Warning: Character death in this chapter.... Get your handkerchiefs ready.....

      Chapter Seven – Capture

Despite having been named after a flower by his master’s young son, Daisy was a magnificent warhorse of Rohan. For many years he had served his Gondorian master with nothing but courage and loyalty, his heart was as brave and strong as any of his herd. But even he had his limit. After what seemed many minutes standing patiently in the face of the storm, with the wind and dust threatening to rip the skin from his bones, Daisy had his fill. It did not help that some moments before, the horse beside him had slipped the leading rein from his master’s hand and galloped away down the valley with its rider still tied to the saddle. Finally, Daisy decided he had endured enough of the sand’s bite; he shied away with an angry snort.

The movement pulled Faramir back from his fear induced reverie. Suddenly, as he felt the stinging of the dust ripping at his exposed skin, self preservation overtook the shock that had struck him motionless. He had to get out of the wind and quickly.

Slipping down from Daisy’s back, he pulled up his cloak’s hood. It was impossible to see in the storm, but he realised that Wormtongue was no longer beside him. He could not remember the time when the rein had slipped through his fingers; however, it was evident that his companion had gone.

“Wormtongue!” Faramir cried. “Grima!” But he soon gave up because the wind whipped the words from his mouth and chased them away.

His mind thought back along the road searching to remember any place that could offer shelter. The only answer was the boulders from the Black Gate. Leading Daisy behind him and grateful that the wind was at least at their back, Faramir made his way back down the valley. Once he found an appropriate rock, he slid down behind it, pulled his hood even tighter about his face and resolved to wait out the storm. Daisy too thrust his head below the height of the rock to benefit from what shelter he could. Glad of the company Faramir reached across and scratched the horse’s muzzle tenderly.

Faramir’s first thought, on seeing the evil tower, was to turn Daisy around and gallop back to Gondor as quickly as he could to warn the King. But his enforced delay caused him to re-think, for what else was there to do as he huddled into the rock, but think?

He had barely glimpsed the tower through the gloom. He didn’t know whether it stood from the Dark One’s time or whether it was newly built. Likewise, he had no way of knowing the threat the tower held. It could contain thousands of orcs, just an old wizard or nothing at all. He needed more information, which he would not obtain by leaving now. He needed to know the nature of the enemy before he raised the alarm with the King. The only way he could get that was to sit out the storm and then investigate further.

He thought on what had happened to Wormtongue and cursed under his breath for letting his attention wander long enough for the other to take advantage. Still, he did not know if that had happened or if the horse had simply bolted at the storm. If that was the case Wormtongue, being tied to the saddle, would surely get his wish of ending up far from Mordor!

Faramir closed his eyes. They were stinging and raw from the dust, but he resisted the urge to rub them; instead he made himself as comfortable as he could and determined to wait for as long as it took.

By the time the storm had blown itself out, night had fallen over the desolate land of Mordor. Faramir hesitantly lifted his head above his shelter as the wind died almost as quickly as it had come. Pulling himself to his feet, he tried rather unsuccessfully to brush the layer of dust from where it had settled over him.

He looked up at the sky, which was suddenly clear and black. Stars twinkled brightly and a massive full moon lit the landscape. Over in the distance Mount Doom’s fires danced, turning that part of the sky red with flame. Faramir mounted Daisy and turned the horse back towards the east. He had discounted thoughts of leaving immediately. He must travel further into Mordor. He had to find out what was happening and always, at the back of his mind, he could not forget that somewhere Saruman waited for him.

Faramir spent the rest of the night and next day exploring the area around the tower. He had not seen Barad Dur in all its evil glory, but as he investigated, he came to see that this tower resembled the tower of Orthanc.

During Faramir’s youth, his father had taken both his sons with him to visit Saruman at Isengard. The memories were not pleasant for Faramir. They were of Saruman as a powerful but arrogant old man, and so very different from the fond recollections Faramir held of his childhood meetings with Mithrandir. Saruman seemed to be always testing him and his elder brother, assessing them, probing for weakness and fear. While Boromir seemed to be able to manage such behaviour, Faramir felt that the wizard was able to look into his very soul and that possibility unnerved him.

On one occasion he remembered running from Orthanc and hiding in the trees that surrounded it, until his father had forced him to reveal himself. Denethor had not been pleased to be so embarrassed by the weakness exposed in his younger son, even though Faramir had been only nine at the time. His father’s anger, although cold, had been evident to all present. Even at such a young age, Faramir had perceived that Saruman had taken some delight in seeing him punished. The wizard’s eyes seemed to gleam with pleasure, as if he had gained some knowledge about the boy he would use to his advantage in the future. Ever after, the second son had endured whatever taunts and tests the wizard had subjected him to through feigning cold indifference and revealing nothing. It was a tactic he had learned to employ throughout much of his childhood.

Thoughts of Saruman now brought back not only that pain, but also the embarrassment of his fall from grace with King Elessar. As he skirted the tower and made mental notes of its aspect, Faramir’s desire for vengeance grew.

Although he found no evidence, he became sure that Saruman was indeed inside the tower. While scouting the area, he found an outcrop of rock which gave him enough cover to observe the tower without being seen from it. Hiding Daisy on the other side but leaving him saddled in case of an emergency, Faramir made himself comfortable and determined to wait to see what came forth from the tower.

Towards dusk his patience was rewarded as a number of figures could be seen exiting the tower from the door at its foot. Faramir squinted through the failing light, trying to discern their features, but the light was too bad and the distance too far. He was sure, however, that none of the figures were Saruman or Wormtongue. Who they were, though, he could not tell.

The figures moved off westward down the valley. Faramir hesitated, unsure whether to follow or stay where he was. He decided to stay, reasoning that his quarry was still inside. And so he waited through the night, slumbering briefly, but all the time watchful and ready.

At dawn the figures returned, pulling behind them the carcass of a deer. They must have travelled far in the night for Faramir had seen no sign of such a large animal in the barren waste that was Mordor. They took the animal inside the tower.

Faramir waited again. His supply of food was almost gone, and he was perilously close to emptying his water bottle. He knew that sometime soon, he was going to have to leave his position to find more provisions. His stomach rumbled loudly as if to emphasise his predicament, but still he lingered.

He needed to know more. Five figures in a tower, in Mordor, that reminded him of Orthanc were hardly enough to worry his King. But Faramir could sense more. He knew that something was amiss. All of his Ranger instincts were pleading with him, telling him that danger was very close.

That night he ate the last of his food and gave Daisy the last of the oats he carried. He allowed himself only one mouthful of water and judged that if he kept his measures to that, he had enough water for three more days. Three more days, and if nothing happened during that time, he would have to leave.

He need not have worried, for something happened the very next morning.

Faramir was dozing; his eyes open but not seeing when it started. The sun had been up for almost an hour but the day was grey with an insipid and indistinct tinge, so much so that he did not realise what he was seeing at first. Then as the picture developed in front of him, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and his blood surged around his cramped body.

From out of the tower two figures tumbled. Faramir bristled, sure that they were orcs. They moved with speed and purpose and Faramir saw the flash of the hazy sun reflected from their weapons. Faramir followed their line of vision and what he saw caused his heart to lurch and his bowels to go cold.

Coming down the valley were two figures on horseback, who appeared to be charging the defenders. Through the mist Faramir squinted as the figures got closer. It was difficult, but as they came nearer he could clearly make out that one was wearing the livery of Gondor and the other was a Rider of Rohan.

Faramir cursed under his breath, for the very earth suddenly seemed to disgorge grotesque figures behind the two riders. Massive shapes, with weapons held high, who were moving to engage the riders. As he sat and watched, his horror growing, it was obvious to Faramir that the riders had been drawn into a trap.

He could watch no more. He slithered down the dusty bank, leapt onto Daisy and then rushed to join the fight. As he rounded the outcrop of rock, his eyes sought to make sense of the scene before him.

The man in the livery of Gondor had been unhorsed but was standing his ground bravely, sword held high, ready to fight on foot. The Rider of Rohan had swept past the enemy and was even now turning to re-engage and aid his companion. The grotesque figures, who had mysteriously appeared behind them, were only seconds away from joining the fight.

Faramir urged Daisy to cover the ground between them in all haste but the distance was too great. As he neared, the newly arrived figures joined the fight in support of the first two orcs; the Rider of Rohan was thrown from his saddle and fell heavily to the floor.

“For Gondor!” Faramir screamed as, at last, he reached his objective and Daisy crashed into the nearest of the enemy.

It registered with Faramir then that they were fighting no ordinary orcs. The newcomers were big, they looked to him very much like the Urak-Hai that he had been told killed his brother. A red mist descended then and Faramir lost all sense, his sword blazed as he was transformed into a devastating dealer of death.

More of the massive uruks spewed forth from the tower. Even as Faramir cut the ferocious creatures down, a fresh multitude appeared to take their place.

“My Lord! My Lord!”

As he cut and thrust and wheeled Daisy to attack again, a familiar voice broke through Faramir’s killing haze. He looked to the man in Gondor livery, as he had lost his helm, Faramir recognised him instantly.

“Beregond?” he shouted.

Beregond was hard pressed to respond as he fought to keep two massive uruks at bay. But he indicated toward his comrade and shouted. “Look to your lady, my Lord!”

Faramir dispatched an enemy as the words fought for recognition in his crazed mind. Understanding came, finally, with a frantic jarring deep in the pit of his soul. Desperately he looked about himself for their other companion. The Rider of Rohan was over to his left and fighting frenziedly.

“Eowyn!” Faramir’s voice broke, as he realised the horror of the situation.

She did not acknowledge him, so lost was she in the fight, but Faramir knew it was she. Recklessly he urged Daisy towards her, steering the horse with his knees, as his sword flashed from side to side. He rode down the uruks who were threatening her and then slipped from the saddle.

For one instant their eyes met. A lifetime of longing swept between them then. He wanted so much to take her in his arms and sweep her away from this horror, to protect her and love her forever, to keep her safe; a moment of transfixing intensity that neither could afford. And then it was over.

He grabbed her to him, resisting the urge to plant even the swiftest kiss on those beloved lips and lifted her swiftly on to Daisy’s back.

“Go!” he commanded and hit the horse’s rump. “To Gondor!”

Daisy sprang forward and though Eowyn looked back longingly, she did not try to slow the horse. She knew her mission, and she would not turn from it even though it ripped her heart. The Shieldmaiden forced the tears from her eyes, and bent low into Daisy’s neck as they flew down the valley back toward Gondor.

Faramir turned, wiping his eyes. He fought his way to Beregond’s side. The pile of bodies was growing in front of them, but still more orcs were coming.

“How goes it, Beregond?” Faramir asked grimly.

Beregond had an evil gash on his thigh, which was spewing blood, but he smiled broadly. “Well, my Captain!” he breathed.

They fought side-by-side, but eventually Beregond began to stagger.

“I fear my strength is all but spent, my Lord,” he said, through gritted teeth.

Faramir grimaced as he glanced across to his companion. As he did so, Beregond could not deflect a thrust from a particularly brutal looking assailant. The blade buried itself deep into Beregond’s gut. The old soldier dropped his sword, let out a long groan and fell forwards. As if this was some signal known to only them, all the Uruk-Hai seemed to hesitate, stepping back from the fight.

“No!” Faramir breathed.

He knelt in the dirt, scooping Beregond’s shivering body up into his arms.

“Beregond, I am so sorry, I have brought you to this,” Faramir said.

“Nay, my Prince,” Beregond spoke through dry lips, his voice little more than a whisper. “This was my choice. Would that I could follow you still into this new danger but an old soldier knows when it is over.”

His body was shaking uncontrollably in Faramir’s arms, but still Beregond wished to speak. “I wished to die in Ithilien, but Mordor makes no difference. It is the manner not the place that is important.”

Faramir nodded, as he held Beregond tightly. “Never has there been a man with more honour than you, my protector and my friend. Fear not brave Beregond, for I will take you home to Ithilien; this I swear.”

Beregond nodded weakly, and then his body tightened painfully. He let out a long, low groan as his last breath escaped and then he relaxed completely.

Faramir dropped his head into Beregond’s chest and clutched his body to him, as the wave of devastation and loss crashed through him.

“You should never promise what you can’t deliver, Lord Faramir,” said a harsh, yet familiar voice. “I’d have thought a man like you, who rips himself apart in the name of his honour, would have understood that, at least.”

Faramir looked up bitterly. The Urak-Hai had parted and standing before him dressed in a robe of many colours, stood the imposing figure of Saruman.

The wizard motioned to his soldiers. They moved forwards, roughly lifting Faramir to his feet and relieving him of Beregond’s body. Faramir tried to hold on to his friend but received a blow to his face for his trouble. He was pushed backwards, his hand coming up to his mouth where the blow had fallen, and as he did so the body was taken.

“What are you going to do with him?” Faramir demanded.

Saruman smiled. “Even in death my enemies have their uses!”

Fury pushing him, Faramir tried to rush forward but a mighty urak stepped between him and the wizard. Two others moved behind Faramir. He struggled desperately but it was hopeless, within seconds they had his arms bound tightly behind his back and pushed him to kneel in the dirt in front of Saruman.

He looked up to see the wizard regarding him with a superior smile. Loitering behind the imposing figure, Faramir glimpsed a smaller man dressed in black. A hideous and annoyingly familiar giggle drifted on the air.

“Wormtongue,” Faramir breathed.

“Yes, so kind of you to escort my servant back to his proper place,” Saruman said. “And now that we three are reunited, I came begin to enact my plans.”

Faramir struggled to stand, but a leathery hand on his shoulder pushed him back to the dirt. “I won’t do it,” his voice was firm and his eyes burned their defiance.

Saruman’s smile widened. “You don’t even know what ‘it’ is. Besides, don’t waste your energy,” he laughed. “You’ll need that later.”

He indicated to his soldiers who hauled Faramir to his feet. Although he struggled all the way, much to Saruman and Wormtongue’s amusement, the former Steward was pulled inexorably towards the tower and the fate that awaited him there.