas Tirith from those who have taken her. Then, we may present the Chair and the Rod to you in peace. Let your Captains do this for you, my Lord."

Boromir lowered his head in grief. "I will obey. Is not that the way of a good leader? My Adar taught me so. That to be a good leader, once must first learn to be a good follower?" Tears fell down his cheeks. "I am tired anyhow. I will do as you ask."

Siriondil quickly stepped forward, wrapped the boy's head with the bandage cloth and led him forward, Ioreth following behind.

~*~

A small band was seen in the west, huddled against the Rammas Echor. Prince Imrahil brought his hand up and the Knights of the Swan stopped. "Galador, what do you see over there?"

"It is a cart and a few people."

"But there is more. Are those not horses?"

"Aye, my Prince, they are. But no ordinary horses. I see now why you stopped. They are from the Mark, horses of the Rohirrim!"

"My thoughts exactly. Send a patrol… Nay! I will go myself. Send the men ahead, make sure the horns sing out our approach. I will take Captain Ciramir and his men with me. Meet us at the Great Gate; wait for me. Something more is amiss here and I would discover it."

Galador bowed and rode to the front of the column. Captain Ciramir, motioned forward by Prince Imrahil, met him. "My Lord?"

"There are horses of the Rohirrim over yonder. I would investigate. Would you and your men like to join me?"

Captain Ciramir smiled. "Aye, my Lord. Lead on."

Ragnhild stopped him. "My Lord. I ask that I may accompany you?"

"It is too dangerous."

"Others of my company have been in danger these past weeks; I would be part of that, for my own sake."

He smiled. "Then come along and be quick about it."

~*~

Listöwel's head rose as she heard the horses approaching. "My Lord," she cried out to Éofor. Riders draw near."

Éofor quickly stood, drew his sword, and ran forward. The leech stood behind him. "Stay!" Éofor commanded loudly.

The horses pulled up and Listöwel cried out in recognition. "Prince Imrahil! Captain Ciramir! Oh my lords, how good it is to see you. Is that your army that waits over there?"

Prince Imrahil quickly dismounted and hugged the woman. "It is so good to see you again. And Faramir," he shouted in delight, though his eyes clouded as he saw the little one before him. "You have been in a battle yourself, my Lord?"

Faramir giggled and hobbled forward, placing his good arm around his uncle. "Bad men were bringing me to you. You would have slain them, would you not?"

"For you! Aye. But are you well, my nephew?"

Faramir smiled. "As long as we can save Boromir, I am well. Have you come to save Boromir, Uncle?"

"Boromir?" Imrahil looked questioningly at Listöwel.

"He has been… detained in the dungeons of the Citadel, according to Faramir. Théoden King has gone into the city to rescue him."

Prince Imrahil shook his head. "Théoden King is here and in the city? I see no evidence of Rohirrim, except the horses you hold here."

"He sent his army to hide in the shadows of the White Mountains, near Eilenach. They were instructed to return today. They should be coming from the North soon. Théoden would not wait for them, though. He deemed it better to sneak in as a fox to Minas Tirith and try to free his son and Boromir."

"His son is also prisoner?"

"Aye. And Éomund and Indis." She smiled as Ragnhild dismounted and ran towards her. "You did well, Counselor! Thank you!"

"You tell a strange tale, Listöwel," Prince Imrahil continued. "Let us not tarry then; let us enter and help our friends. Ride next to me so that we may talk further."

"My Lord. We can enter the city near here, using the same secret way that Théoden King did. It would be faster and my heart misgives me."

They rode to the wall, dismounted and left their horses with the healer. Opening the door, they paused for a moment, letting their eyes become accustomed to the gloom before them. Then, Listöwel pushed her way through. "We dare not tarry, my lords."

Prince Imrahil smiled at Captain Ciramir, rolled his eyes, and moved through and down the stairs.

Only three flights had they passed, when they saw movement to their left. Holding themselves against the stair's wall, they drew their swords. Listöwel pressed Faramir behind her. The lad had shown such stubbornness when Imrahil tried to leave him behind, that the Prince had finally relented, making Faramir vow he would keep to the rear and run at the first sign of danger.

"Amlach!" the boy cried out. Indis put her hand over Faramir's mouth, but it was too late. A man stepped out of the shadows.

"Faramir! Is that you?" he ran forward and stopped short as Prince Imrahil's sword pointed at his throat. "I am a friend," Amlach whispered, not daring to move. "Captain of Osgiliath and friend of Lord Denethor."

Prince Imrahil lowered his sword. Faramir ran to the man. Captain Amlach's brow raised as he noted the sling and the deep cut on the child's face. He picked him up and hugged him gently. "Your brother has been worried about you, little man," Amlach said quietly. "He will be pleased you are safe. But what are you doing in the city?" He turned accusing eyes upon the Prince. "It is not safe here. Théoden King had rescued the lad from this very place and you return him!" he snarled.

Faramir put his hand to Amlach's cheek, turning the face towards him. "I would not let him leave me behind, Captain. I am safe with these men. Look! Here is Captain Ciramir too!"

Amlach was quickly engulfed in a great hug from behind. "You are a fine sight, Amlach!" Ciramir laughed. "A fine sight indeed. Where are the others?"

"They are four levels above us, in a room off the Great Hall. Come! I am on an errand to secure weapons and return. Come with me and help me carry my burden."

They turned down a hallway and found the armory for the Third Company. Filling their hands with swords, halberds and spears, they returned to the hallway, turned right and ran up the stairs. Captain Amlach put his hand up. "Faramir." He turned to the child. "You must stay here for a moment, till I make sure all is well. Indis, will you stay with him?"

"I will and Éofor will also. Hurry!"

They went through a door to their left and entered the hiding room. All greeted them with joy. "We have just sent Boromir out with the healer and were awaiting arms," Húrin said, after their greetings and introductions were complete. "Now. Let us go forward. Théoden King's men should be entering the Pelennor as we speak, and with Prince Imrahil's army coming from the south, Amandil will be quaking."

Slowly, they crept forward. Scouts went out before them into the hallways of the Great Hall. Indis shivered. It seemed almost profane to walk the halls with weapons drawn. Never had she heard of nor seen such a thing.

'Mayhap, this is what it was like during the Kin-strife,' she thought. So many had died then; they could not repeat that now. Amandil held no authority, had no ties to the line of Húrin, of Stewards. None, in their right mind, would follow him. All that now obeyed him did it because they were either fearful or had been bribed. At least that was her hope.

As soon as they stepped foot onto the Courtyard of the White Tree, the underlings of Amandil came at them with a fury. More than any of them had bargained for fought for the usurper.

Indis held her sword high, howling to the wind. She would not fall without taking a few with her. The first approached, laughter on his face that quickly disappeared when she thrust her sword through his belly. She withdrew it and lunged to her left as another sword arched past her. The sound startled her, but she continued on. The arm attached to the sword fell; she thrust quickly again and the man fell.

Another came and then another. She was tiring and her breath came raggedly through her clenched teeth. Never had she fought her own kind; never had she fought any but Orc. Now, she took the life of men. But her sword sang as she did, knowing she was defending Boromir and the realm.

She saw Éomund, sword in his left hand, his right hanging uselessly at his side. He did well. She must remember to ask Eledhwen to teach her how to fight with her left hand. She barely ducked in time. Another sword swing and she would have been dead, but she pulled up on her own sword and hewed a leg. The soldier fell in front of her.

Horns blew in the distance. Éomund rallied. "'Tis the Eorlingas!" he cried, joy upon his face.

Prince Imrahil shouted, "And the Swan Knights of Dol Amroth. They are come!"

The horns, ringing through the air, lifted the warriors' hearts. Their enemies' heads turned in fright, but they did not run. Amandil appeared in the midst of them, exhorting them to stay, promising a fortune to those who continued to fight. "A breastplate of mithril to whomever finds and kills the boy," he screamed.

Indis, hearing the command, lifted her sword in challenge, then, staggered when a blow grazed her head. She screamed her rage, quickly recovered and lunged forward. The man fell dead.

Boromir, standing within the tunnel of the Sixth Level, had heard her scream, misunderstood the reason, and ran from Siriondil's protection. "She needs help!" He shouted back to the healer. "She needs help!"

Barely turning in time to see Boromir run from the cover of the tunnel, she motioned for him to return to safety. He shook his head and continued forward, intent on saving his aunt. He bent down and quickly lifted a sword from one of the dead. Dodging a blow from the left, he brought his blade down hard upon his attacker. The man slipped on his own blood and fell forward.

She saw Boromir smile; then shudder. A blade sliced into his neck. He fell back into the water.

Screaming, she ran forward and killed the coward. She stepped into the fountain and caught Boromir in her arms. She pulled him out of the water and onto the lip. Hearing nor seeing nothing but the boy in her arms, her very being was drawn to the eyes that looked at her in love and pain.

"Oh! Boromir, hang on, mellon nîn, we will find help. Do not leave me, please." Tears fell as his eyes glazed. "Hold on, Boromir. Someone will help us," she murmured. "Please, Boromir."

Éomund fell to the ground next to her, cradling the boy's head in his hands and weeping.

She sat, holding her beloved nephew to her breast, tears streaming down her face.

Théoden stepped forward, grief etched on his own. The fountain's waters ran red with the blood of the young Steward. The Captains of Gondor all placed themselves around the fallen one, but the battle lust seemed to have left their enemies.

Those who had been afraid to join the fight for Gondor heard the horns and came forward, ready at last to join the fray. Amandil, left behind by his fleeing men, was cut down by Captain Húrin.

She looked at Éomund, helpless. "He is just sleeping," she whispered. Her chin began to quiver. "He is sleeping."

She began to wail and the sound sent prickles up Éomund's arms. "Let me take him from you. You are hurt yourself and bleeding. I will take him to the Houses."

"Nay!" she screamed. She clenched her teeth, shuddered and whispered, "Nay." Her sobs rent the air.

Théoden King stepped back from the horror in front of him and ran into Faramir.

Listöwel's hand crushed the boy's shoulder, but he felt nothing.

Looking at the body in Indis' arms, the boy crumpled to the ground. "Boromir?" he gasped. "Boromir!"

Siriondil pushed his way through the gauntlet of loyal men around Boromir. "Let me through!" the Master Healer screamed relentlessly, "Let me through!"

Quickly, Captain Amlach forced the men back and shoved Siriondil towards the fountain. The healer knelt next to Indis. He put his hand to the wound; it was long and bled profusely. He motioned for Ioreth to bring his bag. She placed it next to Siriondil, opened it, removed a clamp from the bag, pinched the life-pulse in the tool, and held it as steady as she could. She had done this before. Twice she lost the slippery vein and twice she was able to grasp it again. She waited for the Master Healer to begin.

He swore quietly as he rummaged through the bag, finding his thread at last. Drawing his breath in, he held it, and began to sew the pulsing sinew. Tiny stitches pulled it together. He used the finest silk thread he could find and quickly sewed the sliced tissue. The outer layer of skin was sewn shut; if these stitches on the life-pulse failed, the child would bleed to death and none would know any better. The child's breath was so faint he knew he had but moments left to save his Steward.

Finished with the deeper wound, he took twilic, braided double and as fine as any thread in the land, and sewed up the short blade cut. Ioreth began swabbing the area, removing the blood as quickly as it flowed, so that Siriondil could see what he was about. If not for its hit to the life-pulse, the wound would have been fairly easy to heal. Siriondil worked relentlessly as all stood about him, hushed.

Boromir suddenly opened his eyes, shuddered - and was gone. Siriondil fell backwards onto the marble tiles, shaken to the core, and took a long ragged breath. "All in vain," he cried as his tears fell to mix with the blood on his hands.

Indis knew the spasm for what it was. She looked blankly at the healer and fell forward. Imrahil caught her in his arms.

Imrahil walked slowly through the crowd that had assembled at the gate. They moved aside as the Prince of Dol Amroth walked to the Houses. He would let none touch her. Théodred followed, carrying the insensible Faramir in his arms, tears streaming down his face. Éomund still held Boromir's head when Indis collapsed. Now, he stooped, picked up the Steward's body with his good arm, and walked behind Prince Imrahil. Ioreth helped Siriondil stand and walk to the Houses. Théoden King stood with Listöwel.

None spoke for a few moments; then Captain Húrin stepped forward. "Captain Amlach, get your men to start cleaning up this…" he pointed to the bodies laying about the Courtyard. "Someone signal to the gatekeeper to open the Great Gate. I want Théoden King and Prince Imrahil's men in the city as quickly as possible. I want them to stay mounted and ride through the levels. I want a show of force that all will fear. I want couriers sent to discover what is happening in the rest of the city and I want order. Now!"

The men jumped as their elder Captain strode towards the parapet.

"You!" He pointed to Captain Ciramir. "Send couriers to assemble the Council. Tell them they are to meet in the chamber immediately." The men listened as disbelief shook them to the core, shied away from the bloodied fountain, and did as Húrin commanded.

Ragnhild rose and stepped towards the elder Captain, tears glistening in her eyes. "My Lord. Is there no healer for a Rohir?"

Captain Húrin, puzzled, turned towards her. "Who needs aid?"

"It is Grimbold, my Lord. He has taken a blow to his gut. I cannot staunch the flow of blood. I fear it is a mortal wound. It is beyond my ability to help him."

Calling loudly for a healer, Captain Húrin ran towards the warrior lying beneath a portico off the Courtyard. Éofor knelt next to his fallen comrade. "It is a grievous wound, Captain."

"Aye." Captain Húrin knelt. "My name is Húrin, Captain of Osgiliath. I am sorry your king is not here, Grimbold. I would offer my hand?"

Grimbold, eyes glazed and pain-filled, looked up and took the proffered hand. "I know you," he whispered.

"We have not met," Captain Húrin said, perplexed. "I only first saw you in the safe room an hour ago."

"Nay. But I know you. Lord Denethor," he took a breath and shuddered, "Lord Denethor spoke of you often and highly."

Húrin sobbed. "You knew my Steward?"

"I fought beside him under Marshal Walda's command when Lord Denethor was exiled to Amon Anwar. He rode with us for five years." The man took another breath, shivered violently, and then was quiet.

~*~

Prince Imrahil, Théodred and Éomund carried their sad burdens through the main entrance of the Houses. They walked into the central hall. Gasps filled the hall as healers, aides, and staff ran in to see what the commotion was about. Beds were quickly shown to them and each paused, kissed the one in their arms, and laid them gently down.

Siriondil turned towards Indis, she had awoken as they entered the Houses. "You, my Lady, cannot wait any longer. Your wound has stopped bleeding, but it must be stitched." He took his thread and needle and came towards her. She tried to shy away, but he held her head firmly and forced her to sit. As she tried to pull away, he heard the moan that escaped her. "You have other wounds too?" he asked gently. "Would you leave them untended? If you do, how will you help Gondor heal? And this one?" he said, touching Faramir's head lightly. He frowned at Indis' scowl, but she stayed put. 'Thought that would make her stop moving!' he said to himself. He quickly laved, then sewed the wound closed. Touching her ribs, he noted the cloth wrapped tight around her midsection. "Ioreth, please re-bandage her ribs."

He turned towards Faramir. He looked the boy up and down, noting the sling for the child's arm. The shoulder wound – he wondered what had caused it and who had tended it. He had noticed the boy had limped slightly, when first he saw him step from the secret doorway. As he moved his hand over Faramir's head, his fingers felt the ugly wound. He lifted the hair and looked closely. Faramir's eyes opened. "I see my work will not be complete until I spend some time with you, my young one," he said gently, "I must do something that will cause you pain, but it is necessary. Are you able to stand a little pain?"

Faramir looked at him, his eyes large and wide. Indis made as if to stand; Siriondil forced her down. "Please take a moment to rest." An assistant brought in warm valerian tea. He offered Indis a cup and gave one to Siriondil who held it for Faramir to drink.

"I will not tell you this will not hurt. I must take the head wound and reopen it, but only a little bit. The sewing was poorly done and it carries sickness within it. I will be as quick as I can. Will you be strong, Faramir, and let me do this?"

The boy nodded his head. Siriondil waited a few moments for the tea to take effect, and then picked up the child and put him on a cot in a corner of the room. Faramir's eyes rolled up; Siriondil knew the boy was ready. He laved the wound with hot water and then began. True to his word, he finished quickly. The wound was not so red; the fever was leaving it.

Théoden King had stepped to Théodred's side. The lad never left Faramir, even when the healer moved him to the cot.

"I made a promise to Boromir, Father. To take care of Faramir." His eyes welled with tears again. "I cannot leave him."

"I understand, my son. I will stand with you."

Two Knights of Gondor stood by Boromir's bed, guarding their Steward.

The solemn procession moved quietly from the Great Hall towards the Silent Street. The Courtyard, filled to the edge of the parapet with the peoples of Gondor, stood in soundless grief. Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth led the bier, carried by four men. Though Captain's Ciramir and Húrin held their heads high, they shook slightly from the sobs that tore at their bodies, as they carried their part of the burden; Théoden King and Éomund walked on the other side, their tears no less bitter than their companions. Indis followed behind, stiff and tall. Théodred walked alongside his friend's brother; Listöwel held Faramir's hand.

If Indis had looked up, she would have seen that the city seemed to move, as winds from the Pelennor whipped the white banners of the Steward's House, the House of Húrin, that flew from every parapet, every window in Minas Tirith. Some mourners even held tiny, white banners in their hands. Muffled drums beat their sorrow, echoing the calls of the silver trumpets as the procession entered Rath Dínen. A flight of black swans flew overhead, as if even the birds and beasts of Gondor mourned. The peregrine that gracefully flew through the air round about the Citadel sat in their nests, their proud heads hidden under their wings, their cries silent.

They laid the boy gently on a marble slab. Mourners filed past. The andfangol had prepared a new tomb. Indis had bitterly complained; she wanted to lay the lad next to his father, in the same tomb, but Prince Imrahil had overridden her. His nephew had been the Ruling Steward, though not yet named, and therefore required his own vault.

As the last of the mourners left and only those close to the Stewards remained, Faramir turned to Indis. "Might I lie next to Boromir for a moment?" Tears streamed down his little face, but Indis' heart had fled to some dark place; she did not hear nor see him.

Éomund stepped forward. "Faramir, the embalmers' arts have changed the substance of your brother's body." He understood the lad's request, but… He quailed at the thought of what he was about to say and shivered before he spoke again. "Faramir. It is not Boromir who lies before us; it is a cold and hard piece of flesh. Boromir dwells in some far off land with your father and your mother."

"I still want to lie next to him," the boy said stubbournly, his chin quivering. "I do not care if he is dead. I do not care if he is cold and hard. I need to touch him one more time; to lie next to him, as I did when I was a child and frightened." The tears came more fully and the sobs became louder and near frantic. "I am frightened and alone. I need Boromir!" He ran to the slab and tried to climb up, but the sides of the marble were slick.

Éomund went to his side, lifted him gently, and placed him next to his brother. "You are not alone, Faramir," he whispered as he kissed the boy's forehead. He laid his own hand upon Boromir's arm, kissed the cold brow tenderly, and stepped back.

Faramir encircled Boromir's waist with his arm and laid his head on his brother's shoulder. All who saw broke into fresh sobs, men and women alike trying to help the child bear his grief by joining their own sorrow with his. The child's shoulders shook as grief whipped through him, consuming him.

Listöwel moved forward as if to stop this, but Éomund put his hand out and pulled her to him. "He cannot endure this sorrow, Éomund," she cried. "Please, he will lose the will to live himself. Please, Éomund, remove him, now."

He saw the wisdom in her words and stepped to the boy. "Faramir," he spoke quietly. “It is time." He noted the shaking of the boy's head. "Aye, Faramir. It is time." He tried to help the lad move, but the child's arms grasped the body tighter and wails rent the cold, silent air of the City of the Dead.

Indis' head shot up; the cries dragged her from the safety she had so desperately sought. She gasped in horror at the sight before her. Quickly moving towards Faramir, she covered his body with hers. "Melethron nîn," she whispered. "Thy brother must be put to rest. Thou dost him ill to linger here. Lasto beth nîn. Boromir loved thee, Faramir." She remembered how much Denethor, after Finduilas died, had hated the old speech; and now she understood it. Memories of pain and suffering and sorrow from ages untold filled her tongue as it spoke the words. But Faramir was beyond the speech of men. "Tolo hi. Estelio nin." She lifted the boy off Boromir's body; he let his arms loose their hold on his brother. She turned, still holding the boy's shuddering body, and walked to the door.

The others followed; the only sounds in the Silent Street were hushed sobs.

~*~

"I thought it wise to wait until Lord Faramir's coming of age for the ceremony to confirm the title of Steward, but too much has happened in these last days. The ceremony must be held within the week," Indis said quietly.

Murmurs were heard around the Council table. She waited. Captain Húrin stood. "I have not been privy to your thoughts, daughter of Ecthelion. You will place Lord Faramir as Steward?"

"I will." She was grateful to him. She knew he had used her title as Ecthelion's daughter to remind the Council who it was that spoke before them.

Her eyes were hard, like unto Ecthelion's, Captain Húrin thought. He was sure others of the Council would see the same light in them as he did. Not oft would any dare to cross Ecthelion. He wondered if the same would be true of his daughter.

"As eldest of the line of Húrin, I declare Faramir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor. On the morrow," she had made up her mind as she stared out at the faces before her, "I will hand the Rod to Faramir."

"You would hear no arguments?" Lord Inlach of Lamedon gasped out. Sickly and old, he had struggled to come to this meeting. Knowing its full import, he had ordered that he be brought on a pallet. He struggled to sit upright.

She understood him and took no umbrage from his question. The people of Lamedon were fiercely independent - and fiercely loyal. "There is nothing to argue. Lord Faramir is the rightful Heir."

"He is very young," the old man said.

"There have been Kings who were almost as young. The blood of Númenor flows through him. He is a direct descendant of Mardil Voronwë. Who has a better claim?"

None spoke, but she noted the sideways glances shared by some of the Lords. "Tell me this," her voice shook in anger, "who did you question when Amandil took the Rod? What standard did you use to judge him worthy?"

Captain Húrin smiled as he noted the fidgeting of some of the men before him. She had spoken the truth. Those who had supported Amandil should fear for their lives, he thought furiously. He knew Indis would discover who had helped the traitor. At best, they would be removed from the Council; at worst, they could be held traitors themselves and hanged.

"I will see you in the Great Hall tomorrow at the ninth bell. And – I will expect your complete support of the rightful Steward of Gondor, Faramir of the House of Húrin."

~*~

"What further would you have me do, Master?"

"Nothing, Galmod. For the moment. Gondor and Rohan are stronger than I first supposed. But I have time," the dark, thick laughter frightened his servant. "I have so much time. Fools will not foil my plans. Wretched men. Someday, they will bow to me. If they still live."

Ádrogen

Sindarin/Rohirric Translations:
Ádrogen - finished
Andfangol - undertaker

Estelio nin – trust me
Lasto beth nîn – listen to my words
Melethron nîn – my love

Potilas – patient (as in sick person)
Tolo hí – come here

Venno - husband

Characters in order of appearance:  

(for characters not in LOTR – the names were taken from Tolkien’s other works – except for Listöwel – who happens to be named after a place in Ireland)

Théoden – King of Rohan
Théodred – Heir and Prince of Rohan – Théoden’s only son (11 years old)
OC - Indis – Sister to Denethor – Aunt of Boromir – Friend to all
OC - Ragnhild – Leech (healer) for Théoden King 
Morwen Steelsheen – Théoden’s mother
OC - Listöwel – Widow of Amdir (Denethor’s best friend) – Best friend of Indis & Morwen
Boromir – Heir to the Steward’s Chair – Eldest son of Denethor
Faramir – Boromir’s brother – Youngest son of Denethor
Éomund – 3rd Marshal of the Riddermark – Son-in-law of Théoden – Uncle of Théodred
Théodwyn – Théoden’s sister – Éomund’s wife – Théodred’s aunt
OC - Grimbold – Théoden’s second in command
OC - Baldor – Elfhelm’s youngest son, Lieutenant to Éomund
OC - Aldor – Elfhelm’s eldest son, Lieutenant to Grimbold
OC - Leech of Rohan – Secondary character
Thugs – Men of Gondor
OC - Amandil – Lord of Gondor – Member of the Council of Gondor
OC - Dúinhir – Captain of the Rangers of Ithilien
OC - Hathol – Captain of Cair Andros
OC - Húrin – Captain of Eastern Osgiliath
OC - Amlach – Captain of Western Osgiliath
Targon – Cook’s apprentice to the Third Company of the Citadel
OC - Baranor – Cook to the Third Company of the Citadel (retired)
OC - Durahil – Soldier of Gondor under Captai Duinhir
OC - Eofor – Walda’s son (Marshall- deceased) – Husband to Hild (Théoden’s elder sister)
OC - Gildor – Captain of Gondor (retired)
OC - Gorlim – Captain of Gondor (retired)
Ioreth – Healer’s Assistant in the Houses of Healing – 1^st assistant to Siriondil
OC - Siriondil – Master Healer in the Houses of Healing – Friend to Indis and Denethor
Inlach – Lord of Lamedon – Member of the Council of Gondor