Love and Lust--A Dynasty Broken - 
AUTHOR: Adara 
ckyser@yahoo.com



1. Innocence Lost

Spoilers: The Lord of the Rings prequel (begins in Minas Tirith)

Rating: "R" for rape/adult themes

Adara's standard disclaimer: I don't own these characters (except Eledwhen) and am not making any money off of them. Wouldn't do anyone any good to sue me anyway, since the only thing I own of value is my horse, Dylan. He's a good horse, but you wouldn't make much money from his sale. Thanks to Tolkien for his wonderful imagination.

I am a huge Boromir fan. I read in The Treason of Isengard, History of Middle-Earth Part 2, that Tolkien had included a daughter for Theoden King in an early draft of LOTR. He named her Idis. He also had plans to include a marital alliance between Gondor and Rohan. Tolkien discarded both the daughter and the marriage. However, it gave me an idea for this story, in which Denethor and Theoden arrange a political marriage for their children.

The story is about brotherhood, love, lust, loyalty, betrayal, jealousy and lost innocence. There is a rape in Chapter I. As the story progresses, characters you are familiar with play major roles. They include Faramir and Mithrandir. I also have written large parts for Prince Theodred, Haldir of Lorien, and Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth. There is political intrigue and fighting, and even a little romance. This is LOTR as it might have been. Please enjoy.

Prologue

"Tell me of your homeland, Mother." The child was sitting cross-legged on her mother’s bed, twisting a lock of blonde hair between thumb and forefinger. Her six-year-old face was fixed attentively upon the woman who languished upon the pillows. Deathly pale she was, and lines of pain were etched deeply into her face. Patiently the woman sighed and smiled wanly at the girl.

"You know the stories better than I do, child. How many times have you sat at my feet and listened to tales of Elves and wizards? If your father knew, he would beat us both soundly." Despite her stern words, the woman was smiling. She motioned her daughter to come to her, then tenderly stroked the girl’s hair as they lay next to each other.

The child snuggled happily against her mother’s side. "Mother, tell me about your homeland, please. I want to hear about the golden woods and the Elves." Sighing, she prepared to spin the tale she had woven many times for her only child. Queen Elanor knew her time upon Middle-earth was ending, and she wanted the girl to know her heritage, even though her father forbade it.

Chapter I: Innocence Lost

Boromir awoke with a throbbing headache. Raising his head from the pillow, he felt pain stab deeply behind his forehead. Dimly he remembered the drunken revelry of the past two days and nights. And with that remembrance came the unwelcome realization that soon his future bride would arrive in the White City. He had tried unsuccessfully to drown his distress at having to marry the "child" (which is how he thought of Rohan’s Princess) through excessive drinking and women who, for a short time, could make him forget the burden of being the Steward’s heir. In truth, he would prefer not to marry at all. He was a soldier and Captain-General of Gondor’s armies. He had no time to deal with a young wife. The country he loved would always be his mistress, one the Princess would undoubtedly be jealous of.

Although he had never met the girl, Boromir knew her family well. The King of Rohan was allied to Gondor, and the heir to the Stewardship of Gondor had fought beside her brother, Theodred. But of the girl, Eledwhen, he knew nothing other than it was said she was most fair to look upon.

"It will take more than a pretty face to make her a good wife," he had snorted when his father, the Steward of Gondor, had told him about the marriage plans for his eldest son and heir.

"All it will take for her to be a good wife is to bear you sons so that the line of the stewards may continue," the Lord Denethor retorted contemptuously. "And a pretty face and slender form does much to make that particular duty most enjoyable. I envy you this marriage. Were I twenty years younger I would wed – and bed – her myself."

Boromir stared at Gondor’s aged ruler, struggling to keep from his face the amazement he felt at his father’s words. A fire still burns within that old frame, he thought, adding aloud: "When will the royal party arrive?"

"Two days hence, if their journey is uneventful. I sent your brother, Faramir, and a host of his most loyal and skilled men to meet the King at the Gap of Rohan. I would not have your future father-in-law beset by orcs whilst he travels within my lands. It would not be an auspicious beginning to this new alliance. This marriage would not be necessary if our two countries were still on amiable terms, but the brutal truth is that Theoden King seems to be falling into his dotage and is no longer capable of making sound decisions. And that son of his… You know he bears no love for me. But with you as his brother-in-law, he could hardly refuse to come to our defense. Especially with his sister living in Gondor."

Denethor gave his heir a hard stare and added: "I would have sent you to greet your future bride, but you were busy with other pursuits. For the past two weeks you have been of no use to me or to Gondor. Do you think I know not the reason behind your disgraceful behavior? You are my eldest son and heir. Whether or not you are pleased with the wife I have chosen for you is unimportant. It is time you pulled yourself together and left drink and serving wenches out of your daily routine. You will be presentable when Theoden and his children arrive. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, Father," Boromir replied, his anger toward his father’s rebuke evident only in the tightening of the lines around his mouth. Nodding curtly to the Steward, Boromir turned on his heel to leave, thinking bitterly, Why does Father always make me feel like a small, errant child? Once free of Denethor’s presence, Boromir passed a shaky hand over the stubble on his face. He had not had time to shave before being summoned to his father’s chambers. "I will be presentable, Father," he said aloud, staring coldly at the closed door. Quickly he strode down the wide hallway, his booted tread heavy on the stone floor.

* * * * * * **

The King’s entourage had arrived in Minas Tirith, Chief City of Gondor, after an uneventful journey. Faramir had shown them to their chambers before taking his leave to report to the Steward.

"What are you thinking about, little sister?" Theodred, Prince of Rohan and only son to the King of the Mark, was in his sister’s chambers. He knew his sister well enough to know that she was upset, probably over her upcoming marriage. She stood at a tall window overlooking the tiered gardens that adorned the eastern side of the city. Barely 18 winters had she seen, and now she was to be married to a man she did not know, or love, over something as unromantic as territories and borders.

The Prince moved to stand beside Eledwhen and saw her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "What is wrong, Eledwhen? This is supposed to be the happiest time of your life. Instead, you act as though this marriage is a death sentence."

"It might as well be," she answered bitterly. "You and our father will return to Edoras, but I shall be forced to accept a new life in this strange city. I already miss the open fields of our homeland. I feel caged in this great stone city, although I find it most fair." Gazing out the window, she looked upon the Tower of Ecthelion, which glimmered like a spike of pearl and silver in the midday sun. She could almost hear its white banners snapping crisply in the breeze that blew cool from the White Mountains. "Tell me true, Brother. Would you not weep as well if you were being forced to wed a stranger? Particularly if that stranger were more than twice your age?"

Theodred gave her a guilty look before crossing to a table, upon which set a silver wine decanter and goblets. He poured a glass half full, sighed heavily, and quickly drained the smooth liquid in a single gulp. "I know well that the man you are to marry is much too old for you, and much too concerned about affairs of state and war," he said angrily. "Although I admire his valor and his battle skills, having fought by his side defending our common borders, still I would not have you wed him. You need someone who would cherish you, not his horse or his sword."

"That is rather amusing coming from you, dear brother. Or from any man who claims Rohan as his homeland. Do we not prize our horses above all else? Are you not as fierce and skillful a warrior as either of the Steward’s sons?" Although her gaze was stern, her tone was light, for she loved her brother deeply.

Smiling, knowing his sister had once again gotten the upper hand in a debate, Theodred walked within a few inches of her slender body and gently pushed a lock of silken hair behind her left ear. "Smart as any man," he said playfully. "I could never gain the upper hand in an argument with you."

"Then we are even, Brother, for I would never win at sword play with you." Her smile faded as she realized that she would rarely see her brother after the marriage. To hide her pain, Eledwhen went to the table and poured him another goblet of wine. And because she felt miserable, she also poured a generous portion for herself.

Handing a goblet to Theodred, she raised hers in a mock toast. "To our health and happiness, and to the next heir to the Stewardship of Gondor. Although, if I am truly fortunate, I will bear only daughters and Denethor will seek another wife for poor Boromir. Such is the need for sons and heirs."

"I am sorry, for I know you would prefer to marry one of our people and remain in Rohan. The Lord Boromir is a bad match for you. You do not deserve a man who is ruled by ambition or greed," Theodred said darkly. "It is said that he is a masterful man, and one to take what he desires."

"Do you speak of the son…or of the father?" Eledwhen asked, arching an eyebrow cryptically.

"They are both as much alike as the same side of a coin. He has not the stomach to stand up to Denethor, and so does his father’s bidding like an obedient lap dog. Rather would I see you marry the Lord Faramir, for he has a kind and gentle heart, and truly cares for the people he serves."

Eledwhen smiled, remembering their journey to Minas Tirith accompanied by Faramir and his men. She and Denethor’s youngest son had spoken about many things, including her future husband.

"Captain Faramir says that beneath his brother’s haughty and proud demeanor lies a fierce love for his people and his country. He believes there is naught Boromir would do to protect both. But I, too, wish Faramir was his father’s heir."

With a feeling of dread, she recalled the image of how stern and forbidding Lord Boromir had looked when she had been presented to him and the Steward. His rigid stance and cold, piercing gray eyes suggested that this son of Gondor was not eager to marry the girl standing before him. In almost a whisper, she added, "At least the Lord Faramir does not frighten me."

A knock at the door ended their conversation. The Second Marshal of the Mark strode to the door and pulled it abruptly open. Denethor's eldest son stood outside. Seeing the angry expression on his future brother-in-law’s face, Boromir steeled himself as though for a blow. "My father sent me to ask your highnesses to join those gathered in the Great Hall of Feasts. It is time to celebrate our betrothal," he said, looking past Theodred to where the girl stood.

The Prince of Rohan turned to his sister. "Duty calls, sister dearest," he said bitterly. Then, giving Boromir a strange, piercing look, he swept past the older man. The heir to the Stewardship of Gondor stood mutely in the doorway, dumbfounded at the change in the Prince. On the battlefield they had been nearly as close as brothers, each having saved the other’s life during combat. The man striding purposefully down the hallway seemed a stranger – and almost an antagonist.

Boromir looked at his future wife, quickly erasing the confusion from his face. The mask of neutrality he almost always wore descended as he repeated their fathers’ request to join them.

As he had that afternoon when the King’s party had reached the High Court, he marveled at her beauty. She had shimmered in the afternoon sunlight, more like a vision than a thing of substance. Tall and wondrous fair she was, with long flaxen hair flowing like a river of gold down her back. Never had he beheld a woman so enchanting. Her flawless skin gleamed like the finest quality marble, and her wide-set eyes were deeply blue and as innocent as the sky. And when she spoke…the dulcet tones sent shivers of desire down his spine. He had soon cast off his resistance to marrying one so young, knowing he wanted this girl more than he had ever wanted another.

Having donned a fur-lined cloak against the chill in the hallways, Eledwhen turned quickly, catching Boromir staring at her intently. Though she did not understand the meaning behind that intense appraisal, she nevertheless shivered. The sheer power of his masculinity intimidated her. For courage, she picked up the goblet of wine left unfinished by her brother and drained it in one, swift gulp. So fortified, she turned to face her future Lord.

* * * * * * * * *

Eledwhen was almost in bed when a knock at the door gave her pause. She wondered who it might be at so late an hour, and sincerely hoped it was not Boromir wanting to further express his ardor.

Earlier, at the feast in their honor, he had disgusted her with a declaration of his desire for her, proving his point by pressing her lithe frame against his hard body and attempting to kiss her. His boldness and ungentlemanly behavior had shocked her. Untangling herself from his strong arms, she had fled from the balcony into the great dining hall. Theodred’s eyes had narrowed as he watched her hasty return, noting her flushed face and rapid breathing.

Boromir sauntered into the room, his eyes searching for the girl. As an experienced combat soldier, Theodred was well familiar with the appearance of a man driven by lust for a woman. Quickly he went to Boromir’s side and placed a hand upon his arm. Leaning close, he asked the Lord of Gondor to join him on the balcony.

"What is it you want?" Boromir growled, pulling his arm free of the younger man’s grip. "I am otherwise engaged."

"I would advise more discretion on your part, my Lord," Theodred said, emphasizing the title to remind Boromir of his station. "You are not yet my sister’s husband."

"How dare you speak to me in this manner!" the Steward’s heir said haughtily. "How I behave with my betrothed is my own business."

"How you behave with my sister is my business, and I would remind you of the purpose of this union." Not wanting to cause a scene, Boromir allowed himself to be led back onto the balcony.

"My father, the King of the Mark of Rohan, would not take too kindly to the Steward’s son forcing himself upon his only daughter two days before her wedding," Theodred warned, the implied threat of war between the two countries hanging in the space between them. Boromir’s hand grasped his sword hilt and the two warriors stood facing one another, each waiting for the other to make a play.

"What is going on here?!" Denethor’s sharp words brought both men’s attention toward the archway to the Great Hall. Gondor’s Steward stood in the opening, Rohan’s King at his side.

Theodred and Boromir exchanged heated looks before relaxing into noncombatant stances. But Denethor’s piercing eyes missed nothing, and he recognized that the two men had nearly come to blows.

"Theodred, I would have a word with you…NOW!!" said Theoden sharply. With a wordless bow to the Steward, he strode to his father’s side. Denethor moved onto the balcony, holding his son’s gaze by the force of his will.

"What have the two of you been fighting about? And I’ll have the truth." Denethor’s direct stare was merciless. Inwardly, his eldest son sighed. It was not worth the agony to suppress so trivial a matter.

Denethor’s response to Theodred’s source of displeasure was not the response Boromir had feared. The old man roared with laughter and slapped his son soundly on the back. "Chip off the old block, you are at that," he said, almost proudly. "But I would advise you to wait until after the marriage vows have been exchanged before attempting to bed the lass. She is a king’s daughter, not a camp whore. For now, restrain yourself. After the wedding you may do with her as you please."

Boromir was not certain he liked the intimacy with which his father spoke of his future wife. Although he was surprised and relieved that the Steward actually looked favorably upon his actions – for once – still there was something disconcerting in the tone of his voice. Of course, as a soldier, Boromir had spent many hours trading bawdy stories with his men, but this was his father speaking about the woman who would bear him grandchildren.

Not sure why he felt a sense of foreboding, Boromir watched his father offer his apologies to the King for his son’s overly enthusiastic actions regarding his wife-to-be. Nodding his understanding, Theoden dismissed his son with a nonchalant wave of his hand. Still angry, Theodred cast a warning look at Boromir before striding from the hall.

Boromir sighed tiredly, thinking it was time to retire for the night. It had been a long, long day. He could not know that this was to be only one of many such days.

* * * * * * * * *

Eledwhen started to call her maid, but decided to let the poor woman sleep. Tomorrow would be filled with dress fittings and last-minute preparations for the wedding. Let the woman rest while she could. I wish I could rest, she thought tiredly, running her hands through her thick hair as she walked to the door. "Who is it?" she asked tentatively.

"Denethor, Steward of Gondor. I would have a word with you before you retire."

Surprised and a bit perplexed, Eledwhen opened the door and stood back so her future father-in-law could enter. "How may I serve you?" she asked.

"How indeed," replied the old man, a strange look in his eyes as they slowly followed the line of her nightdress from her naked shoulders to her bare feet. A warning nagged at the back of her mind, telling her to leave immediately and seek out her brother’s quarters. But logic told her she was in no danger from the Steward of Gondor.

"Come, girl. Pour an old man a glass of wine," Denethor said smoothly, easing his large frame into a chair near the fire. "I wish to offer my apologies for my eldest son’s inexcusable behavior. He has spent too much time in the company of women of ill repute. He forgets how to behave around a lady."

"I have forgotten the incident already," she lied. "The Lord Boromir had too much to drink. I have seen that before, for my brother and my cousin, Eomer, are both soldiers. One comes to overlook their rather common behavior at such times."

Eledwhen poured the Steward wine and crossed from the table to the chair where Denethor sat, handing him the goblet of wine. He let his fingers purposefully caress the back of her hand as he took the glass from her. Quickly she snatched back her hand, moving to the open window to put space between them. Something was wrong. Had she the warrior’s instincts so deeply ingrained within her brother, she would have recognized the danger signals. As an innocent and sheltered maiden, she could only wonder what was wrong with her that she should feel fear in the company of this courtly ruler.

Denethor continued to stare intently at her, then drained his goblet and rose to pour himself more wine. Normally she would have insisted upon waiting on him, but her doubts rooted her to the spot where she stood. Nervously, she studied the old man before her, noting the sturdy frame and the chiseled features set off by a long, curved nose between deep, dark eyes.

She saw the Steward pour wine into a second goblet, but did not see that he dropped something into it. Turning to her with a silky smile, he extended the goblet to her. "Drink a toast with me to your upcoming marriage. Soon you will be a member of my family, and as a daughter you will be to me."

Eledwhen accepted the glass from his hand and drank. It smelled of poppies. "That’s right," he purred. "Drink it all. It will make you feel better. You are tense and unable to sleep. Am I right in this?"

"Yes, my lord," she murmured, consuming the rest of the wine. "That is a good girl," Denethor said gently, taking the goblet from her hand. "Come, stand by the fire and let me rub your shoulders. I can relieve some of your tension."

A feeling of warmth and sleepiness was beginning to take hold of her body. She allowed the Steward to place his hand on her arm and steer her to the fireplace, turning her so that her back was to him. He then began to gently massage her neck, then her shoulder muscles.

"Does that feel better?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper in her ear as he leaned toward her and gently pulled her hair away from her delicate neck. Her breathing was slow and heavy, telltale signs the draught was taking effect.

Emboldened by her silence, Denethor put his lips upon her neck, the taste of her flesh intoxicating him with desire. Soon, she would belong to his eldest son; but for tonight, she would be his. He was the Lord of Gondor, Steward of the High King, and he had the right to take any girl he desired. His breathing became ragged as anticipation and desire began to overwhelm his senses.

Why should not I be the one to take her virginity? he argued to himself. My son does not deserve such a prize. And soon Mordor will devour our land and we shall all perish. I have seen this. I shall take pleasure in the time that I have left.

Turning the King’s daughter to face him, he kissed her on her full and sensual lips. His hands roamed over her body, feeling the soft contours through the thin gown. Denethor watched her eyes as he caressed her, searching for any sign she was aware of what he was doing. Finally, satisfied of her insensibility, he lifted her easily in his arms and carried her to the bed.

Old am I? he thought bitterly. Let them say I am well past my prime and entering my dotage. I still am enough of a man to take a young woman. With that, he began to slowly remove the gown she wore, sliding it off her shoulders, over her firm breasts and slender hips, then removing it entirely. She lay naked upon the bed, vulnerable and incredibly beautiful.

If he was aware that what he was doing was terribly wrong and against the laws that he himself had set down, Denethor showed no signs. His hunger and need drove him to kiss the girl’s flesh and to caress her breasts. His hand slid down her side to the smooth skin of the outer thigh, then moved more deliberately to the inside. Her flesh felt like silk beneath his rough hand.

Denethor thought he heard her cry out when he entered her, but wasn’t certain because of the roaring of the blood in his head. He was deaf and blind to all external forces, his entire being centered on the heat contained within her body. He wanted the exquisite sensations to never end. He was not aware of how roughly he used her, he only knew that he wanted her. And he always got what he wanted.

As his passion became too painful to endure much longer, Denethor felt the girl stir beneath him and cry out in pain and terror. Quickly he placed a large hand over her mouth to silence her, and pressed her into the mattress with his body so she could not escape. "Not yet, my pretty," he crooned. "I am not finished with you."

Gondor’s ruler ignored the girl’s muffled screams. He had never felt this before – this incredible passion, this almost painful pleasure. All too soon he was spent. Sated, he dropped on top of her, still pinning her to the mattress.

Dimly, he became aware of her racking sobs. With his senses returning to reality, he began to seek a way out of the untenable position in which he had placed himself, and Gondor.

I must think of a way to keep her from telling anyone, he thought frantically. Theoden will declare war upon Gondor should he discover what I have done this night. As he removed his softened flesh from her body, the girl struggled to free herself.

"Be still," he hissed. "Do you want anyone to know what you have done? Think of the shame it will bring your father."

"Are you mad?" she gasped. "I have done nothing wrong!! You have violated the daughter of the King of Rohan. I will see you suffer for this."

"No, my dear. You will say nothing. Not to your father, nor to your brother, nor even to my son."

"You are mad! You would rape your son’s fiancée on the eve of their wedding and threaten her with disclosure. Let me go!" Vainly she tried to push him off her, but she could not, for Denethor was an extremely powerful man.

"Tell anyone what has passed this night, and I will have your dear brother killed," he said evenly, as though he was talking about the weather. "You know I can have it done."

"You would not dare," she protested, knowing that he could – and would.

Denethor’s eyes glinted dangerously as he added: "The choice is yours. Keep our little secret, or lose the brother whom you love more than your own life."

Eledwhen hated his assured gaze and his smug smile. She wanted to claw her nails into his flesh and make him bleed as he had made her bleed. She wanted him to feel the pain she felt, but could not risk Theodred’s life. "It will be as you say," she replied, defeated.

Having won the battle, Denethor rose from the bed and began to dress. Noticing the bloodied sheets, he ordered her to have them burned. Then, satisfied with his night’s work, the Steward of Gondor opened the door to her bedchamber. He paused in the doorway, his face thoughtful. "Your husband will be away from the city often, as he is a captain of Gondor. Should I choose to return to your bed in his absence, I will expect you to welcome me. And you will…upon your brother’s life you will."

Laughing, he left the room, shutting the door softly behind him. Eledwhen sat on the bed, her back resting against the ornate headboard that was – ironically – deeply carved with the white tree of Gondor, symbol of all that was pure within the realm. What should she do? She could not possibly stay and marry Boromir, remaining trapped with the clearly unbalanced Steward; she would rather die than be forced to endure another sexual encounter with him. But she could not put her brother’s life at risk.

Frantically she considered her options. What would she not do to protect Theodred? She knew he would kill anyone who tried to harm her. And should he discover what the Steward had done that night, blood would be shed in the Citadel. Every scenario she considered ended with her brother’s death. But would she have the courage to submit to the Steward to buy Theodred’s life? The Prince of the Mark should have been blessed with a brother, not saddled with an unworthy sister, she thought miserably.

As dawn began to break in the east over Mordor, Eledwhen came to a decision. She would flee the city of stone, even though it meant she could never return to her beloved Rohan. For how could she ever explain her actions? What sane reason could she give for leaving behind the safety and the shelter of her loved ones to flee into the wilderness? No, she would have to disappear altogether. But where would she go? It matters not, she thought bitterly. I must go, and now before the city awakens.

Hurriedly she dressed in traveling clothes, choosing her favorite riding vest and divided riding skirt, and packed a small bag that could be fitted onto her steed’s saddle. She would go to Imladris. During their ride to Minas Tirith, Faramir told her of his dreams about the riddle that named Imladris and the halfling. She hadn’t told the Lord Faramir, but she understood at least part of the dream. Imladris is where Elrond Half-Elven dwells. How she knew, she could not remember, for her people were simple folk and had no dealings with Elves and such. But to Imladris she must go or lose her brother, and her sanity, forever.

Taking a last look, she hurried through the empty hallways and made her way downward to the stables located outside the Citadel. Eledwhen saddled her mare, Eward, and led her outside. Gracefully flinging herself into the saddle, wincing in pain as she landed too hard, she glanced about furtively to make certain no one saw her.

Unbeknownst to Eledwhen, a lone figure saw her depart. He would have stopped her, but he was in his bedchamber in the eastern tower and there was no way he could have reached her in time. I must awaken Boromir and see what has happened to make her leave alone and unguarded, he thought.

The man walked purposefully toward Boromir’s chambers. Something is terribly wrong, he thought grimly. I can feel it. There has been evil gathering since I returned to the city. Boromir will know what to do. My brother always knows what to do.




---------------



2. Flight of the Dove

In chapter two, Boromir becomes a much nicer person. In other words, he acts less like a man. The two brothers discover Eledwhen has left the city and ride out to find her. Jealousy between Boromir and Faramir begins to affect their relationship. Thanks to everyone for his or her kind reviews. I hope you enjoy.

 

Chapter II: Flight of the Dove

Boromir pulled himself from a deep sleep, aware that someone was in his room. Careful not to betray that he was awake, he slowly slid his hand to the dagger he kept beneath the covers. With one quick movement, he rolled from the bed and assumed a fighter’s crouch, searching the dark room for what, or who, had disturbed his rest.

Faramir’s voice came from the other side of the room, by the door. "Boromir, Eledwhen has left Minas Tirith."

Quickly Boromir lit a candle on his bedside table, illuminating his face. His shoulder-length hair tumbled into his eyes. Sweeping it out of the way with one hand, he asked, "What did you say, Brother?"

"I saw your future wife leave the city on horseback less than half an hour ago. I came here because I thought you might know the reason why." Faramir gave his brother a questioning look, then frowned at the confusion on Boromir’s face.

"Are you certain it was the King’s daughter? It is not yet light. You could be mistaken. Have you checked her chambers?" As he spoke, Boromir snatched up the clothing he had carelessly thrown about the room after returning from the disastrous feast of the previous evening.

Donning his breeches and tunic, he sat to pull on his boots, thoughts tumbling erratically through his mind. Aloud, he said, "I knew she’d be trouble! One shouldn’t expect children to know how to behave like adults. A little drunken revelry and she rides off. Probably just to get that hotheaded brother of hers stirred up. She probably enjoys setting us against each other!"

Glancing up, Boromir was surprised to see his brother gazing at him coldly, arms folded tightly across his chest. "What? Did I say something to displease you?"

Faramir remained silent, continuing his cold stare. "Do not tell me you are taking her side – whatever it may be? Have you, too, fallen under the spell of her charms? Granted, they are many, but she’s a girl. Females are not to be taken too seriously."

Looking at his older brother contemptuously, Faramir picked up Boromir’s sword and threw it at him. Catching the scabbard easily with one hand, the Steward’s heir groaned. "You are in love with her. Father should not have sent you to escort her from Rohan. You are such a romantic. But I cannot blame you, for her beauty tempts a man beyond his endurance."

"You always think with your body and not your head, or your heart, when it comes to women. Father taught you to look upon a woman as only a means to an end – for the purpose of strengthening our country through a marriage or for producing an heir. You have never understood that a woman can be a companion and a soul mate. Yes, I have fallen in love with her. But because she is kind and gentle, possesses a keen mind and clever wit, and has a laugh that sounds like rain falling softly in the forest. Not because I want to ravage her in my bed, as you so obviously do. You should have used more restraint at dinner. I would have thrashed you myself if Prince Theodred had not taken you aside."

Boromir stared disgustedly at his younger brother. "Women! They always come between men. A pretty face can turn us into sniveling curs fighting over the same bitch!!"

"Choose your words carefully, brother mine, when you speak of the Princess of Rohan. For she is not only dear to my heart, she is the daughter of the King of the Mark. And sister to the next ruling King. Should you ever become Steward of Gondor, you will need Rohan’s alliance. As you do even now, as the dark shadow stretches ever further over our lands and destroys our people."

Standing, Boromir gave his brother a mischievous look. "Then you ride after the Princess and fetch her back. Thus will you be high in her father’s favor. Perhaps he will give you a boon and let you marry her. Would that take the scowl from your face?"

Faramir shook his head and laughter lightened his handsome features. "I could never stay mad at you for very long. And do not worry, for I would not presume to come between you and your future bride. Even if I could, which I doubt."

"I think you underestimate your charms, dear brother. Perhaps the lady already is fond of you. Her maid told cook she heard Eledwhen say she wishes you were Father’s heir and not I. You may have already beaten me to the Citadel."

A look of absolute horror crossed Faramir’s face. "Surely, you do not think I have done anything dishonorable as concerns the Lady Eledwhen? Brother, I would never! She will be your wife."

"I only jest," Boromir said quickly. "I was teasing you as I did when we were boys. But I see I hit too near the mark for you to see the humor in my words. For you, too, desire her."

Faramir turned his back to his brother. "It is much more than desire," he sighed. Suddenly remembering why he had come to Boromir’s chambers in the first place, he whirled around and exclaimed, "We must find Eledwhen! We stand here debating her charms, while she may be in grave danger."

Boromir held up a hand to still his brother. "Let us first check her chambers before sounding the alarm. I do not wish to look foolish before both our fathers should this be just some childish prank of hers. Have you told anyone else about this?"

"No, I thought first to come to you. I was certain you would know what is going on." Faramir looked uncertainly at his brother, who was buckling his sword belt. "If Eledwhen is not safe, you will need to ride far to escape Theoden’s – and Theodred’s – wrath. For surely they will blame you for her disappearance."

Boromir finished dressing and looked calmly at Denethor’s youngest son. "I will wager she is safe within these walls. If she did ride out, doubtless one of our sentries turned her back. I am sure we will find her already tucked safely in her bed."

"I hope so," said Faramir quietly, following his brother.

Reaching Eledwhen’s chambers, Boromir raised a hand to knock, but found the door ajar. Pulling his sword from its sheath, he motioned Faramir to stand back as he kicked the door open. Finding no immediate opposition, the two seasoned warriors rushed into the room as one, only to find it empty.

"This makes no sense," the younger man said uneasily, beginning to open the door to the adjoining room where the maidservant slept. "Why would a young girl risk her life by leaving the city alone? Surely this is not just some jest on her part."

"Nay, there is no humor in this situation," Boromir said heavily. "I believe now that she has fled the city."

"But why, brother? I cannot see the sense of it."

"That is because you are not looking in the right place." Hearing the ominous tone in Boromir’s voice, Faramir strode rapidly to his brother, who stood beside the Princess' bed, still as stone. Faramir’s stomach clenched tightly as he followed his brother’s gaze to the bed. Something dark and crimson contrasted sharply against the virginal white of the sheets.

"Her blood, do you think?" he whispered.

"I fear it is so." Feeling that events were spiraling out of his control, Boromir snatched up the bloodied sheets, staring as though they could speak to him of what had transpired in this room. Slowly awareness crept into his mind. He knew for a certainty why Eledwhen had fled. Anger sparked within him and began to burn hotly, like a fire out of control.

Faramir observed his brother’s flushed and angry face, and the way his fists tightly clenched the sheets. Understanding and a feeling of nausea hit Faramir like a physical blow. He wanted to howl his rage and strike someone, anyone. "Who would dare rape the King of Rohan’s daughter, and your future wife?"

"We must find her as soon as possible," Boromir said, throwing the sheets back onto the bed as he began to run from the room. Faramir followed closely at his heels.

Swiftly the two lords of Gondor descended to the stables. Shouting for their horses to be saddled, Boromir looked to see if any horse other than Eward was missing. He sighed with relief to find no other gone. At least danger had not followed her out of the city. What she would stumble across in the fields and forests where orcs often prowled was too frightening to contemplate.

"Faramir! Gather what men you can, as quickly as you can, and ride after me. I can tarry no longer." As Boromir began to swing himself into the saddle, his brother put a hand on his shoulder. "On my oath, the man who did this will pay with his life," he swore grimly.

"Brother, I personally will see to it," Boromir replied, equally as grim. Then he sprang into the saddle, wheeled his mount around sharply, and galloped down to the first circle. As he approached the city’s Great Gate, he called for the guards to open it. Once beyond, Boromir spurred his stallion, Arod, into a gallop and uttered a silent prayer. May the fates be kind and let me find her before some thing – or someone else – does.

* * * * * * * * *

It had been no simple feat leaving Minas Tirith, for Eledwhen had to pass through the city’s seven gates. Fortunately, a dispatch rider was leaving the city with orders to Gondor’s Captains in the Outlands and the Princess was able to follow behind him. Once through the Great Gate in the City Wall, she had pressed Eward into a gallop and swiftly crossed the fields of the Pelennor.

Around mid-morning, Eledwhen had to stay her journey. Tears were blinding her, and sitting in the saddle had become too painful. And she had to gain her bearings, for she was unaccustomed to traveling alone and needed to decide in which direction to ride. I must be mad to believe I can find my way unerringly across the hundreds of leagues to Imladris, she thought miserably. But I cannot return to Minas Tirith. I would if I thought Theodred would be able to thwart any plot Denethor could devise to kill him. But the Steward of Gondor is too powerful. And he has the uncanny wits of a madman. I wish I was a man so I could kill him and so spare my dearest brother.

Gingerly she slid from the saddle and guided Eward into a thicket several yards from the main road. Exhausted, she stretched out on the hard ground and fell into a deep slumber.

Her dreams were dark and terrifying. In them, she saw a creature clad entirely in black towering over her as she cringed, whimpering, on the cold floor. As tall as a statue in the halls of Meduseld, the high house in Edoras, he appeared. A huge and hideous helm covered his head. She felt cold and naked before that evil vision though she still wore her stained traveling clothes.

"Where am I?" she cried, scuttling backward over the stone floor as the creature moved toward her. A panic overtook her and she scrambled to her feet in time to avoid the claws that reached for her. "Father!" she screamed, as she ran blindly through dark corridors filled with whispers of nameless torments. "Theodred!! Please, help me."

The corridor took a sharp turn. She missed seeing it and found herself at the edge of a deep chasm. Struggling to maintain her balance, she looked behind her and saw … the Steward of Gondor. His crazed eyes glinted maniacally as he steadily advanced toward her. "You are mine," the dream Denethor said. "No other shall have you. Come to me."

With the choice between the bottomless chasm below and Gondor’s Steward behind, Eledwhen plunged over the precipice, weeping uncontrollably.

Eward’s excited whinny awakened her. Tears were streaming down her face. She had no idea how long she had slept and dreamed, but her tears were a testament to the realness of the dream. Eward began to move restlessly, tugging at her tether. A cold terror touched the center of her soul; surely, Denethor had sent men to take her back. She leapt to her feet and ran to untie her mount.

Eledwhen grasped the horse’s reins and flung herself into the saddle. Desperately, she dug her heels into the animal’s sides, spurring it into motion. Rider and horse sprang from the thicket as one, cutting away from the road and running at full gallop across an open field.

Dimly, Eledwhen thought she heard someone calling her name, but was too terrified to look back. She heard the sounds of another horse’s hoofs pounding behind her and gaining quickly. She frantically urged her mount to even greater speed. She could almost feel Eward’s heart pumping furiously as the mare strained valiantly to fulfill her rider’s demands.

An unseen hole in the field caused Eward to stumble and fall, pitching Eledwhen forward over her neck. Her body skidded heavily across the hard earth before impacting a tree stump. She felt a searing pain in her head and lost consciousness.

* * * * * * * * *

The Princess began to become aware of her surroundings again and thought she head a man speaking to her. "Please, wake up. Somehow I will make this right."

The voice sounded familiar. She wished whoever it was would go away and leave her alone. Slowly she tried opening one eye. The glare from the sun hurt her head. Eledwhen groaned, tried to sit up and doubled over, retching, until she felt her insides would split. "Why can’t you just let me die?" she moaned, hoping the man would go away.

"Let me help you," the kindly voice pressed. The man moved her gently onto her back, putting his cloak beneath her head for a pillow. She felt a cloth pressed against her face, wiping off the vomit and blood. "Why did you run? You should have come to me for help if someone in my city harmed you. You do not have to deal with this alone."

Thinking it was her brother beside her, Eledwhen grasped his hand and held it tightly. Then her mind cleared enough to realize it was one of the Steward’s sons who knelt beside her. "Go away," she hissed, pushing his hand away from her. "You’ve hurt me enough."

Boromir felt as though she had slapped him. Deathly pale she was, and her face was scratched and bruised. He feared she might have suffered injuries from the fall and began to gently check her body for broken bones. However, Eledwhen felt his hands pressing against her sides and screamed in terror. Images of the rape by Denethor made her frantically claw at the Steward’s son.

"Eledwhen, stop!" pleaded Boromir, holding her delicate wrists tightly with his large, and much stronger, hands. "You will injure yourself more. I will not harm you. Please, calm down."

Something in his tone caused her to stop struggling. She didn’t really trust him, but had no choice. If Boromir wanted to have his way with her as his father had, there was nothing she could do to stop him. "Do with me as you will. I shall not fight you. But, please, do not hurt me."

Boromir was shocked to see that the innocence was gone from her lovely eyes, which now were filled with pain and anguish. It seemed the brutal rape had killed her spirit. "Eledwhen, who hurt you? Tell me and I promise he will pay with his life."

She searched his keen eyes and fair face for signs of deception. I wonder if he knows what Denethor has done? Deciding she had to trust him, she said miserably, "I cannot speak of what has happened or one dear to me will forfeit his life. And the irony is that you, who offer me aid, are the one who can help me least."

Boromir frowned, wondering if she was delirious. "What do you mean? Whose life is in danger that you fear to speak the name of the one who hurt you? Who is this man, that you fear him so?"

Eledwhen could only stare at him mutely, wishing he were not the son of the man who had dishonored her. "Please," she whispered, "do not take me back to Minas Tirith. Say, rather, that you found me dead. For only then will my brother be safe."

Boromir sought to question her further, but she slipped back into unconsciousness. He stood, seeking to sort out the riddle of who her attacker might be. It was clear that whoever had raped her had bought her silence with the threat of harm to Theodred. But the Prince of the Mark was a proven warrior and could take care of himself. But what if the threat was an assassin’s knife in the dark?

At that moment, Boromir heard the sound of horses riding hard across the field. Drawing his sword, he turned to face them.

* * * * * * * * *

Swiftly the steeds bore their riders toward him. Boromir raised his sword, ready to fight to the death should they try to take the girl. Despite his earlier harsh words about the King’s daughter, Boromir now understood why his brother had fallen in love. For not only was she beautiful without, she was as hard as mithril inside. She had suffered deeply, yet still had the courage to leave Minas Tirith rather than put another at risk. She deserved his loyalty, if not for these reasons, then because she had been chosen to be his wife. Because of his selfishness and self-absorption, Boromir had never stopped to consider how Eledwhen felt about the marriage. She most likely was none too happy about the prospect of being wed to him, which would explain Theodred’s antagonism toward him.

Throwing off such thoughts, Denethor’s heir prepared himself for battle, for the riders approaching were obviously soldiers. As he watched, one of them rose tall in his stirrups and hailed him. The tension drained from Boromir’s body as he recognized Faramir.

"Hail and well met," Boromir said, turning the point of his sword toward the ground as his brother and the soldiers approached.

Faramir frowned at the drawn weapon. "Have you been pursued?"

"Nay, the greeting was for you, should you have been an enemy," Boromir said easily, sheathing his weapon.

"The Princess. How fares she?" Faramir asked, jumping from his horse and moving to kneel beside her still form. Gently he pushed Eledwhen’s hair from her face.

Boromir heard his brother’s sharp intake of breath as he saw her injuries. "It is not as bad as it looks, just minor scratches and bruises sustained when her horse stumbled and threw her," he said, moving to kneel beside Faramir. "But she hit her head on this tree stump and most likely suffered a mild concussion."

"And the other?" Faramir asked quietly.

"I do not know, brother. She was not conscious long enough for me to question her. I know little more now than I did in Minas Tirith. Except that whoever hurt Eledwhen gained her silence by threatening to take the life of her brother. That is why she fled. She would say no more."

The Lord Faramir’s eyes narrowed at his brother’s words. "Whoever attacked her must be someone within the High Court and, therefore, someone we know and trust. How else could he have so easily gained access to her chambers?"

"The question that begs asking is who is powerful enough to frighten the King of Rohan’s daughter into silence? Why did she not go to her father for help? If Theodred’s life was threatened, logic dictates she would have turned to the King, her father. But she chose the most dangerous course and fled the city. I gleaned from our short talk she believes the man capable of making good his threat."

Faramir sighed. "So she risked her life to save her brother’s. Where did she think she was going?" Taking hold of the edge of her cloak, he tenderly pulled it over her shoulders. He traced the line of her jaw with a finger, then gently stroked her hair.

Boromir felt uncomfortable with his brother’s display of affection toward his future bride. A few hours earlier he had jokingly told his brother to save the damsel and so gain her father’s favor. Boromir now knew that he, too, was beginning to have feelings for Eledwhen. And these feelings ran deeper than mere lust.

"What do we do now, Boromir? Take her back to Minas Tirith?" Faramir asked, not removing his eyes from Eledwhen.

"Not until she awakens and can tell us who we are up against. I do not fancy a dagger in my back by someone who may believe I have uncovered his secret. No, we will make camp in the woods and wait. And brother," Boromir said quietly, leaning closer to Faramir, "I remind you that she is my betrothed. Such displays of affection are unseemly in front of the men."

"Hypocrite," Faramir spat. "You don’t want her, but in front of others you would pretend you do. Or, have you had a change of heart? Is that jealousy I see in your face?"

"Let us not fight," Boromir said wearily. "I no longer am certain of what I want. Let us move to the relative safety of the woods before someone sees us."

Gondor’s Captain-General barked orders to the soldiers, then bent to take the girl into his arms. As he lifted her and turned to his horse, he caught Faramir’s angry look. I fear this will come between us, Boromir thought sadly.



-------




3. Betrayal

This chapter has some battle action, and the two brothers come to blows. The Princess of Rohan must make a choice between them.

 

Chapter III: Betrayal

Five mail-clad figures sat around a small fire. Two more men, also clad in chain mail and heavily armed, watched the camp’s perimeter for signs of danger. It was midday and the sun was high in the cloudless sky. But among the dense and enormous oak trees that shielded the party from enemies’ eyes, shadows made it appear closer to dusk.

Boromir and his brother, Faramir, sat on opposite sides of the fire, each avoiding the other’s gaze. The older brother wished he had some of his father’s insight so that he might read Faramir’s thoughts. The two had not spoken for the past hour.

Boromir’s younger brother had ridden silently beside him as they searched the woods for a suitable place to camp. Clearly, Faramir was still stewing over their heated exchange of words concerning the Princess Eledwhen. Now Boromir was unsure how to broach the subject with his brother, and so remained silent. Faramir, for his part, held his body rigid, arms wrapped tightly about his knees. His cold eyes were riveted to the fire.

The soldiers glanced aside at one another uncomfortably, knowing not what grave matter plagued the two brothers. Clearly the trouble was over the girl’s disappearance from the White City, but beyond that, they knew nothing. They were men of action, not words. Give them orc heads to cleave and they were content. All were veterans in Gondor’s service, having fought many battles. One of them had fought alongside the brothers on the bridge of Osgiliath. As dark and nearly fatal as that day had been, Hengist knew he would prefer to relive that horror than sit here and watch the two captains at odds with one another. He would know how to intervene if they came to blows, but this uncomfortable silence was not to his liking.

Boromir knew the discord was not the girl’s fault, as much as he would like to lay the blame at her feet. For Eledwhen had done nothing to estrange the brothers. That was their own doing. Like dogs fighting over a bitch in heat, he thought ruefully. Then, thinking how absurd it was for them to be jealous of each other, Boromir laughed out loud. Faramir looked up suspiciously at his brother’s swift change in mood.

Boromir rose to his feet, stretched, moved to his brother’s side, and extended his hand by way of apology. "Come, brother mine. Let us not fight. Rather should we save our anger for the enemy, whoever he may be." But Faramir was not ready to forgive or to forget. He rose to his feet and moved away, leaving his brother standing alone with his hand still outstretched.

Boromir frowned. He did not like the way his brother’s hand hovered over his sword hilt. Gray eyes, fierce as a fox, shrewdly contemplated him. "Would you raise your sword against me, Faramir?"

"Nay, but I would thrash you soundly for being no better than a dog in the manger," his brother muttered.

"This is nonsense!" Boromir exploded. "The Princess will be my wife and you will have to live with that, like it or no. And frankly, I care not how you like it."

As Boromir turned to where Eledwhen lay near the fire, Faramir rushed forward, hands clenched into fists. Half expecting the assault, Boromir stepped deftly aside and grabbed his brother’s sword arm, pulling him up short. The soldiers were on their feet and staring at the two men in disbelief. Roughly, Boromir pushed Faramir backward.

"Enough!" he yelled, but his younger brother would not back down. Soundlessly, he rushed forward, this time landing a blow on Boromir’s chin.

Boromir staggered two steps backward before regaining his footing. Two of the soldiers moved forward, as though to stop the fight. "Stay out of this!" Faramir warned fiercely, then turned to face his brother. As Faramir turned, Boromir struck him with a hard, underhanded blow that carried enough force to knock Faramir off his feet and throw him backward. Boromir stood looking down at his younger brother, hands on his hips, feet planted firmly apart.

"The forces of Mordor will mock us if we turn to fighting amongst ourselves. And over so small a thing," Boromir said gently, hoping to cool his brother’s blood.

"You would call the love of the Princess of Rohan ‘so small a thing,’ brother? You can indeed be as cruel as father sometimes." Faramir sighed resignedly. "But let us fight no more. For truly, I wish not to have this discord between us."

Ignoring Boromir’s hand, which again was extended – although this time to help him to his feet – Faramir stood up and brushed off his dusty cloak. "We have enough on our plates to chew over," he said finally. "I have turned the riddle this way and that in my mind, and still cannot make sense of the clues. Would that the Princess awaken and give us the answer."

"I fear that is too easy a solution," Boromir said. "For I doubt, even should she speak of the incident, she will tell us who perpetrated the act. And loath am I to try to force her to speak. Yet I cannot take her back to Minas Tirith and place her in harm’s way when I have not the knowledge to protect her. Neither do I relish facing her father with the grim news – or her brother."

"Surely, Boromir, you are not afraid of the King’s wrath? This was not of your doing. I am certain the girl will speak so," Faramir protested.

"I fear not the King and his son, but the damage this will do to Gondor’s alliance with Rohan. And, too, I believe that Father will see me to blame in some way." Boromir turned to stare dejectedly into the fire.

"That would be unjust and untrue. I doubt our father, even in a great fury, would punish a blameless son. At least, not the elder son," Faramir amended, smiling ruefully at his last words.

A soft moan escaped Eledwhen’s lips as she began to stir. Boromir and Faramir rushed to kneel at her side.

* * * * * * * * *

Boromir’s feelings of joy at Eledwhen’s awakening were short-lived. After making certain she suffered no permanent damage from her fall, he began to question her about the incident at Minas Tirith. The Princess confirmed the rape, sobbing pitifully as she described how the man had drugged her, then violated her. However, Eledwhen was obstinate in her refusal to discuss the matter further. Not that Boromir blamed her for her reticence. He understood how embarrassed and uncomfortable she must be in discussing the act with him and Faramir, but he had to know the facts. Such a bold and heinous crime could not go unpunished. He hated for so foul a deed to taint Minas Tirith with its stench.

"I will say naught. You cannot force me to speak! I am a king’s daughter and you are just the son of a Steward," Eledwhen said fiercely, hugging herself tightly as though to protect her secret. Boromir’s eyes hardened and narrowed to slits. Pitiless gray eyes stared angrily down at her. Faramir moved to stand beside the Princess, afraid his brother might strike her.

"I will have the full truth of this," Boromir said, beginning to lose his temper, and his patience. "Tell me the name of the man!"

"Why do you care? The good people of Gondor will not deem me an acceptable wife for their future Steward. You will not have to marry me." Eledwhen’s tone was bitter.

"No one would dare question your honor," Faramir said quietly.

Eledwhen laughed, but there was no mirth in the sound. "Aye, they will. There will be endless questions. Why did I not fight harder? My maid was asleep in the adjoining room. Why did I not scream so she might summon help? Why do I remain silent as to the man’s identity? Even the King of Rohan will have doubts."

Faramir looked at her in astonishment. "Nay, I cannot believe your father will question your word on this matter."

"I said not my father, but the King. As my father, he loves me blindly; as the King of the Mark, he will turn my words this way and that, so better to examine their veracity."

Boromir looked at her sympathetically. "Your brother will have no such doubts. Nor do I," he said, meeting her eyes.

Eledwhen allowed a slight smile of gratitude to touch her lips, before dropping her gaze to the fire. Solemnly she said, "Theodred will demand that blood be shed in retribution. No one will be able to restrain my brother’s wrath, should he learn the name of the man who…" The girl’s voice dropped off, then she finished quietly, "who hurt me."

"So you will not name your attacker?" Faramir pressed.

"If I told you his name, I doubt you would believe me. Let it be. The truth will bring you no comfort, and there are some things too terrible to bear." Slowly, she began to cry again and Faramir thought his heart would break for her.

Boromir stared thoughtfully at the girl. She had wrapped her cloak tightly about her as though it could protect her from the hardships that surely would befall her when they returned to Minas Tirith. He felt sorry for her for the endless questions she would have to endure from her father – and his.

The Steward of Gondor could not let such an insult to his realm go unpunished. Protocol would demand that he severely punish the man – whether he be a rapist, or a lover. For doubtless some would say she remained silent only to hide an illicit affair. No, Boromir thought, I do not for a moment believe that she welcomed him into her bed. She does not remain silent out of guilt, but because of fear – and the shame of the act itself, even though the shame is not hers to bear.

Feeling his gaze upon her, Eledwhen lifted her eyes to meet his. It seemed she could read his thoughts. She smiled sadly. Boromir rose stiffly to his feet and scanned the silent woods about them. Too silent, he thought. Had he not been so distracted, he would have noticed sooner. Looking around sharply, he noticed the men on watch were no longer within sight. "Faramir," he called urgently, but spoke no further words as they suddenly were under attack.

Boromir quickly unsheathed his sword. It glinted brightly as it caught the light of the fire. Faramir moved swiftly to stand by Eledwhen’s side. He jerked a dagger from its sheath at his belt and handed it to her. "Use this to defend yourself, if you must," he said grimly. Eledwhen looked at him, perceiving his unspoken meaning. Whether or not she was taken alive was her choice, should the men be outmatched in numbers. Then, one of the attackers barked an order, and the men rushed the party protecting the Princess.

Boromir moved beside Eledwhen. "Stay with us," he commanded. The three soldiers who had been sitting around the fire moved to their captains, and the five formed a circle around the girl. Then nearly a dozen soldiers were upon them, and the attack was fierce and brutal.

This was the first fight Eledwhen had seen. Theodred and Eomer often spoke about their battles, but never in detail to spare her the true horror of it. Now she saw firsthand how easily men bled when cold steel impacted warm flesh. She cried out as a blade bit deeply into the arm of one of the soldiers defending her, and his hot blood spurted across her cheek. The wounded man was Hengist. He deftly slew the man who had injured him, before locking swords with another. He was a veteran of many campaigns and was undaunted by such a small force of arms. After the horror at Osgiliath, this was merely another roadside skirmish.

Boromir ducked a blow from one attacker and parried the stroke from another’s sword. Beside him, Faramir was countering the offensive of a man who was as tall as he was broad. Eledwhen watched the hand-to-hand combat, her terror growing. The noise, the clash and the shouting, mingled with the smell of sweat and blood, made her feel faint.

A soldier next to her, whose name she did not know, was rushed by two attackers and thrown against her. She was knocked to the ground and did not see the quick downstroke of the fatal blow. But when she looked up, one of the attackers was reaching for her. She felt his hand on her arm, and he jerked her toward him. She cried out, struggled to free herself from his grip, then suddenly remembered the dagger Faramir had given her. Without conscious thought, she drove the blade up to the hilt into the man’s midsection.

Suddenly Boromir pushed her backward and out of the way. He yanked the dagger from the man’s body, then buried it into his neck. Blood spurted copiously from the wound to his carotid artery. Eledwhen fell to her knees and let her head droop until it almost touched the ground. Her breathing was ragged, and she fought to keep her gorge from rising. Around her, the battle continued.

The Lord Faramir risked a glance at the Princess. Then he heard the almost silent whoosh of a sword as it bore down upon him, and gracefully ducked beneath the blade. Had his reflexes been slower, the stroke might have beheaded him. With a backhanded stroke, Faramir killed the man and turned to face another. He raised his sword to halt a downward blow and the two warriors crossed swords across their chests. Each struggled to purchase a foothold that would give him the advantage needed to overcome the other.

As the men pushed against each other, Faramir recognized the soldier beneath the helm, which all but obscured his identity. A man with lesser sight than Faramir would not have known the man, but Denethor’s youngest son was renowned for his ability to see and feel what others could not.

"Eldol!" he cried, not wanting to believe that one of the assassins was a man who had fought by his side. "What is this treachery?" The shock of betrayal by a man he had trusted with his life rattled Faramir and caused him to make a tactical error. The mistake should have meant his death, but Eldol stayed his blow.

"My Captain, I am sorry," he said, tears of shame in his dark eyes. "We would not have harmed you or your brother. We came only for the girl." Turning, Eldol gave the order to retreat. The grizzled old soldier and the remaining attackers withdrew, melting into the woods like wraiths. Faramir made to follow them, but Eledwhen rose to her feet and placed a hand on his upper arm, entreating him not to follow.

"Leave it be," she said, a gentle command in her tone. Faramir looked at her sharply and grabbed her wrist with his free hand, grinding the delicate bones painfully together. She did not cry out, but held his stare unwaveringly. "What do you know? Why is the secret you guard so closely worth all our lives? These were men of Gondor!"

The disbelief and shock on his face nearly broke Eledwhen’s heart. Almost to herself she said, "I do not believe he sent these men to murder you and your brother. That he wants me back, maybe, or perhaps these men were sent to ensure my silence. But he knows I would never speak his name – not while my brother, Theodred, stays under his roof."

"I will have the truth of this," Boromir yelled fiercely, taking hold of her and pulling her roughly from his brother’s grasp. "Tell me the name of the man who raped you. These were soldiers of Gondor and I will know who sent them!"

Struggling to free herself from Boromir’s crushing grip, Eledwhen cried, "You do not want to know the truth!"

"Tell me!!" he shouted, beginning to shake her like a rag doll. "Who is he?"

Sobbing, but still defiant, Eledwhen replied, "You cannot handle the truth of this. The knowledge would drive you mad." Though she lashed out at him with words, she did not try to break his hold on her. She felt as though her neck would snap, so violently did he shake her.

"Brother, that is enough," Faramir admonished. Swiftly he moved to stop Boromir’s assault on the Princess. "I said ENOUGH!" With a strong shove, Faramir separated the man and girl, then stood before his brother, his sword waist high, the blade pointed outward.

Boromir looked from his brother’s grim and bloodied face to the naked sword held unwaveringly at his midsection. Unexpectedly, he began to laugh. "The world has gone mad and we stand like pawns on a chessboard. It is your move, brother mine."

Faramir stared dazedly at the blade pressed against his brother’s body. Shaking his head, he lowered his sword. "I beg your forgiveness," Faramir said stiffly.

"Nay, it is I who must beg forgiveness for seeing what would come to pass between us, and for doing nothing to prevent it." Turning to Eledwhen, Boromir said, "I also beg forgiveness for hurting you. I should not have lost my temper. Still I must know the truth. I fear Gondor could face civil war if we do not sort this out."

Both men now faced her, their features hard and unyielding. "This is why I fled Minas Tirith alone! I did not ask you to follow me. I did not want you to follow me. I cannot tell you what you wish to know. I can tell no one because you are right. Gondor may well face an internal struggle over so cowardly an act as rape. You want the truth, but it is the truth that will destroy the land you love so dearly and even, perhaps, my beloved Rohan. I will not speak, even were you to try and beat the truth from my lips."

Pale as the frost she was, yet hard as the stones on the ground upon which they stood. A king’s daughter she was, and so possessed a king’s iron will. "You asked who could so easily gain access to my chambers within the High Court; who would I trust enough to open the door for him at so late an hour; who would I accept a drink from and have no suspicion it might be drugged. If you cannot guess the answers, I shall not speak them for you," she said with finality. Then it seemed that all strength left her and she crumbled to the ground.

Faramir went to her. Boromir stood still as a statue. He could almost grasp the elusive truth hovering at the fringes of his mind. But coming close, he hastily retreated. Eledwhen was right. He was not certain he could handle the truth.

But Faramir, so like his father in almost every way, understood at last. As he knelt before the girl and looked into the depths of her eyes, the knowledge that evaded his brother flowed over him and caused him to cry out in disbelief. The truth hit him like a hard punch to his gut and he doubled over in agony. "No," he groaned. "It cannot be true."

Eledwhen put her arms around him, holding him close against the pain she knew he was feeling. What must it be like to know your father is a monster? Pulling from her embrace, Faramir began to shake his head fiercely from side to side, as though to deny what he knew to be true. "Please," he whispered, searching her face for a sign that he was wrong. "Please tell me it is not so."

Eledwhen sighed tiredly. "Would you hear a lie, that your sleep may be easier? Tell me what you would have me say, and I will swear to it."

Faramir gripped her shoulders; his sad, gray eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Say nothing. Let all save us remain in ignorance." Denethor’s son put the palm of his right hand against the side of her face. "How can you ever forgive us?" he asked.

Placing a hand over his lips, Rohan’s Princess answered, "Neither you, nor your brother, have done naught that needs be forgiven. It is not your sin, and I hold you both blameless."

"I would still know the truth of this," Boromir said obstinately. He was unreasonably jealous of the knowledge that bound the two before him. He was a man who preferred all things out in the open and not couched in obscure words he could not understand. Too, he was jealous of how close his brother and his future bride were.

Eledwhen stood and faced Boromir, searching for a sign that he could bear such a burden. She knew he had always been Denethor’s favorite. Finally, she sighed. "If you would know the truth, search your heart. The answer lies there. I will not speak the name of the man aloud."

Hengist cleared his throat, loath to interrupt the now silent tableau before him. But he was uncomfortable remaining in such an indefensible place. He believed they had been fortunate to have survived the attack, but saw no reason to tempt the fates further. "My captain," he began. Boromir turned to face him, the anger within him still burning hotly. But the survivor of the Nazgul at Osgiliath was afraid of no man. "Captain," he repeated. "I suggest we leave this place and return to Minas Tirith. It is not safe here, and more men may return to attack us. We are few in number and could not prevail against another onslaught."

Boromir’s stern eyes remained upon the older man’s face as he thought what course to take. Eledwhen’s soft voice filled the silence. "My Lord Boromir. I will not return to your city. You and your men should go, but I cannot."

"And where would you go?" Boromir shot back, his voice hard and derisive. He sounded so much like his father that Eledwhen took a step backward. Seeming not to notice her fear, Boromir continued: "You cannot take care of yourself. I might as well kill you myself as leave you to wander alone in the wild. Either course of action would be murder."

"I will escort the Princess wherever she would go," Faramir said. "You are right, Boromir. She cannot be left alone, and we owe her our protection. One of us must go with her."

Boromir looked thoughtfully from his brother to Eledwhen, rubbing a hand across his tired eyes. "When you left the city this morning, where did you mean to go?" he finally asked.

Eledwhen hesitated, then flashed a quick look at Faramir. Boromir caught the look and stiffened. They were privy to a secret, and he felt like an outsider. It was not a feeling he liked. Eledwhen said softly, "I was going, and will go, to Imladris." Boromir snorted contemptuously and Faramir gave a startled cry of surprise. "Imladris is the only place I will be safe, even though I know not why I feel this. I know Imladris is an Elven haven that lies at the foot of the Misty Mountains. Faramir, you told me you want to search for Imladris and, hopefully, find the answers to the riddle in your dreams. Will you now accompany me on this journey?"

Before his brother could answer, Boromir said quickly, "I will go. You are tied to me by my father’s oath that we will marry. Nothing has changed that. It was not decided whether Faramir or I would undertake the task of finding the riddle’s meaning. But do so we must, or risk the fall of Gondor. As the older brother, I will make the journey."

Eledwhen looked hopefully at Faramir, begging him with her eyes to make the journey; however, his eyes remained upon Boromir’s face. A short time she had known him, but she could read the thoughts swirling fiercely through his mind. He would defer to his older brother’s wishes.

"You must leave now, Boromir, and in secret. No one must know where you and Eledwhen go. Her life, and the lives of all the people of both our lands, are in your hands." Looking at the woman he loved, Faramir sighed heavily and turned back to his brother. "Gondor stands at the abyss. She will either remain strong, or fall to the darkness, by your deeds. I know not how much longer we can hold out against the Dark Lord, so you must find Imladris and the answer to our salvation as quickly as possible. When you return, we will fight side by side as we did at Osgiliath. Only this time, we shall vanquish the enemy." Fighting back tears, the brothers clasped each other in a fierce hug.

Eledwhen thought she heard the sound of a great horn, faint on the gentle breeze. She studied the two captains; she would miss the Lord Faramir, but at least she was no longer afraid of his brother.





---------




4. The Road Now Taken

Chapter IV: The Road Now Taken

"May your journey be successful, brother," Faramir said, tightly clasping Boromir’s shoulder. "Guard the Princess well and keep her – and yourself – safe." Boromir only nodded, afraid his churning emotions might embarrass him in front of the men. He felt like weeping. He did not want to leave his brother, and his country, when both were in such a state of turmoil.

They had decided the best course of action would be to let everyone believe the attackers had killed the Princess. None could think of another way to prevent a search for her. They had found the bodies of the slain soldiers who had been on watch. The dead had been secured upon their mounts for their final journey to Minas Tirith.

"I shall return to the White City," Faramir said, moving close to Eledwhen so none could overhear his words. "Someday my father will pay for his crime. But it cannot be by my hand. I shall, however, watch him closely. I fear for the safety of Gondor if he has lost his reason."

Eledwhen nodded. "You see and understand much, Faramir. Still, I beg you to be careful and remain alert. I fear for your life should the Steward perceive you know of his deed. "And," she added quietly, "I now place the value of your life as high as I place the life of my brother."

Faramir smiled. "I am greatly honored by your words and your concern, dear lady. But I regret that you must worry about my safety, as well as the safety of your brother."

Faramir dropped his head, and restlessly dug the toe of his boot into the earth. Eledwhen perceived he wanted to say something else to her. Gently she cupped his chin with her hand and lifted his head until their eyes met. "What is it you wish to say, my Lord?"

"It is not proper that I speak the words that are in my heart," he said softly.

"I know, for I love you, too," Eledwhen said, moving only a breath away from his face. "I know not what perils await your brother and me. Imladris lies many hundreds of leagues from here and no one can say whether I shall live to see the end of the journey. You will be in my thoughts. I ask only that you look after Theodred, for he will take my ‘death’ hard. Do not let him take the road to revenge. My father has always been able to curb his rash actions, but the King will be laid low with grief and in no condition to restrain his son. How I hate that one man’s unbridled desire can cause so much pain in so many lives. And will he suffer? Nay, he will be the only one to walk away unscathed. It is unjust!" Tears began to wash her cheeks. She looked so lovely and vulnerable, Faramir thought his heart would burst.

Taking her delicate hand within his, he gently brushed the back of it with his lips. Then, formally, he asked: "May I kiss you farewell, Princess?" Unable to speak, Eledwhen nodded her permission. Faramir gently placed his lips upon hers and kissed her goodbye. Stepping back, he saluted his brother smartly, leapt onto the back of his fidgety stallion and rode off at a gallop without a backward glance.

"I fear for his life," Eledwhen said to Boromir. "Will he be able to conceal what he knows?"

"As Denethor’s son, Faramir has had a lot of training on how to hide his feelings. The Steward is not an easy man to deal with, nor is my brother the favored son. They have fought and argued bitterly since Faramir was only a child. While I am gone, I would see Denethor finally perceive his youngest son’s true worth, and so learn to love and trust him."

Eledwhen began to laugh uncontrollably at the irony of Boromir’s words. She laughed until the sound became a sob of anguish, and she began to weep. Boromir could only stand and wonder at her bizarre behavior.

* * * * * * * * *

The Lord Denethor was seated at a table in one of the smaller dining halls located on the Citadel’s south side. A small fire blazed brightly behind him. To the Steward’s left sat the King and Prince of the Mark. His two sons should have been seated on his right, but both were rather conspicuously absent this morning. The Princess Eledwhen also was unaccounted for.

The silence within the room was uncomfortable. The servants stood stiffly against the walls, unsure whether to serve the morning meal. Theodred was slouched in his chair, absently drumming the long fingers of one hand upon the top of the table. A scowl darkened his face, which seemed chiseled from stone. The Prince’s eyes kept straying to the chair on his left where his sister should have been sitting.

The King, too, was uneasy about the absence of his daughter, who was always punctual. It was now almost half an hour past the appointed time for breakfast. Denethor kept his face impassive, while his keen eyes raked his sons’ empty chairs. Occasionally he stole a glance at the vacant chair beside Theodred. The tension in the room was becoming unbearable.

Denethor motioned to his valet, Marric, who always attended the Steward. "Send guards to my sons’ chambers to discover why they do not join us. Send also a girl to fetch the Princess." Denethor’s mood was so dark, Marric offered to fetch the errant sons himself. Anything to escape his Lord’s anger. "Nay, send guards," growled Denethor. "I want them brought here at sword point if need be. And have someone find out where the Princess is!"

Theodred stood up so suddenly his chair tipped over backward, the loud crash making the servants jump. "I will see to my sister, Lord Steward," he said stiffly. He gave a brief nod to his father, then strode from the room. "Well, fool, what are you waiting for?" Denethor yelled at his valet. Marric fairly flew from the room.

"There is something wrong here," the King said slowly, his fierce blue eyes studying Denethor’s face. "If something has happened to my daughter I shall hold you personally accountable, my Lord Steward."

Denethor’s heart was pumping erratically in his chest. Outwardly he betrayed none of the turbulent emotions swirling within. He did not like what the absence of his two sons might portend. Has the girl gone to them to seek aid for herself and her brother? Ridiculous! Boromir would never believe the story the Princess would tell. Denethor shook his head, realizing that he could not predict Faramir’s reaction. He wished he could leave the King’s presence so that he might find his own answers.

After last night’s pleasures, he had been looking forward to seeing Eledwhen again. He had been unable to sleep. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw her beautiful body and could almost feel the softness of it beneath him. His body had quivered like that of an adolescent in the first throes of passion. She has cast a spell upon me. I cannot stop thinking about her, nor stop wanting her.

Before last night, Denethor had been an old man, bent by years of service to his people and his beloved Gondor. His tread had become heavy, and his heart bitter and as hard as stone. Last night’s passion had been a rebirth, putting a spring back into his step. His valet had been surprised by the fuss he made over his toilette, and by the care he had taken choosing what raiment he would wear to breakfast. The Steward had fidgeted and been unable to remain still for any length of time. Marric wasn’t positive, but he could swear the usually dour Denethor was humming softly under his breath.

Denethor had smiled benignly at his royal guests in anticipation of seeing Eledwhen again. But his gay mood had quickly become fey when neither the Princess nor his sons appeared at the breakfast table.

Feeling eyes upon him, Denethor looked up sharply. King Theoden was watching him closely, his keen eyes narrowed into slits. "What bothers you, my Lord?" he asked. "You are flushed. Do I perceive that you tremble slightly?"

For only a heartbeat, Denethor felt a surge of panic. The old king wasn’t as far into his dotage as he had been lead to believe. He still saw and perceived much. "Nonsense! I most assuredly do not tremble! And if I am flushed, it is from anger over my sons’ disobedience. They were ordered to be here promptly. Their tardiness insults my exalted guests," he finished smoothly.

King Theoden believed that the Steward was being less than forthcoming. And he was certain there was an untruth in his words. But he would wait and see what Theodred discovered before making any judgments.

* * * * * * * * *

Theodred hurried to his sister’s chambers. He feared something had happened to her. If she had been detained by some minor circumstance, she would have sent word. Eledwhen was a very responsible and considerate young woman. As the Prince approached the door leading to the antechamber, he could hear the wailing of women. Fearing the worst, he pulled his dagger from a sheath on his belt. He flung the door open wide and it banged against the wall loudly, making the two women before him jump. Eledwhen was not one of them.

Theodred stood upon the room’s threshold, the dagger held tightly in his bloodless hand. His burning gaze was bent upon the two women. "What," he asked, "is going on here?"

"Oh, my Lord Prince, something terrible has happened to the young Princess." The woman speaking was the girl’s maid, Mora. "There’s blood all over her sheets and we can’t find her nowhere." The hapless servant was wringing her hands together and crying uncontrollably.

"Show me!" Theodred commanded. Mora ushered him into the bedchamber. The woman opened her mouth to speak, but only strangled sobs passed her lips. She plaintively held the sheets from the girl’s bed toward the Prince. The other woman was standing at the door. Seeing the blood, she began to wail, "She’s dead, me Lord. Oh, I knows it. That be her blood right enough. Someone’s gone and murdered the Princess!"

"Silence, woman!" Theodred shouted. Both women became suddenly mute. Looking fiercely at them, the Prince grabbed the sheets and studied them closely. Then with one hand, he took hold of Mora and held them mere inches from her face. "What is the meaning of this? Where is my sister?"

"My Lord, I swear I do not know. I came to waken the Princess and she weren’t here. And there was blood all over and I didn’t know what to think. That’s the honest truth, I swear." She began crying again. Theodred knew it was useless to continue questioning the servants. Abruptly he turned and ran from the room, the sheets still clutched in his hands.

* * * * * * * * *

The Second Marshal of the Mark burst into the dining room and flung the damning evidence onto the table in front of the Steward. His hand hovered near his sword, and his chest heaved with his labored breaths. His eyes were dark. "What has become of my sister?" he asked coldly.

Gondor’s Steward said nothing. His eyes remained locked to the bloodied sheets before him. He thought furiously, trying to fathom what the girl had done. He had ordered her to burn the sheets to keep his crime from being discovered. He had been so sure she would not defy him.

"How dare you disrupt my table and soil it with such rags!" Denethor countered, stalling for more time to think. Contemptuously he brushed the sheets to the floor and stood. He turned his black glance upon Theodred. The best defense is often a good offense, the soldier within him sagely advised. "What say you, Prince?"

"That some harm has come to my sister, the Princess of the Rohirrim, under your roof. What say you to that, Steward!" The two men now stood nose to nose. Theodred’s eyes were burning as though with a fever.

King Theoden slowly rose from his chair. "Is this my daughter’s blood? Speak son. I command it!"

"Aye, Father. For these are the sheets from the bed in which she slept. I found her servants weeping, her whereabouts unknown to them."

Theoden turned his angry gaze upon Denethor, a light like flame in his old eyes. "If my daughter is found harmed in any way, I will see you pay dearly for such an insult to the Royal House of the Mark."

Denethor composed his features into a mask of perplexed concern. "I will leave no stone unturned in my search for the Princess," he said quickly. "If someone has harmed her, I swear he will pay dearly – and terribly."

The Lord of Gondor barked orders to the servants, commanding them to begin a search for Rohan’s Princess. The King and his son left the room to further question Eledwhen’s maid.

When he was certain all were out of earshot, Denethor signaled Marric to his side. "When the Princess is found, have her brought to me immediately."

"But, my liege, her father…" Marric began.

"I said, have her brought straight to me!" the Steward hissed. "I shall brook no disobedience, do you understand? Or will you defy me in this?"

Marric perceived an implied threat in that last question and shuddered. "As always, I am yours to command, my Lord," he replied softly, afraid to trust his voice.

"Good," Denethor said, clasping the man’s shoulder tightly. "Do not fail me."

* * * * * * * * *

Denethor’s mood was black. The Princess had not been found. The word about the Citadel was that she had ridden out of the city early that morning. The guards at the Great Gate had reported that the Steward’s sons also rode out before dawn. If the girl had fled and his sons had gone after her, what might they learn when she was found? What would she say? She will say nothing, Denethor argued to himself. She knows I am true to my word. She will not risk her brother’s life.

Then another, more terrible, thought struck the Lord of Gondor. What if I do not see clearly how strong is her love for Theodred? What if she tells my sons the whole truth and they then plot against me? Tortured by his doubts, Denethor made his way to the secret room under the summit of the White Tower. He gazed lovingly upon the great stone city – his city. I will not let this slip of a girl destroy what I have spent a lifetime protecting. I can, and I will, do everything in my power to see that Gondor is not harmed – even should it mean shedding royal blood.

It was at this point that madness firmly began to take hold of the Steward’s mind. The son of Ecthelion moved to an object placed alone upon a pedestal and removed the covering from it. It was one of the original seven Seeing Stones of Numenor, a palantir. The aged ruler grasped it between his hands and set to bend it to his will. Where was the Princess, and where were his cursed sons? He would find her and do whatever was necessary to ensure her silence.

Denethor bent his gaze upon the globe, which seemed to glow with an inner flame. His eyes glittered in the red light emanating from its depths.

* * * * * * * * *

"How bright the sun shines today," Queen Elanor sighed. "I would so love to ride upon the plains again."

"Mother, I am sorry I was bad," the girl said softly, close to tears.

"Nay, child, ‘twas not your fault." The Queen of Rohan turned her thoughts inward as she remembered that day less than two weeks before. She and the young princess had gone riding across the plains surrounding Edoras, as they often did. But on that fateful day, a chain of events conspired against mother and child, and the men whose duty it was to protect them.

Elanor could see everything so vividly. The scene replayed repeatedly in her head, until sometimes she was confused between reality and the cruel vision of that terrible afternoon. Why am I so cursed that I must watch those brave men die so horribly over and over again? she wondered bitterly. It was my fault we rode too far. Theoden’s guards warned me, but I was in no mood to listen. And they paid dearly for my folly. And so has my darling child, though the fates were kind and she physically was unharmed. But she saw, even as I did, the brutal and disgusting things the orcs did to those brave men of Rohan, even after they were dead.

The Queen looked anxiously at her daughter, searching for signs the experience had marred her tiny soul. But the girl sang softly to herself one of the songs that belonged to her mother’s homeland. If she suffered, there were no outward signs.

Sensing her mother’s gaze, the girl looked up and smiled disarmingly. "Tell me of your homeland, Mother," she said. "I want to hear about the trees with gold leaves."

Wrapping the child in her arms, the Queen began to speak words she had repeated many times. She wanted her daughter to know her maternal grandparents, even though the King had ordered her to say nothing to anyone about her birthright and her parentage. The Rohirrim were an unsophisticated people who had a healthy fear of sorcery and such, especially Elves of the Golden Wood.

Snuggling down into the soft mattress, Queen Elanor wrapped her arms lovingly about her daughter and began to weave a picture with words of Lothlorien during the fall. Softly she spoke of how the golden leaves fall gently from their boughs and lay like a mantle of gold upon the forest floor. She was homesick and wanted to see her kin before it was too late, but she no longer had the strength.

On that fateful day, her daughter had been thrown from her mount when the orcs attacked. The Queen had rushed to the child’s side while the soldiers fought desperately to keep the foul creatures from reaching mother and child. An orc blade had been driven into Elanor’s side as she flung her daughter onto her pony’s back. The blade’s poison was slowly killing her. She would never see her homeland again.

Stroking her daughter’s golden hair, she murmured, "Remember, Eledwhen, that I shall always be with you, and that I will love you, even until the end of time."

* * * * * * * * *

Rohan’s Princess awakened with tears falling gently down her checks. Vainly she strove to recall the dream that had of late come to her almost nightly, but the details of that dream always eluded conscious thought. "Tell me of your homeland, Mother." She had heard these words many times just before awakening, yet she did not know the significance of them.

It was early morning but still dark. Eledwhen and Boromir had been traveling for a fortnight and were now within Firien Wood. She was tired and dirty. Most of their journey had been spent in silence, for it seemed that the Captain was not given to small talk where women were concerned. It was a skill he had no need to master during his long years of service in Gondor’s armies.

For his part, Boromir wanted to speak to the Princess, but it seemed each topic he thought to bring up was too rough to discuss with a lady. Instead, he remained silent except to inquire after her wellbeing, or to discuss routine matters concerning the journey.

Eledwhen rose quietly and stretched her tired bones with feline grace. How she hated sleeping on the hard ground night after night. She supposed she had better get used to it, since she and Boromir were still many leagues from Imladris.

She was listening to the beauty of the night sounds when she thought she heard a crash in the woods. She tensed, straining to hear. Then, again that sound, like some large animal charging through the underbrush. Kneeling beside Boromir, she placed a hand on his shoulder to wake him. Swift as a cat, he grabbed her wrist and held it tightly. She froze, afraid he might snap the bones.

"Eledwhen? Is that you?" he asked. "You should be careful how you awaken a soldier. Is something wrong?"

"Yes, my Lord," she answered quietly. "I heard something." Then both could hear crashing sounds in the woods. "They’re coming closer," she whispered.

"To the horses," Boromir hissed. Eledwhen stopped to retrieve her bedroll. "Leave it," he commanded. Then he lifted her in his arms, ran to her horse, and flung her into the saddle. "Ride, and ride hard," Boromir cried as the first orc charged into the clearing.

Eward screamed in terror, rearing and pawing the air. Eledwhen got her under control just as a huge orc reached for the animal’s bridle. Eledwhen kicked her mount’s sides, forcing her forward, then kicked the foul creature as hard as she could. It fell backward a pace or two, giving Eward enough room to surge forward.

"Nicely done," said Boromir laughing, as he hacked an orc from horseback. "Now let’s get out of here."

Their mounts needed very little encouragement. They were terrified of the misshapen creatures and were champing at the bit. Eledwhen gave Eward her head and they quickly left the orcs behind, though she could still hear their harsh shouts and curses. Boromir fell in beside her, forcing his stallion to keep pace with Eledwhen’s mare. "That was too close for comfort," he said shakily. "I should not have slept so hard. I will have to stay more alert."

"You need a good night’s sleep," Eledwhen noted irritably. "It is hard to fight off orcs when you have to fight off sleep as well. If you won’t let me stand watch, then I suggest we find someplace to stay the night that offers a roof and four walls."

"I think that until such a place presents itself, we will make camp during the day," Boromir said thoughtfully. "Orcs do not prowl while the sun is up, and we both need rest. Do you think I have not noticed how you fear to sleep for more than a few moments at a time? Do you fear what may prowl the woods, or is it me who disturbs your slumber?"

Eledwhen could not see his face in the dark, but she sensed he was scowling. "I am sorry, I do not mean to offend you. But you are so much like…" The Princess bit her tongue to cut off the name that almost passed her lips.

"So much like who?" he demanded. "Damn it, why do you not trust me? What have I done to make you afraid to confide in me?" Angry, Boromir spurred Arod forward to block Eledwhen’s path. She was forced to yank her mount’s head sharply to the side to avoid skidding into Boromir’s stallion.

Eward’s whinny was high pitched as she jumped to the side and hit a tree; Eledwhen cried out as the weight of her mare crushed her leg against it. She frantically pulled on the reins, trying to force Eward backward. Finally, the mare came to a standstill, and Eledwhen fell over its neck, crying in pain.

Boromir jumped from Arod’s back and ran to grab hold of the mare’s bridle. "Are you out of your mind?" Eledwhen yelled. "I could have broken every bone in my body, and you may have caused Eward harm."

"Let me help you off your horse," Boromir said gently, reaching for her arm.

"Touch me not if you value that hand," she whispered fiercely, her hand on the dagger Faramir had given her.

Boromir stepped back quickly and looked at her warily, as one who approaches a wolf caught in a trap. "Please yourself," he said. "You’ll get off that animal without my help. But if you injure yourself more, do not come crying to me." He walked over to Arod, who was grazing nearby. He took up the stallion’s reins and pointedly ignored the Princess.

"Sometimes I think I hate you," Eledwhen shot back, slinging one leg over the saddle and sliding to the ground. When her right leg landed, she uttered a cry and went down on one knee. Even in the darkness, she could see that blood had soaked her skirt.

Boromir took a step toward her and stopped, unsure of what he should do. In her present state of mind, she just might skewer him with his brother’s blade. That would be a sorry ending for a warrior, he thought ruefully.

Eledwhen looked up at him through a mass of golden hair that had fallen across her face when she fell. Her lovely face was bathed in sweat. "If I promise not to stab you, will you help me up?" she asked, giving him a disarming smile. Boromir chuckled and went to offer her his support.

As he lifted her up, she fell forward against him. Eledwhen burrowed her face into his broad chest, shivering slightly. "I guess I am not cut out for traveling in the wilderness," she murmured. Then she lifted her face. Boromir was not certain, but he thought she was smiling. All he knew was that he wanted very badly to kiss her.

Bending his head until his face touched hers, he waited to see if she would pull away. When she did not, he moved his lips to her mouth and softly brushed her lips with his. "I think, my Lord," she whispered, "we should find a soft place to sit before I swoon." Almost before the words were uttered, she went limp in his arms.

* * * * * * * * *

Boromir was becoming accustomed to holding an unconscious Princess in his arms. It almost was humorous. Soldiers injured in battle don’t pass out as much as she does, he thought, shaking his head. But it gave him an excuse to touch her, so he did not complain overmuch.

He laid her gently on the ground beneath a huge tree and looked around for Arod. His gray stallion was grazing contentedly beside Eledwhen’s mare. After tethering both horses, Boromir searched his saddlebags for medical supplies. It was fortunate he had decided to leave the horses saddled and bridled that night or they would have lost everything when the orcs attacked. Maybe I have gained some of Faramir’s foresight. Chuckling at such an absurd idea, Boromir returned to the Princess to examine the wound on her leg.

As a survivor of many battles, Boromir often tended his men’s injuries. There was no modesty among soldiers. Looking at the location of the girl’s wound, he realized he would need to bare her leg to her upper thigh. He felt uncomfortable. I’d best get on with it before she wakes. She nearly clawed my eyes out after that fall from her horse, and I had no need to remove clothing to examine her. It was ironic. If the fates had been kinder, she would now be his wife. But the rape had changed everything.

A fierce rage welled up inside him every time he thought about that night. Her attack had been a personal affront to his family and to hers. The man who had taken the Princess (and his future wife) by force had alienated two powerful countries. He either was mad, or powerful enough not to fear the consequences. Nay, Boromir thought, no individual possesses enough power to face the combined wrath of Gondor and Rohan. And the girl’s attacker knew it, or he would not have sought to gain her silence by the threat of her brother’s death. For the hundredth time, Boromir pondered the riddle of the man’s identity.

He had procrastinated long enough; it was time to get down to the business at hand. Boromir turned Eledwhen onto her left side and pushed her riding skirt up until the wound was exposed. He winced at the dark bruising and flayed skin. Boromir chided himself for having caused the accident. He would have to control his temper.

Carefully he washed the damaged area with water taken from his water skin. Eledwhen moaned slightly and he feared she would waken. He always carried a salve used by soldiers who were limited to self-treatment after battles. It had a pungent smell. He was applying a generous portion to the girl’s upper thigh when she unexpectedly pushed his hand from her leg and dug her nails into his face.

Boromir quickly retreated and waited for her to settle down. His face hurt, and he could feel blood oozing down his cheek.

"How dare you touch me!" she cried. "What were you doing?"

Boromir could see she was shaking badly. "I was tending your wound," he replied gently. "I thought it would be less embarrassing for us both if you were still unconscious, considering where you were injured."

Eledwhen looked at him doubtfully then inspected her leg. Even in the poor light he could tell she was blushing. "I am sorry if I hurt you. I was startled. Is the wound bad?"

"I have seen much worse. Do you wish me to continue, or does your maidenly modesty forbid it?" Boromir thought a touch of humor might lighten the situation; but once again he had put his foot in his mouth.

"You forget, I am no longer a maiden. And it is not my modesty that caused me to strike out at you," she said quietly. Her sad blue eyes were shining with unshed tears for what had been lost.

Boromir groaned. "I beg your forgiveness. My words were thoughtless. When I find the man who harmed you, I will rip the black heart out of his body!"

Eledwhen said nothing. Boromir sighed and gathered up his things. "We had best ride on. The journey will take more than one cycle of the moon and many dangerous miles lie before us. Were I alone, I would have a lighter heart."

"And why is that?" she asked.

"You have already learned the answer to that question, I am sorry to say."


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5. What Now My Love?

I used Tolkien's description of the Rohirrim almost verbatim. Why change that which is perfect?

Chapter V: What Now My Love?

When Faramir returned to Minas Tirith, he found Theodred preparing to lead a search party for his sister. Most of the men were already mounted on their gray steeds. Rohan’s soldiers, who had escorted the wedding party, were tall and long-limbed. Their pale, flaxen hair fell in long braids down their backs. Their faces were grim. Those mounted gripped tall spears in their hands, and had slung their painted shields upon their backs. Long swords were at their belts, and their burnished shirts of mail hung down upon their knees. I’ve returned none too soon, Faramir muttered to himself.

The Captain dismounted and gave his reins to Hengist, who had to pull the stallion’s head around sharply to keep it from following its master. Faramir provoked strong feelings of love and loyalty in both men and beasts alike.

One of the soldiers spoke a quick word to Theodred, who turned to watch Faramir cross the stable yard. Faramir could see little of the Prince’s face beneath his helm, but he discerned that Theodred was in a dangerous mood. Taking a deep breath, the Steward’s second son prepared to face Eledwhen’s brother.

"You and Boromir have been gone for some time. Now I see that you have returned to the city without your brother – or my sister. Where, pray tell, is Eledwhen?" Theodred’s eyes narrowed, and he watched Faramir closely.

"There is no need for you to ride out," Faramir answered. "If you would hear tidings of your sister’s fate, then walk with me to the Citadel. I will tell my story when our fathers join us."

"You will tell me all and quickly," the Prince responded sharply. "If she needs my help, I shall leave now. I grow tired of waiting." Rohan’s soldiers murmured their agreement with the Marshal’s words.

Faramir weighed his words carefully ere he spoke. "There is no pressing need for you and your men to search for the Princess, for she is now beyond your help."

Theodred lunged forward and grabbed the front of Faramir’s tunic. Jerking the Steward’s son toward him, he struggled for control of his raging emotions. "If I understand your meaning aright, you had best prepare for battle, man of Gondor."

Hengist dismounted and moved to stand beside the Lord Faramir. Although his sword arm had been injured during the fight in the woods, he was still fit enough to defend his captain. "Release him at once!" Hengist ordered.

The Prince did not remove his eyes from Faramir’s face, nor did he speak a word aloud, but his men responded as though from a spoken command and spurred their mounts forward to form a circle around the three men.

"You are outnumbered and outranked. The Prince of Rohan demands an answer to his question. And I advise you to think twice, should you decide to deceive me. If the news is ill, I will have it now."

Faramir’s gaze never faltered as he continued to meet Theodred’s eyes. He did not want to hurt the Prince by lying about Eledwhen’s death, but he had no choice. Curse Father for getting us into this mess, he thought bitterly.

"If you would hear the truth, come with me to the High Court," Faramir finally answered. As the Rohirrim pressed their mounts into a tighter circle, Hengist began to draw his sword. The soldiers hefted their long spears. "Unless you mean to spill my blood in this filthy stable yard, I suggest you call off your men," Faramir said in a low voice, his face almost touching Theodred’s helm.

The grip on Faramir’s tunic lessened only slightly. "Should you speak of my sister’s death, be prepared for Rohan’s wrath. We were brought to this city under your protection," Theodred hissed.

"Do you threaten me?" Although his features remained impassive, Faramir’s voice was hard as steel.

"You have been warned." Theodred shoved Denethor's son away from him and called for his horse. "I will ride to the Citadel and speak to the King. Come as you may, when you may, but do not expect a warm reception."

Faramir sadly watched Theodred ride to the gate leading to the third circle. He nodded for the worried guard to let the Prince continue. It was extremely rare for anyone to ride through the city circles, and certainly not in battle attire. Faramir instructed Hengist to mount his horse and follow the Prince to ensure he was not challenged at each of the gates.

Wishing he had left for Imladris with his brother and the Princess, Faramir slowly began the long ascent to the city’s uppermost circle. He would have about half an hour to compose himself.

* * * * * * * * *

Faramir shifted nervously from one booted foot to another as he and Theodred waited for their fathers to join them in the Steward’s study. The Prince of Rohan said nothing, but his eyes spoke volumes. He paced restlessly in front of the hearth. Faramir stood by the window. The entrance of Denethor and Theoden broke the tension. Both men were solemn, their expressions grim.

"What news of my daughter?" the King asked without preamble. Three pairs of eyes were fixed unwaveringly upon Faramir. He had long dreaded this moment. Taking a deep breath, he began to recite the lie he and Boromir had fabricated.

A cold anger rose from deep within Theodred’s bowels and erupted explosively, like a volcano spewing molten lava. With a wild cry, the Prince drew his sword and rushed toward the Steward’s son. Faramir reached for the dagger at his belt, but his hand remained empty. Belatedly he remembered that he had given the blade to Eledwhen during the fight in the woods. He was forced to move backward quickly as Theodred advanced, until the wall blocked his retreat. He saw his death in Theodred’s eyes.

The Prince raised his sword for a blow, then swiftly swung it downward, intent on imbedding the blade into Faramir’s body. However, the unmistakable sound of steel meeting steel rang out, and Theodred’s blow was thwarted. His eyes traveled from the point where the two swords crossed to the arm of the man who wielded the weapon. He raised his gaze to see who had dared stop him, and his eyes widened in surprise. Denethor’s grip was firm upon his sword; his eyes blazed murderously.

"There will be no blood shed in my court, especially the blood of my son," the Steward said, his voice deadly calm. Faramir gaped at his father. He was unaware that Denethor wore a sword. What else did the Steward hide beneath the folds of his robes?

Theodred discovered the answer to Faramir’s unspoken question when he grabbed the Steward’s sword arm in an attempt to unblock his blade. His hands felt chain mail, not flesh. "Are you prepared for war, old man?"

Denethor’s eyes glinted warningly. With a cat-like quickness, he lifted his sword and, with the tip of the blade, nicked the Prince's exposed throat. He then held the sword unwaveringly to Theodred’s neck.

Rohan’s King shook himself as though he had been asleep. He bellowed, "Throw down now, or I swear by my son’s life that the lands of Gondor will run red with the blood of its people. I already have lost a daughter, I shall not lose my son!"

Still Denethor did not withdraw his sword, but remained motionless. Faramir finally found his voice. "Father, we have wronged the King and his son enough. Put aside your sword."

Denethor slowly lowered the weapon, then wheeled about to confront his son. "Of what wrong do you speak?" he asked, forcing the words through bloodless lips.

"The Princess was attacked under our roof. Our countrymen murdered her. Do not compound these wrongs further, I beg you. Or will you shed more royal blood?"

Denethor stared intently at his son, striving to read the true meaning behind Faramir’s words. Did he speak of the blood shed by Eledwhen during her rape, or of her murder? How much did his youngest son know, or guess? But for once, Faramir hid his thoughts and emotions completely and Denethor perceived nothing. I have taught him too well, the old man thought glumly. The master has been bested at his own game.

King Theoden interrupted the Steward’s thoughts, his voice loud in the silence. "We will search for my daughter’s body. I will have proof of her death."

Theodred returned his sword to its sheath and spoke slowly. "I swear I will not rest until the men who killed my sister have paid for the deed with their lives. And I care not who they may be." The Prince threw a meaningful glance toward Faramir and left the room.

Faramir groaned inwardly. If the Rohirrim could not find Eledwhen’s body, they would track Boromir and the person he rode with. He knew the warriors of Rohan well. They would never abandon their quest until their swords were wet with the murderers’ blood. Rohan’s men, and women, were legendary for their relentless lust for revenge when it was warranted.

Faramir felt lost and hopeless without his brother beside him. Slowly he shook his head. Why did I not see this happening when we concocted this story?

King Theoden still remained within the study. He moved to stand before the Steward. "This grievous wrong to Rohan’s people cannot go unpunished. There will be grave consequences. I fear there can be no happy ending to this tragedy."

"Happy endings are for cowards!" Denethor spat. "Do you think I fear retribution from you and Rohan’s pathetic Prince? Nay, I have seen much worse doom for my land than even you could mete out. Leave my city at once. Seek your daughter’s remains, and do what you must."

Faramir closed his eyes. A blinding headache was pressing against his temples. He felt as though he was being sucked into quicksand and was helpless to save himself. When he opened his eyes, the King was gone. He was alone with his father, who stood studying him closely.

"What now?" Faramir finally asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

"I rue the day that whore entered my city," Denethor said angrily.

"The Princess is a pure and noble woman," Faramir replied softly to cover his anger.

"Not any more," his father said, though he did not mean to speak the words aloud.

"Do you know this personally?" Faramir asked. He felt drawn as tight as a bowstring before the arrow is released. He was keenly alert and watchful for any nuance that would betray his father’s guilt. But Denethor remained unreadable. He had withdrawn behind the stone facade that had always served him well.

"I am much better at this game than you," he said. "You will learn nothing I do not wish you to know. I must think on this ere I call a meeting of the Council. When I am ready to question you further, I will send for you. I believe you have not been totally forthcoming with me. I sense a deception behind your words. But for now, trouble me no further. You have my permission to leave my presence."

Faramir did not flinch beneath his father’s hard words and even harder stare. Not this time, Father, for the dreamer has awakened. You will not have your way in this. I shall not allow you to destroy Gondor.

The two men stood facing one another, locked in a battle of wills. For once, Denethor was the one to withdraw first. He suddenly looked his age. His face sagged and his shoulders hunched, as though the burden upon them was too heavy to bear. Slowly he left the room. He would seek solace in the palantir.

* * * * * * * * *

After nearly a month of traveling, Boromir was beginning to believe they would never find their way to Imladris. They had crossed into Rohan and somehow managed to pass Edoras without being seen. Eledwhen did not want her people to know about events in Minas Tirith, though she wished she could have seen Eowyn. The land around them was hard and few living creatures called it home.

The journey had been relatively uneventful, and neither he nor the Princess carried any permanent scars. Eledwhen had even become comfortable in his presence and seemed no longer afraid of him. She had shown an interest in his battle stories, and asked him pointed questions about rules of engagement. When they made camp, he often showed her how to effectively wield the dagger Faramir had given her and offered hints on how to gain the upper hand with an opponent. "You never know when we may be attacked. If you have need to draw your dagger, then you must be prepared to use it. The only advantage you have over a 200-pound man, or an orc, is your beauty. You must not be afraid to use it to your advantage."

Eledwhen looked perplexed. "Show me what you mean. What possible use can beauty be during combat?"

Boromir suppressed a smile. He moved toward her, his sword raised. He saw fear flicker across her eyes and her body tremble. He stopped. "I think this may be a bad idea, Princess. Perhaps you are not ready."

"If I cannot face you, then I would have no chance against an enemy. Teach me. I would not be a burden to you in a fight."

Boromir could see she was determined. "All right, then. To kill a man more than twice your size, you must draw him close enough to be able to use your dagger. You did well during the skirmish near Minas Tirith. Few men could have reacted faster."

"My being a woman had nothing to do with that. He grabbed me and I stabbed him. I simply reacted. I am not even sure he meant to kill me. He may have been sent to take me back to…" Her voice trailed off and she turned away from him.

"Again you refuse to speak his name. Faramir knows and he is in Minas Tirith where, I assume, the man lives. It is more dangerous for him to know the secret. Why do you not tell me, who will be your husband?"

Her lids drooped and he knew she had become suddenly wary. "There is nothing you can do about the matter, even were I to speak his name. Perhaps, before you return to Gondor, I shall tell you. Please, let us not quarrel. You were showing me how to protect myself."

The Princess tilted her head and he saw wide blue eyes framed beneath long, thick lashes. She smiled tentatively. Boromir moved quickly to her and grabbed her waist so tightly it hurt. The girl began to struggle. "No! Make me believe you want me to hold you. When my guard is down, then you can use your knife. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my Lord," she answered, and he was surprised to feel the tip of a blade pressed against his side. Boromir gave a short bark of laughter. "I would swear you were two steps ahead of me that time. But were I an enemy, you would not simply press the blade to my side but plunge it in as deeply as you can. And remember. Never hesitate to kill. If you hesitate, it could mean your life, and perhaps mine."

Eledwhen looked at him worriedly. "Promise me you will leave me if the choice becomes life or death. I would not have you stay and die if there is the chance you may save yourself."

"I cannot make such a promise," he said, a gentle light in his eyes. "I am sworn to protect you. I would no more leave you in the hands of an enemy than I would a fellow soldier. It is a question of loyalty and honor. And, in your case, love." Embarrassed by his unexpected declaration of love for the Princess, Boromir moved away and began gathering faggots of wood for the fire.

Eledwhen stood silent for a moment, then went to Boromir and placed her hands on his shoulders. Reaching to her full height, she kissed him for the first time. It was not a tentative maiden’s kiss but a deep, probing kiss that Boromir felt along the entire length of his body. "Girl," he whispered hoarsely, "you know not what you do."

"Hush, my Lord, and kiss me." Boromir eagerly obeyed her, but then pulled back, a frown on his face. "Are you in love with my brother?"

"Nay, I am not in love with the Lord Faramir, though I do love him. But that love is the same as the love I bear for my brother, Theodred. Can you understand the difference?"

Boromir threw back his head and laughed. "Oh, aye. And I feel quite the fool for having fought with Faramir over you."

Her eyes widened. "When did you two fight?" But Boromir did not answer. Instead, he kissed her passionately. That night, she slept in his arms. He did not ask her to make love to him, but pulled her down beside him and tenderly tucked his blanket about her shoulders. Misunderstanding his intentions, Eledwhen placed her hand on his arm and whispered, "I cannot, my Lord."

"I ask nothing of you but that you lie next to me and keep me warm on a cold night as soldiers often do in the field. Some day I will teach you the joy of lovemaking, but not now. Tonight all I seek is your company." Grateful for Boromir’s understanding and patience, Eledwhen put her head on his shoulder and fell into a deep and untroubled sleep.

Boromir stretched out upon the ground, pulling her gently down beside him. How strange it is to lie next to a woman and want nothing more than to feel her warmth, he thought. My brother was right again. I hope he is as happy tonight as I am.



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6. Life And Death

In Chapter VI, Faramir has his hands full trying to placate Eledwhen’s brother. Boromir and the Princess meet some very unsavory characters on their journey. Eledwhen gets to put her lessons in self-defense to good use. Boromir is seriously injured. Serious Denethor fans may be a little perplexed by my characterization of the Steward. However, I am only following Tolkien's lead. His Denethor did go mad and try to burn Faramir alive. And if I read The Return of the King correctly, the palantir and the Dark Lord had a big hand in pushing him over the edge.

Again, I don’t own these characters. I’m just borrowing them. Except Eledwhen and, really, most of Theodred’s character. 

 Chapter VI: Life And Death

Even though his father had told King Theoden and his son to leave Minas Tirith, Denethor had relented after his anger had cooled. He had allowed the royal party to remain. Faramir had ordered Hengist to gather supplies and then guide the King’s eored to the place where the Princess had been "killed." While they were gone, he hoped for time to formulate a plan on how to deal with his father. Theodred and his men left the city to search for Eledwhen’s body, while the King retreated to his chambers to grieve.

* * * * * * * * *

When the Rohirrim arrived at the place where the two brothers and their men had camped, there were no bodies to be found. Hengist was surprised, because the bodies of the soldiers who had attacked Faramir and his brother should have been present. Only their blood, which had soaked into the earth, remained.

* * * * * * * * *

Prince Theodred slowly walked the perimeter of the clearing, searching for clues that would tell him what had happened to Eledwhen. Theodred was not positive that Faramir was being truthful. Like Boromir, Rohan’s Prince was a man who wanted clear answers plainly stated. He had no patience with councilors who cloaked their purpose behind meaningless rhetoric that made his head spin. He thought of Grima Wormtongue and a chill gripped him. Whatever clues might have aided him in learning his sister’s whereabouts had been obliterated by the hooves of many horses and the booted feet of their riders. The ground within the clearing and around it had been too badly trampled to reveal its secrets.

Hengist felt an incredible sense of relief. No one would be able to dispute Faramir’s claim that the Princess Eledwhen was dead. Let King Theoden and the Prince ponder over who had taken the body, as long as they received no answers. Hengist released a soft sigh of thanks to whoever had unwittingly aided them.

Theodred heard the sigh and looked up sharply. The old soldier knew something. The Prince wanted to beat answers out of him but knew that, politically, his hands were tied. One of Rohan’s soldiers signaled that he had found something. Hengist held his breath, afraid his good fortune was about to turn bad. The Prince and his man knelt over something in the grass. Because they were speaking in their own tongue, he could not understand what they said.

Theodred stood, then moved to stand in front of Hengist. The Prince studied his face carefully. The man’s face betrayed nothing, but he had stopped breathing. He was clearly worried. Theodred decided to try a different tact and smiled warmly at Faramir’s man. He extended his hand, which was closed. "Do you know what it is to love someone more than your own life?" he asked, turning his palm upward. Hengist expelled his breath in a rush when he saw the object nestled on Theodred’s open palm.

It was the necklace the Princess had been wearing. He’d heard it was a gift from her mother. It looked strange though, not at all like the simple jewelry normally preferred by Rohan’s women. The design was a delicate flower intricately entwined about what might have been a star. It was crafted from mithril, and the craftsmanship was unlike any he had seen.

Hengist felt an intense gaze, looked up, and saw a glint of eagerness in Theodred’s eyes. He felt like a mouse under the paw of a cat before the killing strike. Be careful, he warned himself. He’s a soldier every bit as canny as the Captain.

"Was my sister wearing this when she was murdered?" the Prince asked, watching the other man’s face closely.

Hengist returned his gaze to the necklace and kept it there as he replied, "I do not remember, for we were fighting for our lives. I know one of the attackers grabbed her, and it may have been torn off when the Lord Boromir pushed the girl away from him."

"Ah, yes. We come at last to the Lord Boromir, who so conveniently is not available to answer questions. Do you take me for a fool? I do not believe this nonsense about a dream that caused such a sensible man to ride off without a ‘by your leave’ to his father. And I assume he had no provisions for such a long journey." Prince Theodred’s voice remained low, and the tone was derisive.

Fearing he would make some verbal mistake that would land them all in hot water, Hengist remained silent. They could kill him only once if they suspected he had played a part in Eledwhen’s death, or her disappearance.

* * * * * * * * *

After nearly two weeks wasted on a fruitless search for Eledwhen and evidence of what had happened to her, Theodred and his men finally returned to the White City. Their hearts were heavy, for they had learned nothing. All were in a fey mood. The horse-lords rode hard on the return ride across the Pelennor fields and their strong mounts were sweating profusely, their breathing labored, when they reached the city's stables.

Prince Theodred shouted for the stable hands to care for the horses as he dismounted. "Make certain you cool them down properly or I’ll have your head," he warned a slow-witted boy, who turned as white as the stones in the city as he gaped upward at the tall, and rather ferocious-looking, warrior towering over him. "I will watch him," the stable master said, chuckling softly at the lad’s terrified expression.

Theodred went immediately to his father's chambers with the news. The old King was pale and it was obvious that he had lost weight. The two talked well into the night.

* * * * * * * * *

From the end of Chapter V: Boromir stretched out upon the ground, pulling Eledwhen gently down beside him. How strange it is to lie next to a woman and want nothing more than to feel her warmth, he thought. My brother was right again. I hope he is as happy tonight as I am.

Faramir most definitely was not happy. He was attending a meeting of Gondor’s Council. It had taken two weeks to send messages throughout the realm that a council was being convened, and almost another two weeks before most had reached the White City. Now men stood about a great oak table in Council chambers and comported themselves no better than a mob in the streets. They shouted angrily and cursed like soldiers. Denethor sat at the head of the long table, silent, the fingers of both hands touching at the tips. He looked amused.

Faramir, on the other hand, was not amused. He wore a dark scowl. This clamor had been going on for hours and all he wanted was to escape to some quiet place. He longed to stand upon the ramparts and feel a cool breeze upon his face. He had been living within a nightmare, one from which there seemed no escape. He wished for the hundredth time he had gone to Imladris with his brother and the Princess.

The Council was not progressing very smoothly; in fact, it was utter chaos. Faramir wasn’t certain, but he could swear his father was enjoying himself. His eyes sparkled and he seemed to be smiling behind the hands cupped to his face. Faramir leaned forward to study his father more closely. His concentration was broken by the sound of loud voices outside the chamber. The heavy double doors at the Council room’s entrance were pushed open with such force they nearly struck the walls. Theodred unceremoniously swept into the room, followed by a tall warrior. Both entered unannounced and uninvited, violating Council protocol. Both also wore swords, another breach of protocol. Denethor's eyes became hooded as the Prince took a seat across from Faramir. Theodred’s man, Hama, moved to stand behind his lord’s chair, his hand resting lightly upon the pommel of his sword.

The Council had fallen silent, its members staring open-mouthed at Rohan’s Prince and his military escort. They assumed the Prince was acting in his father’s stead, since no one had seen the old King in public since news had come of his daughter's death. Faramir scrutinized the Prince’s face. He had barely seen the man since their confrontation in Denethor's study. Eledwhen had been right. Her brother wanted blood. Probably his. Though the Steward’s son had not been called out for his supposed involvement in Eledwhen’s disappearance and death, Faramir believed it was only a matter of time before Theodred threw down the gauntlet.

Theodred glowered at Faramir, as though reading his mind, then turned his angry countenance upon the Steward. "I see before me naught but liars and cowards," he said. "I have seen no evidence of the Princess’ death, nor is it plain to me that she lives. There is a truth here that only the Steward and his sons know yet they remain silent. I must ask myself why? What dirty, little secret do they clutch so tightly to their breast? I have been with my father, the King, since my return almost two weeks ago. We sent riders with orders to Rohan's Marshals to be prepared to fight if the need should arise. I come here now for the truth. I will know all, or the King and I will ride to Edoras and summon a War Council."

The Prince appeared to be enjoying the obvious distress of Gondor’s councilors. He settled back in his chair and watched the Steward intently, wanting to see what effect his chilling words would have on him. Theodred had to admire the old man. His face and demeanor gave away nothing. Theodred’s gaze then fell to the man seated beside Denethor, and he smiled inwardly at the alarm in Faramir’s eyes. The man’s face remained closed, but his eyes blinked rapidly. He is searching for a way out of the trap he has allowed himself and his country to fall into, Rohan’s Second Marshal thought triumphantly.

Denethor, too, was watching his youngest son. He was suspicious and feared that Faramir was hiding something important that he needed to know. When the Steward spoke, his words were carefully measured. "Be careful what you say, Prince. You and your Father are not now in Rohan. I rule here and I will not be threatened. I have put men at your disposal to help search for your sister’s remains, but you presume too much upon the kindness of my hospitality."

"That is rich," Theodred retorted contemptuously. "Hospitality, indeed. I personally have seen no evidence of said hospitality. We were under your roof less than a day when your eldest son tried to force himself upon my sister; and I suspect that she was raped in her bedchamber and then forced to leave. Now the Lord Boromir is conveniently absent and cannot be questioned on the matter."

The revelation of the possible rape of the Princess caused quite a stir among those present. This was the first public speculation that such a heinous crime had been perpetrated within the Citadel of Minas Tirith. The councilors began talking loudly. Some shouted to make their voices heard over others. Faramir closed his eyes to shut out the sight of the divisiveness his father had spawned.

Denethor slammed a fist hard upon the table and shouted, "SILENCE!" His angry visage caused some Council members to retreat a few steps. Denethor turned to Theodred, his voice barely under control. "How dare you insinuate that one of my sons harmed the Princess of Rohan! You will apologize to every member of this Council, and to me, ere you leave. Which will be shortly, for my hospitality is at an end!"

"I shall apologize to no man who calls Gondor home. We came here in good faith, allowing the Princess Eledwhen to be used as a bargaining chip to strengthen our military position. We sought to gain an ally against Mordor and instead found enemies far more foul within the family my sister would have married into."

The Prince’s statement set off another round of loud protestations from members of the Council. Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth, rose and shouted to be heard above the den. "My Lord Steward, why do we sit here and listen to this young upstart? He is not the ruler of Rohan. I say we waste no more of our time until King Theoden is fit to attend Council."

"Well said," Denethor agreed. Then turning his black eyes upon the Prince, he smiled thinly. "Tell your father we wish him to attend Council when he is feeling better."

Furious, Theodred stood up and hurled insults at Gondor’s Steward. Faramir stood quickly and moved to stand beside his father. Prince Imrahil, Faramir’s uncle, took up the position on Denethor’s left. For once the family was united, but it had taken his rape of the Princess of Rohan to bring it about.

Theodred turned his wrath upon Faramir. "You have some complicity in this sordid business," he bellowed, pointing a finger at him. "If you did not rape and kill my sister, you know who did. You are no better than a filthy Dunlending."

Faramir blanched at the insult and retorted with an even worse one. The Prince was now livid with rage. He removed the glove from one hand. Before he could make another move, Faramir held up a hand and said evenly, "Consider it thrown. I have been waiting for you to do so. I will meet you in the drill yard at your convenience." Without asking his father’s permission to leave Council, Faramir turned and left. His uncle looked after him as though to follow, but Denethor gave him a scathing look and he remained.

Theodred stalked out of the room; Hama followed behind, his hand now clutching the hilt of his sword. "Will you do nothing to stop this madness?" the Prince of Dol Amroth asked. "Your son could be killed!"

Denethor shook his head. "He will fight for his family’s honor. We shall see what we shall see."

* * * * * * * * *

The two soldiers stood facing one another on the drill yard located within the city. Both had brought seconds. Hama stood for Theodred; Hengist stood for Faramir. "I have not the heart or the desire for this fight," Faramir said, sighing heavily. "I do not wish to hurt you further. I know that you grieve for your sister and want revenge, but I am not the one who deserves your anger. I did everything within my power to protect her."

"Then you are a poor excuse for a soldier, since she is dead. And a coward as well. But this time your father is not here to save you. I will have satisfaction." As he uttered the last words, Theodred raised his sword and lunged toward Faramir.

The Steward’s son stood with his arms at his side, his sword still sheathed. If the Prince wanted to shed his blood, then so be it. He would not fight for his father’s nonexistent honor, which seemed to have vanished along with his reason.

"Fight me, coward!" the Prince roared.

"I will not fight the brother of the woman I love. Kill me, if it will make your grief easier to bear."

Hearing Faramir’s admission of love for his sister, Theodred stopped and spat at Faramir’s feet. "Just when I thought this dirty business could become no more sordid, I find you lust after your brother’s future wife. You are unworthy of an honorable death; I shall not stain my sword with your blood."

As Theodred turned to leave the practice yard, the unspoken meaning behind Faramir’s words struck him. He whirled around and rapidly crossed back to the Captain. Hengist shifted uncomfortably and pulled his sword. Hama moved two steps forward, drawing his sword. He was prepared for the worst.

Theodred halted mere inches from Faramir and whispered, "You said are in love with her, not were. She still lives, does she not?"

"Let us go someplace where we can speak openly," Faramir said, glancing meaningfully at the others present. Both dismissed their men with orders to return to their duties.

They retired to Faramir’s chambers within the Citadel. The Prince sat down heavily in a chair beside the hearth. Faramir filled two goblets with wine and handed one to his guest. Theodred smiled sadly. "Eledwhen served me wine that last night I saw her. Now tell me truly. Is my sister alive and, if so, where is she?"

Faramir fervently hoped that his brother would forgive the half-lie he was about to speak. He hated to besmirch his brother’s reputation to save his father’s hide, but he had to if Gondor was to be protected.

* * * * * * * * *

Boromir and Princess Eledwhen were riding under a cold sky lighted by the full moon. They had inadvertently wandered into the southwest tip of Mirkwood Forest. The trees looked as old as Middle-earth. Long limbs gracefully extended from tree to tree, as though embracing one another. When the wind blew, it seemed they danced to the music of some unheard song.

"Is the forest not beautiful?" Eledwhen asked, gazing upward as her mare carefully picked her way through the dense copse surrounding them. The man at her side merely grunted. He had been in a sour mood for two days, since they had stopped at a small village seeking a place to shelter for the night.

She had given up hope he would answer her question when he said gruffly, "There are too many places for orcs and other foul things to hide. I will be relieved when we are clear of this."

Eledwhen sighed loudly. "Are you still angry with me? I do not know what I did to make you so churlish. You have done little more than grunt at me for the past two days." Reining in her mare, the Princess stared at Boromir’s broad back, which was mostly obscured by his shield. "I will go no further until we settle what has come between us. I cannot abide this silence."

Ignoring the Princess, Boromir continued to plod forward. He was depressed partly because of his inability to find information that would lead them to Imladris. Failure was not something he was comfortable with. After the rout at Osgiliath, he had become nearly fanatical in his efforts to ensure he was successful at everything he did. Boromir was so deeply in thought, he did not realize Eledwhen had stopped.

The Princess was extremely angry, although she was uncertain why. Sometimes the Lord Boromir reminded her of her father, who treated her like a delicate doll that would break if handled too roughly. Boromir is 40, she thought. He could be my father. She frowned at the thought.

Suddenly she was aware she could no longer see Boromir and Arod. Eledwhen did not like being alone. She started to urge her mount forward when a hand shot out and gripped Eward’s bridle. "Boromir!" she cried as someone pulled her from the saddle.

The Princess found herself held firmly by a very foul-smelling man. Or at least she thought he was human. He had one filthy hand clasped over her mouth. She could almost taste the smell and gagged reflexively. His other arm snaked around her slender waist, effectively pinning her arms to her sides. Fiercely she struggled to free herself.

"Easy, lass, easy. Let’s take a look at you." The man was so close she could feel his fetid breath upon her cheek. She tried to pull away, but her struggles were futile.

"Turn her to the light so I can see her better," the voice said. The man holding Eledwhen turned her about so quickly that he jerked her off her feet. In her head, she heard Boromir’s voice. "Never panic. Panic is your worst enemy. Keep your head clear and your eyes open. Sooner or later your opponent will make a mistake. You have to be prepared to press the advantage immediately. You may not get another chance."

Pushing down her panic, Eledwhen tried to see the man who had spoken. Gradually her eyes adjusted to the moonlight she was staring into and she could see the outline of a man. There was motion behind him and two other shapes came into her vision. Where is Boromir? she thought, swallowing hard.

"What have you found, Radust?" She heard a man’s gruff voice to her left.

"Nothing for you, Vortigen. A pretty one she is and I’m taking her for m’self. Anyone got a problem with that?" His hand strayed to a dagger placed carelessly under his belt. In the dim light she could tell that his clothes resembled what may once have been a uniform. But it had been torn and mended so many times it was now little more than rags.

Vortigen’s lips were pulled back in a painful grimace. His feral features gave his face an almost inhuman appearance. "We all share, that’s what we agreed. You can go first, but she’s not just for you."

Eledwhen shivered and the blood leached from her face. She wished she did not know what he was talking about. Frightened, but determined not to let herself be raped again, the Princess pushed backward, throwing her entire weight against the man holding her. Her unexpected resistance threw him off balance and they fell. Suddenly free, she sprang to her feet and started to run. Strong arms clasped around her chest and she was thrown to the ground. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs. Before she could react, the man called Vortigen was on top of her, ripping at her clothing.

"Get off, get off of me!" Eledwhen cried, furious that she had let herself be taken again.

"We agreed I’m first," Radust growled, taking hold of the man’s shirt and hauling him up. The Princess heard the shirt tear as the man’s feet purchased a foothold on the ground.

"Who put you in charge?" Vortigen snarled. "We’re no longer soldiers and you can’t order us about! What do you think we deserted for? It’s every man for himself." Enraged, he charged forward and butted heads with Radust, who howled in pain and anger.

Realizing that she was again free, Eledwhen gained her feet and made for a space between two gigantic trees. She had almost reached them when she heard the sound of hooves galloping toward her. "Boromir!" she screamed. He was bent forward over his stallion’s neck, one hand gripping his sword, the other outstretched to grab the Princess and swing her behind him onto the horse. He gripped his mount’s sides with his legs to keep his seat.

Eledwhen braced herself and reached for him. One of the men came behind her and roughly shoved her forward. He grabbed Boromir’s arm, jerking him hard and causing him to lose his already precarious balance. Boromir tumbled ungraciously from Arod’s back, his sword arm hitting the ground with enough force that the arm became numb. The sword fell from his hand.

Before he could recover, three of the deserters were upon him. But they were no match for the warrior’s awesome strength. Boromir easily threw off his attackers and scooped up his sword. A strangled gasp made him freeze.

"Throw down now or I’ll slit her pretty throat," Radust yelled, his wicked-looking dagger held against Eledwhen’s neck. "But it would be a pity. There’s other things I have in mind for her." The four former soldiers laughed.

"No!!" Eledwhen shouted. "You must fight them and escape. I care not if it means my death."

Boromir carefully analyzed the situation and realized that his resistance could, indeed, mean the Princess’ death. He felt ill at the thought. Silently he cursed himself for being careless enough to let Eledwhen lag behind. He had been angry because he felt she had been overly friendly to a young man at the village where they had stayed two nights before. Now his ridiculous jealousy could mean his death, and even worse than that for the Princess.

Torn between his desire to see Eledwhen live and his anguish at what they would do to her, Boromir finally made up his mind. As long as they both lived there was always hope for escape. He threw his sword to the ground. She may curse the day she met him, but she would be alive.

Two of the men grabbed his arms, pinning them behind his back. Vortigen picked up Boromir’s sword and felt the edge of the blade. His laugh was ugly. Looking at his prisoner, Vortigen turned the point of the sword until it touched Boromir’s chest. "Shall I stick him?" he asked.

"No!" Eledwhen’s scream tore raggedly from her throat. She struggled to free herself from Radust’s grip. He looked from the girl to the man. Smiling, he removed the blade from her throat. They would not need it to ensure her cooperation.

"Right," Radust said. "You be a good girl and you and your man will be on your way shortly. We just want a bit of sport." Glancing at her furious companion, he added, "Hold him tight, lads. Let him watch; he just might learn a thing or two." Radust’s hand slid to the bodice of the riding habit Eledwhen wore. She shuddered violently at the touch, but did not try to stop it. Her irises became so deeply blue they seemed lavender. She looked at Boromir, willing herself to endure whatever the men wanted if it meant life for him.

Radust pulled at the laces on the girl’s riding vest, quickly becoming frustrated. Leather lacing was stitched up each side as well as the entire front. Exasperated, he used his dagger to cut the laces. Once he removed the vest, Radust tore the fabric of her shirt with both hands, partially exposing her bosom. He bent his head and kissed her skin. With a fierce cry, Boromir struggled against the men who held him. But his own sword pressed him backward, and he felt a slight pain as the blade sliced the unprotected skin on his side beneath the chain links of the hauberk.

Terrified that Boromir’s struggles would result in his death, Eledwhen suggested a risky ploy. "If you must shame me, please do not do so in front of my Lord. Let us go deeper into the woods where we may have some privacy." Radust had to strain to catch her words, her voice was so soft. He looked at the Princess and his eyes narrowed to slits, searching for a trap. But he was sure there was only the two of them, so he took her words at face value.

The man grabbed her arm and began dragging her. "No sense in showing the lads what you got. Get moving if you want your man to see the sunrise." With another quick glance at Boromir, he barked instructions. "Do not kill him unless I say so. Hurt him if you want, but see he doesn’t escape." Then, turning to the Princess, he added, "Come along. I grow impatient."

As Radust yanked her forward, Eledwhen stole a covert glance at the dagger he had loosely replaced in his belt. She hoped she had learned her lessons well enough. If not, that night with the Steward would seem a romantic tryst. When they were out of sight of the other men, Radust shoved her roughly against a large tree. She bit her lip until she tasted blood and waited for him to let his guard down.

* * * * * * * *

Deep within the woods, Haldir froze, certain he had heard a woman’s scream. He was hunting orcs, a sport he dearly loved. He hated the foul creatures and gained great inner peace knowing there were fewer of them to torment Middle-earth thanks to his efforts. He stood as still as the trees and waited.

There it was again, and not too far off. Soundlessly he moved among the trees as though one of them, his Elven feet leaving no signs of his passing. He halted when he heard voices — one fair, the other gruff.

* * * * * * * *

Eledwhen grit her teeth, trying not to let fear ruin a chance to save herself. As Radust pressed himself against her, she let her right hand slide down his side, as though in a caress. He laughed roughly. "You’re a lusty little wench. I see you want it as bad as I do." He pushed her skirt up and felt for her undergarments.

It’s now or I’ll lose control, she thought, shoving back the desire to dig her nails into his eyes. Instead, she willed herself to remain calm. As the man’s lips moved to her breasts and she sensed he was completely distracted, she gripped the dagger’s hilt and pulled it free of the belt. With no hesitation, for she remembered Boromir’s words clearly, she rammed the blade into his chest as near his heart as she could. To stifle his scream, she pressed her lips against his and held him in a deadly embrace. When Eledwhen felt him weaken, she let go of his body and pushed him to the ground. He looked up at her, his eyes wide with surprise. She watched dispassionately as the light faded from them.

Sensing someone near her, Eledwhen whirled to her left, uttering a Rohirric curse she had heard Theodred use when he had been unaware of her presence. Then she realized her only weapon was still buried in Radust’s chest. She fell to her knees and pulled at the dagger with both hands, but the blade had struck bone in the ribcage and was stuck. She had not the strength to remove it. Uttering a sob of frustration, Eledwhen stared up at this new threat.

She could not believe what she saw. Before her stood the most incredibly beautiful creature she had ever seen. He was more than six feet tall, with blonde hair that reached almost to his waist. His face was gentle and kind, and he shimmered in the moonlight. She wondered if he was an apparition.

"Tell me of your homeland, Mother." Eledwhen heard the words vividly. Memories swirled through her mind, threatening to overwhelm her senses. Elf, she thought. He’s an Elf.

Slowly she stood up and faced the figure in front of her. He was looking at her oddly, his head slightly tilted to one side. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice like gentle rain in the forest.

"I am Eledwhen, Princess of Rohan. Are you an Elf?"

"Yes, my name is Haldir. Are there more like this one here?" he asked, prodding the dead man’s body with the tip of his shoe as though to make sure he was dead.

"Yes, and they hold my Lord hostage to…to ensure my cooperation," she said, her voice trailing off as she uttered the last words.

The Elf forced a sharp hiss through his teeth. "I know how to deal with this sort," he said. Eledwhen shuddered. He sounded extremely dangerous.

* * * * * * * * *

The men holding Boromir hostage became bored waiting for Radust to finish his business with the girl. Vortigen turned to the warrior and sneered. "Radust’ll give her a good time, don’t you worry. Though I doubt she’ll be riding anytime soon." The men guffawed loudly and Vortigen stepped closer to the warrior. "And after me and my friends finish with her, it’s not likely she’ll be walking anywhere, neither, if you catch my drift."

The men roared with laughter as Boromir impotently cursed Vortigen, who then drove his fist into Boromir’s stomach, causing him to double over. The men yanked him upright, and Vortigen continued to pummel him. "When I get through with you, you won’t be none too pretty. I doubt the lady will even want to be seen with the likes of what’ll be left of that handsome face."

He struck Boromir’s face along the jaw line with his fist. As he raised his fist for a second blow, he saw his companions stare at something beyond his head. He turned and saw Eledwhen. Blood stained the front of her clothing, and he could see creamy flesh where the shirt had been ripped apart.

Vortigen looked around for Radust. Not seeing him, he felt a pricking sensation at the back of his neck. He was a fighter and had been a soldier for Dunland for more years than he cared to remember. He knew danger when he felt it. His keen senses had kept him alive through many battles.

"Where is Radust?" he asked, moving slowly toward the Princess. "What have you done to him?"

"Why, what harm could I do to such a man as he? I am only a woman," she replied innocently. Vortigen looked around warily. He saw no immediate danger, and his lust was beginning to overwhelm his more practical senses. The closer he moved toward Eledwhen, the more he began to think with his body. He uttered an animal-like cry and reached for her. She danced backward, as though playing a game. Vortigen smiled cruelly. "I’ll make you dance to my tune when I get my hands on you. Come here!"

Eledwhen continued to move away from him, taking a step backward for each step he took forward. The two soon disappeared from sight. "What on Middle-earth is she doing?" Boromir thought.

Vortigen became extremely angry. He was tired of her game. His body ached with desire; it was time to get down to business. He rushed forward to grab her and Eledwhen began to turn. She froze as she felt the air stir close to her head. A soft grunt drew her eyes back to Vortigen. He was staring at her with a look of such utter surprise that she almost laughed. A long-shafted arrow protruded from his chest, where she knew his heart was.

"Didn’t expect that, did you filth?" Eledwhen turned when she heard the Elf’s voice. She could barely make out his features, but she heard the disgust in his voice. A cloud moved past the moon and she saw Haldir’s face. A smile was on his lips, but not in his eyes.

"They have hurt the Lord Boromir and I fear they may kill him," Eledwhen said.

"Denethor’s son?" Haldir asked, now wondering what the Princess of Rohan and the heir to the Stewardship of Gondor were doing so far from their homelands. "How many remain with the Man?"

She was surprised to hear Haldir laugh at her answer. "I doubt the Lord Boromir will need my help with only two men to contend with. His prowess as a warrior is well known."

"Did you not hear what I said? He will do nothing to save himself as long as he believes I am in danger. Please, help him." As she entreated the Elf to aid them, a shaft of moonlight touched her. Such ethereal beauty was rare in humans, Haldir thought. He could swear…. Before he could finish his thought, Eledwhen was running back toward the men. Cursing silently, he went after her.

The Princess almost plowed into one of the deserters who had been holding Boromir. Before he could react to her presence, she kicked him hard in one kneecap, then shoved him backward. He yelled and hopped on one foot. She continued to the place where they held Boromir prisoner and saw him lying on the ground. The fourth Dunlending was standing over his body; in his hand was a sword stained red with blood.

Eledwhen started to move to help Boromir; then she felt, rather than heard, the man behind her and turned to face him. Haldir already had buried his long knife in the man’s back and he was dead on his feet. Before she could turn back to where Boromir lay, the Elf nocked an arrow to his bow and efficiently dispatched the final brigand.

She ran to Boromir and knelt beside his still form. Blood was flowing freely from a deep cut to his upper left thigh. He was semi-conscious. "Do not die on me," she whispered fiercely. "Your people need you. Gondor needs you. I need you." Boromir groaned and began coughing up blood.

"The blade nicked the artery," Haldir said, kneeling beside the Princess. "He will bleed to death if we do nothing. Fetch your horse’s bridle, quickly."

When Eledwhen returned with the bridle, Haldir deftly removed the leather reins, then tied them tightly about the Man’s leg, above the artery. He then pressed both hands against the ragged wound. The blood flow began to slow to a trickle. "We need to bind this wound," Haldir said.

Eledwhen looked around, then pulled up the hem of her riding skirt and began tearing the bottom of her chemise. Pulling the cloth free, the Princess began wrapping it tightly about Boromir’s leg. Haldir looked at her thoughtfully. "That’s fine. Now place your hands where mine are and I will tie the bindings."

As the Elf removed his hands, Boromir jerked spasmodically. The reins tied about his thigh loosened and blood began to spew from the wound. "Lie back and let us help you," she said urgently.

"It is of no use. I will bleed to death and there is nothing you can do to change my fate." He touched her hair with his hand. "So soft," he murmured. "You are so beautiful. I would love to have grown old with you." Boromir’s body was racked by a coughing fit and he doubled over.

Desperately Eledwhen pressed hard against the wound. Haldir quickly retied the reins, then wrapped the torn cloth from the Princess’ undergarments about the wound. Placing her lips almost upon the man’s, she said, "You must stay alive to return to Gondor. You have to relieve your father of his duties as Steward. Do you hear me? Boromir!" Denethor’s son had gone deathly pale. There was a blue cast to his lips.

"I fear he will drown in his own blood, for his lungs are filling with it," Haldir said softly. "He can receive aid in my homeland, but the tourniquet I applied will not prevent his bleeding to death before we reach its borders."

Eledwhen swore for only the second time in her young life. "No, he shall not die. Not if it is within my power to prevent his death." Placing her warm lips upon Boromir’s cold ones, she tasted his blood. Haldir watched, touched deeply by the girl’s valiant, but hopeless, efforts to save the Man. He began to turn away to allow them a last moment of privacy when he thought he saw a muted light pulse and then fade. He looked closely at Denethor’s heir. He could swear his skin burned red as though some inner fire was consuming him.

He knelt and touched Boromir’s hand, which was as hot as though it had been thrust into flames. Eledwhen was whispering words that, even with his sensitive Elven hearing, he could not make out. After a few minutes, the girl straightened. The skin on her face was stretched taut and her eyes had an unfocused glaze to them. Her next words frightened Haldir more than any he had heard in recent memory.

"You cannot die and leave your country in the hands of a madman. Your father raped me. Do you hear? He has lost his reason and has become as dangerous as a lion cornered in his den. Your brother is left to deal with him alone. You must live. If not for Gondor, then for Faramir."

Boromir moaned softly and opened his eyes. "What did you say?" He struggled to rise, but could not. He felt as though he was burning from the inside out. Boromir gripped Eledwhen’s hand and pulled her to him. "What danger is Faramir in?" he asked, gritting his teeth against the pain.

"Hush, my Lord, and I will tell you all, but not now. Believe that you will live, for you shall." She wrapped him in her arms and hugged him close to her breast. "Hold on to me for dear life."

Boromir and the Princess remained locked together for what seemed an eternity. Then his body stiffened and a great cry rose from deep within. The light drained from his body and appeared to leap within Eledwhen. For a moment, it seemed she was on fire. Then the vision, or whatever it was, passed. The Man slept.

"What did you do?" Haldir asked quietly. "You are mortal and I have never seen such things from a Human."

"In truth, I do not know. But he will live, of that I am certain." Standing, Eledwhen stretched her stiff limbs.

The Elf was not certain what he had witnessed, but he knew that taking the Princess to Lothlorien was the right choice to make. "Let us put the Lord Boromir on his horse, for the Man is still in need of attention. I shall take you both to the Lady Galadriel, for her healing abilities are legendary."

Eledwhen looked at the Elf thoughtfully. "Tell me, are the leaves golden in the woods where you live?"

Haldir looked at her, surprised by the question. "Why yes, my Lady, they are. For it is still fall. Have you been to our land? You seem familiar to me."

Her eyes became soft and unfocused. She recalled again the now familiar vision. A beautiful woman lying on a large bed, a child with golden hair cradled in her arms. The Princess heard soft words about golden leaves and Elves.

"I would take you to Lorien to meet your grandmother, if I could. You look so much like her." Eledwhen was unaware that she spoke the words aloud.

The Elf gave the Princess a smile that, this time, reached his eyes. "Come. The Lady of the Golden Wood awaits."





---------



7. Loose Ends

Part of this chapter has been rewritten. Isabeau of Greenlea pointed out that it is difficult to believe that Theoden King could remarry and nobody notice. She's right, of course. Especially since Theodred is about Boromir's age and Eledwhen is only 18. It would have been an insult not to have invited the Steward of Gondor to the wedding, whether he went or not. The title of this chapter is aptly named, since I am tying up some loose ends from previous chapters before going onward. The two scenes in this chapter take place at approximately the same time, only in different locations. Again, I don’t own these characters. I’m just borrowing them. Except Eledwhen and, really, most of Theodred’s character. 

VII: Loose Ends

Boromir remained asleep. Haldir had decided that the best way to transport the Man to Lorien was to place him across Arod’s back without a saddle. "Elves do not need the use of saddle or bridle to control horses," he explained to Eledwhen. "And it will be easier for your Lord if I sit behind him to prevent his falling. We will go slowly so as not to jostle him overmuch. Though the wound has stopped bleeding, it is not closed."

After Eledwhen had held Boromir in a life and death embrace, she had been extraordinarily tired. Haldir had bound the Man’s wounds, covered him with a blanket, and left him to sleep. The Princess had collapsed at the base of a large tree.

The Elf looked down at the Princess. He did not like her color. It was as though all her energy had been expended in her effort to save the Man she so clearly loved. Her face was drawn and extremely pale. "You and Denethor’s son are in no condition to travel tonight. But we cannot remain where the scent of blood is strong. There are many creatures more dangerous than the ones we slew. The blood will draw them to us."

The Princess nodded tiredly and started to rise. Haldir placed his hand beneath an elbow to steady her.

"Your life force is weak. You will need to replenish your strength before we can travel much further. And the Lord Boromir will need much rest as well." Haldir added thoughtfully, "How he could have lost so much blood and yet live is a mystery. Clearly you have some healing power yourself or there would be no heir to return to Gondor."

Seeing that the Princess could barely stand, Haldir decided he would place Boromir across Arod’s back and have the Princess ride behind. He would walk. Taking both horses' reins, he led them deeper into the forest.

* * * * * * * * *

Faramir stood staring into the fire, the palm of one hand laid against the rough-hewn stone that comprised the mantel. In the other hand he held a goblet. He remained in this position for so long that Theodred wondered if he had turned to stone himself. The Prince followed Faramir’s gaze to the crackling flames, but could see nothing that would hold the other man's attention. The Steward’s son was either lost in thought, or stalling for time.

"Do you seek answers in the fire, or do you need time to fabricate another lie?" Surprisingly, the Prince did not sound angry.

Faramir stirred and turned his head to look at Theodred. The man looks as though he has aged 10 years, he thought. This is Father’s doing.

Faramir shook his head slowly, then drained his goblet. "Your cup is empty, Prince. Let me refill it."

As Faramir took the goblet, there was a suggestion of a smile on his guest's face. "This is the first time we have been alone since Theoden King and I arrived in Minas Tirith. And it is the first time we have not fought since then." Theodred stretched his long legs in front of the chair and bowed his head. His hands were clasped in his lap. "I do not like fighting with the man I hope to call Brother. If not for this trouble with my sister we would be friends, not enemies."

Faramir returned with a full goblet and offered it to the Prince, who accepted it gratefully. "How I love the smell of mead," Theodred murmured. Then he called his sister by the nickname he rarely used. "El served me wine that night she left the city." The Prince cradled the goblet between his bare hands for a moment, then lifted it to his lips. He hesitated for a heartbeat, then took a long swig. When he looked up, Faramir saw tears in his eyes.

"Where is Eledwhen?" he asked, his voice husky with emotion. "What is so important you would wound me so deeply with tales of my sister’s murder? What could possibly be worth the pain you have so cruelly inflicted upon one who would be your kinsman?"

Faramir never had felt so wretched. He wanted to tell Theodred everything, but could not. It would be an even greater act of cowardice to bare the family’s dirty laundry to make his burden lighter by sharing it with another. "You should have killed me in the drill yard, for I can only hurt you more than I already have."

Theodred's face was filled with a deep sorrow. "Do I guess aright that Eledwhen was raped?"

Faramir winced painfully and drank. He could not bring himself to meet the other man’s eyes. "I am sorry. It is a disgrace I shall bear to the end of my days, that someone in my family could have been capable of such a shameful act."

Theodred stood slowly and moved beside Faramir. He noted the other's hunched and defeated posture. "Tell me true. You protect someone who is unworthy of your loyalty. Will you not finally speak to me plainly and honestly of what happened?"

Faramir raised his head and managed to hold his gaze steady upon the King’s son. "My brother went to Eledwhen’s chambers that night after the feast. He was drunk and things got out of hand. He forced himself upon your sister. Afterward, he passed out and Eledwhen fled the city. I am sorry beyond words."

"He could not wait until the vows were said?" Theodred asked, his voice low. "What sort of man would take by force that which would have willingly been given? I feel pity for the people of Gondor if this is the mettle of the man who is destined by blood to lead them."

Faramir started to defend Boromir, but knew he could not. Theodred shook his head. "I do not believe she left Minas Tirith willingly. I know my sister. El would have come to me. Again, I sense you are hiding something."

"She was overwrought and not thinking clearly. When my brother and I found her, she told me she left because she was afraid you would kill her future husband. She did not want to be the cause of strife between the two countries." Faramir watched Theodred’s face closely, seeking some sign the Prince believed his story. But Theodred’s face was closed and unreadable.

Finally, Rohan's Prince nodded as though he accepted at least part of the story. He then began to pace excitedly. "Where are my sister and your brother now? Why did they not return with you? I want to see her."

Faramir hesitated slightly before answering. "Boromir could not face you or the King. He thought to regain his honor by undertaking the journey to Imladris, which one of us had planned to do before this incident. I agreed to let him go. We wove the lie about Eledwhen’s murder to keep you from searching for her."

Theodred looked at him suspiciously. "Why would my sister accompany your brother anywhere? Do you expect me to believe she would willingly follow a man who had just brutalized her?"

Faramir sighed. He had known this would not be easy. "Eledwhen was afraid of your reaction. She did not want blood shed. She told me you would demand retribution."

Theodred’s smile surprised him. It was gay, albeit threadbare with nerves. "El knows me better than I know myself. But why did she not return and simply remain silent?"

"Boromir refused to return with us, and the Princess said she could not face you or her father until her honor had been restored."

The Prince became tense, his body rigid. "Tell me, Captain Faramir. Soldier to soldier. Is your brother an honorable man? Their journey will take two or three months, perhaps longer. What are your brother's intentions toward the Princess? Will Boromir marry my sister?"

Faramir was shocked that anyone would question his brother's honor. He started to give the Prince a tongue-lashing, then thought better of it. He could hardly fault Theodred for his doubts since it was he who had labeled his brother a rapist. "Boromir has pledged to wed Eledwhen in all possible haste. Though I doubt it will be easy finding someone to perform the marriage ceremony before they reach Imladris."

Theodred roared with laughter at the thought of Denethor's heir being married among the Elves. Wiping away a tear, he asked, "Tell me, does your brother know my sister's parentage?"

Faramir looked at him strangely. "She is the daughter of Theoden, King of Rohan."

"I meant her mother's parentage," Theodred replied, watching him closely. "Eledwhen and I do not share a mother by blood, only a father. My sister's mother was my father's second wife. Surely you know this."

"Of course, I do. I remember the eyebrows it raised when messengers came with the announcement of the wedding. No one knew the King was even betrothed. That was what, 19 years ago?" Theodred nodded slightly, indicating that Faramir should continue. "I also remember that Father could not attend the celebrations because we were waging fierce battles in South Ithilien. The garrison at Poros was under attack and we despaired of losing it entirely. The Steward did not have time for merriment and, as captain of the Ithilien Company, I had my hands full as well. But I do remember stories of her incredible beauty, as well as her talents as a healer."

Theodred chuckled. "She had many other talents, but my father did not allow her to display them. She died from the poison of an orc blade when Eledwhen was only six."

Faramir nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I remember when word reached us about the attack and the Queen's subsequent death. The Steward traveled to Edoras to attend the funeral but said almost nothing about the young Princess when he returned. Boromir and I pressed him for information about the Queen, but he swore that Theoden King was rather closed-mouthed when it came to his second wife. We thought it very mysterious that no one seemed to know who her people were or how she and the King met. Since you brought the subject up, who are Eledwhen's kinsmen?"

"That is fodder for another day," the Prince said airily. "But I can well believe that El would want to travel with Boromir to an Elven haven. She would leap at such an opportunity." Faramir hoped the Prince would explain further, for it seemed odd for a daughter of Rohan to gladly brave unknown dangers to seek out the company of Elves. And where was Queen Elanor's homeland? Theodred, however, did not choose to enlighten Denethor’s son. Instead, he put down his goblet and walked to the door. "I must tell Father of this interesting turn of events," he said.

Faramir followed the Prince and placed a hand upon his arm to stop him. "That might not be wise. Your father would want them tracked and returned immediately. Is this not so?"

Theodred thought for a moment and nodded slowly. "He would demand that Boromir be punished for this insult, and it is likely he will not allow the marriage. Rohan and Gondor would become estranged and both would become even more vulnerable to the dark forces. El has always been a very bright and astute young lady." Theodred smiled sadly. "I hate that she left with Boromir, but I see the wisdom of it. I cannot fault my sister’s logic."

Theodred then settled a strange, piercing stare upon Faramir. "Did you lie when you said you love my sister?"

The younger of the Steward’s sons looked embarrassed. "I know I have no right to love the Princess Eledwhen, for she is pledged to my brother. But I cannot help my feelings and so my heart is heavy at the thought of her marriage to someone else. She is a most remarkable woman."

"Aye, that she is," Theodred said, looking at Faramir sympathetically. "I can tell you that Eledwhen is very fond of you. But even if she has lost her heart to you, still she will follow her head. She is the Princess of Rohan and knows her duty. I am sorry, for it will be hard for you when they return as man and wife." The Prince sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "My heart is glad that Eledwhen lives, though I fear greatly for her safety. The roads are dangerous, and the journey could prove fatal for both."

Faramir was grateful for the change of subject. He felt a great need to restore Boromir’s honor in the eyes of the Prince. "My brother will protect Eledwhen with his life."

Theodred shook his head. "Should Boromir find himself outnumbered and be overcome by enemies, what do you think will happen to Eledwhen? You know as well as I what desperate men and foul orcs will do to a beautiful woman."

Faramir shivered inwardly at the imagery the words invoked. Stubbornly he repeated, "My brother will see she comes to no harm."

The Prince of Rohan looked at him speculatively. "For the sake of our two countries, I hope you speak true."

"What will you tell your father?" Faramir asked.

"I shall have to think on that. I would tell him the truth and ease his pain, but your argument for remaining silent until their return seems to me a more logical choice. I will let you know my decision. And, Faramir, I will have no more lies from you. Remember that I am the better swordsman, be you kinsman or no."

Faramir sucked in his breath, angry, but said nothing as the Prince left his chambers. Disgust for his father ate at his gut, burning like acid. The Dark Lord himself could not have contrived a more perfect way to conquer and divide two nations. "It almost seems he has found a way into the Citadel and works his evil upon us all," Faramir thought, unaware of how close to the truth he was.

* * * * * * * * *

Denethor was closeted in the secret room under the summit of the White Tower. The palantir drew him to it, like a moth to a flame. Vainly he strove to see his eldest son in its depths, but saw naught but his own haggard face. "It shuts me out," he thought grimly. "I cannot force it to do my bidding. I have controlled its course through these long years and now it defies me. See how it mocks me!"

Enraged, the Steward threw the orb across the room. It hit the wall, fell heavily to the floor and rolled until it rested against the desk. Denethor stared at it sightlessly. "What have I done?" he muttered, sanity returning to his tortured mind. "Am I mad? I have put my beloved Gondor in peril and forced my eldest son to undertake a journey from which he probably will not return. I may have destroyed my family, and for what? For a night’s pleasure? What possessed me to do such an insane and irrational act? I must be mad!"

The palantir began to glow. Its siren song again lured the Steward to it. He heard dark whispers in his mind.

The Steward of Gondor walked heavily across the room and picked up the palantir, which now blazed brightly with an inner fire. It was hot to his touch. He looked deeply within and saw a lidless eye. His fleeting moment of sanity fled. 



---------------



8. Whatever Shall We Do With Father?

If you think I have been rough on dear old dad in the first seven chapters, you may not want to read this chapter. I really don't have anything against Denethor. He did an excellent job of being Steward; right up to the point where he tried to burn his youngest son alive. His character lends itself so easily to madness. I grew up reading Shakespeare and Greek tragedies, so at least one character has to be mad. Theoden King was the only other option, but I needed a strong character. Everything would have been totally different if the wedding had been in Rohan. Then you would have had Grima Wormtongue to throw darts at. Might have been interesting, though, to see how Eowyn and Eledwhen handled that toad!

In this chapter, events with Boromir and the Princess are happening at approximately the same time as the events occurring in Minas Tirith. The title of the chapter refers to Denethor. Again, I don't own these characters, etc., etc. I borrowed a phrase or two from my favorite authors, but I don't think they will mind. Especially Shakespeare. 

 

Chapter VIII: Whatever Shall We Do With Father?

After two hours of slow travel, Haldir decided to call a halt. Most of the oppressive woods had receded and they now stood beside a clear, meandering stream. The Elf carefully removed Boromir from Arod's back and carried him as though he weighed no more than a child. Eledwhen remained motionless, nearly comatose. After placing the Man on the ground, Haldir returned to help the Princess. He waited for her to acknowledge his presence. When she did not, he said gently, "Give me your hand, child, and I will help you down."

Eledwhen finally focused her gaze upon the Elf (although it took great effort to do so) and managed a wan smile. "I am sorry. I would be glad for your help." She swung her right leg over Eward's back and Haldir caught her about the waist as she slid down her mount's side to the ground. Eledwhen's legs buckled and she would have fallen if not for Haldir's support. Lifting her easily, he carried her to the stream and placed her beside Boromir.

"What is needed is a fire," Haldir said, more to himself than to either of the Humans, who were in no state to listen to him anyway. He strained his keen Elvish senses for any indication of danger. Finally satisfied of their relative safety, Haldir set about gathering wood. The Humans needed warmth, and he wanted to boil water. Both could benefit from a liberal dose of Athelas tea. Fortunately, he always carried leaves from that healing plant when he traveled.

* * * * * * * * *

Princess Eledwhen sat by the fire, a blanket wrapped about her. Her hands tightly grasped a wooden bowl. Steam curled lazily upward, bathing her face with its warmth. The tea had a sweet and pungent fragrance that helped clear her mind. She watched as the Elf supported Boromir's head and shoulders against his chest while attempting to pour some of the Athelas tea down his throat. Haldir was not having much luck.

Shucking her blanket, the Princess moved to kneel beside them. "Here, let me," she said quietly. Haldir looked at her, surprised. There was color in her cheeks and she seemed more like the girl he had first met. "Would you hold him, please, while I try and get him to drink?"

Haldir gripped Boromir tightly and moved him, more or less, into a sitting position. Eledwhen spoke soothingly to the Man and placed the rim of the bowl to his lips. Boromir begin to take small sips. The Princess continued to speak to him as a mother would to her child. When he was too exhausted to consume any more of the liquid, Eledwhen motioned for Haldir to ease Boromir back onto the ground.

"Do you think he will live?" the Princess asked in a tremulous voice.

"His life signs have improved greatly; some color returns to his face, his breathing is more regular and his pulse grows stronger." Haldir looked at Eledwhen's worried face and smiled kindly. "You did well, daughter of Rohan. Will you now join me by the fire and answer a few questions?"

Eledwhen nodded and rose slowly. Her eyes strayed to the stream. "How I long for a bath. Would your questions wait until I have rinsed some of this dirt off? I must look a sight!"

Haldir was amused by the sudden concern for her appearance. He took it as a sign her recuperation was complete. He turned toward the fire and watched the Man's even breathing while Eledwhen washed away the blood and the filth of the encounter with the brigands. She and Boromir had managed a bath during their stopover at the village, but that seemed years ago.

Eledwhen returned to the fire, her hair slightly damp. She swung her unbound hair to one side and rubbed it vigorously near the flames. Her tresses glittered like gold.

The Princess fascinated Haldir. He had lived almost two millennia among his own kind, and pleasant surprises had become the occasional rarity rather than the norm. Those of his race had distanced themselves from all other folk (save perhaps those dwelling in Rivendell). These two Humans were a welcome diversion.

Eledwhen glanced up and caught the Elf scrutinizing her. His emerald eyes were bright and his lips were curled into a half-smile. She thought of her mother and the enigmatic smile she had often worn. She checked on Boromir again, then sat cross-legged across the fire from Haldir. "What do you wish to know?" she asked, demurely smoothing her skirt to cover her long legs.

"I have been wondering what the Princess of Rohan and the heir to the Stewardship of Gondor are doing alone so far from their homelands? Can you answer me this riddle?"

Eledwhen began twisting a lock of hair between her thumb and forefinger and stared into the fire, contemplating how best to answer. She raised her eyes, risked a quick glance at Haldir, and then locked her gaze to the flames. Inhaling deeply, Eledwhen told the full tale for the first time. She was afraid to look up, too embarrassed to risk meeting the Elf's eyes. However, it was a great relief to finally share her burden with another. Keeping the secret from Boromir had been a great strain that daily had taken its toll. The gay, carefree child who had ridden from Rohan with her father and brother was gone. That child was now a tormented young woman who sobbed bitterly as she spoke of her lost innocence. At times her voice faded to no more than a whisper. Haldir did not interrupt but sat as unmoving as stone, the emotions flickering across his face the only sign he was flesh and blood.

When Eledwhen finished her tale, she remained motionless, her head bowed. She continued to weep, but her grief was now silent. Haldir shifted his weight slightly and made a soft sound that could have been a sigh. "I have dwelled too long in Middle-earth. I expect such horrors from orcs and other vile servants of the Dark Lord, but this… is unspeakable, for the Steward of Gondor is highly respected and accounted a great ruler of Men."

Flinching slightly, Eledwhen asked in a low, but challenging voice, "Do you doubt my word?"

Haldir was silent, his brow furrowed in thought, for several moments ere he spoke. "Nay, child, I sense no deception in your words. It is the act itself and the Man who perpetrated it that troubles my thoughts. Few would deem the esteemed Steward of Gondor capable of mixing a poppy elixir in the drink of his heir's future bride." Seeing Eledwhen's puzzled expression, the Elf explained: "A strong sleeping draught can be made from it. You can discern its presence by the unpleasant smell. The Steward either made his potion too weak or your strange constitution threw off the effects much faster than Denethor anticipated. He would not have gone to the trouble of drugging you if he had no care of his crime being discovered."

The Princess shook her head. "No, he was horrified to see me wake so quickly. He threatened to have my brother killed if I told anyone. I will destroy him if I get the chance. Revenge is an art in my country."

A deep sadness settled in Haldir's eyes. "I believe you are serious, though I wish it were not so. You have not the training or the years of experience necessary to carry out your desire. Does the Lord Boromir know what his father did?"

"You heard me tell him, but I do not think he understood."

"I had hoped that was not true, but rather a means of shocking him into fighting for his life." The Elf looked at Eledwhen solemnly. She remained silent, her head bowed in acquiescence.

"Humans!" Haldir snorted disgustedly, as if that one word explained all. He rose from the ground and walked to the stream. He stood silently, arms crossed, as he contemplated the situation. "This is not the Denethor I have heard tales of," he said slowly. "Something is amiss. You said the Steward's other son, Faramir, knows what happened. If he is wise, he will observe only and not try to confront his father by himself."

"How I wish it were possible to turn back time and know what events to avoid in your future. Had I the foresight, I would never have entered Minas Tirith, and Boromir would not have been deadly injured."

The Elf gave a sudden, clear laugh as he turned from the stream and moved closer to the fire. "The skein of your life was woven long ago. Run and hide in a hole if you like, you will live not one moment longer. You perceive much that Mortal Man does not, yet you cannot predict the future. It would be unwise to try even if Elven blood did not flow in your veins."

Eledwhen looked at him quizzically. "That one of your parents was of the Elder race is obvious. You are the Princess of Rohan and there is no question that Theoden King is your father. Therefore, by process of elimination, your mother was an Elf."

The Princess held Haldir with her deep blue eyes. She began to speak, but he put up a graceful hand to still her. "That is enough revelation for now. I am certain all will be unraveled when we reach Lothlorien. Now it is your turn to ask questions."

Haldir's youthful face had cast off its grim mask. He now wore an amused grin as he studied Eledwhen's eyes, which were azure in the glow of the fire. That peculiar blend of blue and purple intrigued him. Haldir never had seen eyes quite like hers. Realizing she was speaking, he turned his attention to her words.

"What is an Elf from the Golden Wood doing alone so far from his home?" the Princess was saying.

"Even though we now have few dealings with other folk, there are some of us who journey forth for the gathering of news…and to watch our enemies. We have a deep hatred of orcs and are watchful of their movements. I was tracking a small band heading south, perhaps toward Isengard, when I heard your screams. The fates were kind to you and the Lord Boromir that I was so near and could lend my blade and bow in your defense. Though I saw well enough that you are quite adept with a dagger and possess an even sharper wit."

Boromir stirred and Eledwhen jumped up. Kneeling beside him, she gently stroked lank strands of hair away from his face. "It is strange how we can hate someone so completely one moment and love him the next. Is it so among the Elves?"

"Not totally in the sense that you mean. For one moment of mortal time is many years in ours. We are immortal and time has little impact upon our lives."

The Princess looked tenderly upon Boromir. "If I live one thousand years, still would I not understand how it is we can fall in love with someone so unlike ourselves."

Haldir looked at her thoughtfully. "Perhaps you see in him qualities you love in your brother, or even your father."

She smiled, her bright eyes twinkling. "You are right, of course. He has some of the same mannerisms and pig-headed ways common to Theodred. And when he treats me like a young child, he reminds me of my father. Is that enough to make a good marriage?"

"I am the wrong Elf to ask, for I have never been married. But come, there will be plenty of time on our journey to speak further. It is time you tried to sleep."

Eledwhen nodded. "Good night," she said softly, settling her body next to the warrior and pulling the blanket tightly about them. She rested her head against his back until she could feel his heart beat. It seemed quick and desperate, like a whispered prayer. "Live, my love. Live for Gondor, and for me." Soon both slept. 

* * * * * * * * *

After Prince Theodred took his leave, Faramir returned to the fire and stared sightlessly into the flames. In his mind he replayed his farewell to the Princess Eledwhen and their fleeting kiss. A knock at the door roused him from his reverie.

"Come in," he called, not wanting to leave the comfort of his hearth. The door opened and his father loomed in the doorway. Faramir frowned. Denethor looked feverish. The hair the Steward kept so fastidiously groomed was disheveled.

"What is wrong, Father? Are you ill?" Faramir rushed to offer his father aid. Waving his son off, Denethor moved into the room and shut the door soundly behind him, his back to it. His eyes darted about the room furtively, as though searching for something.

"Where is your brother?" he asked, strain noticeable in his voice.

Faramir was caught off guard by the unexpected query. "He journeys to Imladris, Father. I told you so."

"Do not speak to me as though I were one of your underlings!" the Steward snapped. His voice was overly loud and seemed to reverberate off the walls. "Do not presume that, like Theoden King, I am too far into my dotage not to see what is going on behind my back, and within my own city!"

Faramir was unable to hide his bewildered and slightly frightened reaction from his father. Denethor read his son's response as an admission of guilt. "I am correct. You do plot to overthrow my rule." His voice was no more than a soft hiss. "It takes a certain sort of dangerous intelligence to maintain such deception. I should have watched you more closely, but I always believed you to be weak and so did not note your veiled ambitions."

"No one plots behind your back, Father. Certainly not one of your own flesh and blood. I do not understand why you accuse me of complicity in some political subterfuge."

Denethor verbally pounced upon his younger son. "You and the Prince of Rohan conspire against your fathers and plot to usurp their reigns. Did not Theodred leave your chambers mere moments ago? Do you deny that you and the Prince share secrets?"

The Steward's eyes were large and as dark as the night. The intensity with which his father stared unblinkingly at him was something he had never seen before in any man. Faramir could not compete with Denethor's eyes. He looked down at his hands and chose his next words with care. "Father, I am and always have been yours to command. I have served you loyally and without duplicity since the day I swore fealty to you and to Gondor. On my oath, there is no plot against you."

Denethor growled and pulled a sword from behind his back. A light like flame was in his eyes as he advanced upon his son. "Liar!" he shouted. "Even now the Citadel Guard escorts the Prince to the dungeons, where I shall force the truth from his lips."

Faramir stared mutely at his father, too horrified to respond to the revelation that Theodred was being dragged to the dungeons even as they spoke. The Steward moved swiftly to stand before his son, his sword naked in his hand. Denethor placed the tip of the blade only a hair's breadth from Faramir's breast.

"You may well say you are loyal to me and to Gondor, but you conspire with a man who would be king. Theodred is a man who cares naught who he kills to attain the throne, for the Prince's greed for power knows no bounds."

Faramir cast about desperately for a solution to this new, and much worse, threat to the country. "Father, you are not yourself. If you arrest the Prince of Rohan there will be war. Are you prepared to fight the Rohirrim to our west and the Dark Lord's minions to the east? To do so would be to doom Gondor. We have not the manpower or the resources to wage war on both borders. You brought the Princess and her family to Minas Tirith to secure Gondor's survival. Would you throw it all away? What has happened? What evil influences your choices?"

Faramir began to move, but his father's sword held him fast. "What, or who, would make you doubt your own son?" Faramir's voice was filled with anguish, his handsome features overshadowed by despair.

"I know that you and the Prince met secretly and hatched plots against your nations' rulers. Theodred thinks to press the advantage while his father grieves over his daughter's murder. While you…" Denethor pressed the tip of the blade forward until it cut through his son's tunic. Faramir pressed himself tightly against the wall. He had run out of maneuvering room.

Denethor's lips pulled back into a fierce grimace. His voice rose an octave. "You are afraid! I have exposed your foul plans and you are afraid!! As well you should be. For I know that you tricked Boromir into leaving on a fool's errand so that you could steal his inheritance behind his back. And when he returned, what was your plan? Would you have murdered him in his bed? Or did you hope he would not survive the journey?"

Faramir was speechless. He had to escape his father and find men who were loyal to him. They would take the deranged Steward to the Houses of Healing. Forcing himself to remain calm, Faramir sought to reason with his father. But the more he denied any plans to take control of Gondor, the more agitated Denethor became. Faramir became frustrated and fearful for his life. "Father, I want nothing that is yours, or that one day would belong to my brother."

Denethor gave a short bark of laughter. It was an eerie sound in the otherwise quiet chamber. "Now have I got you! You have denounced yourself with your own lies. For I know you coveted your brother's bride and tried to take her from him. I know you attacked him."

Faramir's blood felt like ice in his veins and he shivered violently before he could control himself. He saw his father smile smugly as though this branded him guilty. How could the Steward possibly know what happened between him and Boromir? How?

"You sent Eldol and the other soldiers to attack us in the woods," he said, grasping the only answer that made sense. "But why? Did you mean them to kill your sons? Have you lost all reason?"

Denethor pointed to a chair with his sword, motioning Faramir to sit down. Not wanting to agitate his father further, he made his movements slow and deliberate. He father's eyes never left him. Looking into those black orbs was like standing before a bottomless pit and being unable to pierce the darkness below.

Faramir sat on the edge of the chair by the hearth where Theodred had sat not long before. His thoughts strayed to the Prince. What tortures would his father device to gain evidence of his "traitorous" actions. I have to escape and get help, he thought frantically.

"Yes, I sent those men," the Steward was saying. "But not to murder you or your brother. They were to bring Eledwhen back or, if they could not get her away without injuring my sons, they were to kill her."

Faramir shook his head in disbelief. "How could you know where we were? How did the men find us?"

"You were not difficult to track." Denethor smiled thinly. His son did not know about the palantir. "After you and your men returned to the White City, they removed the bodies and obliterated any signs that would allow the Rohirrim to follow Boromir. I could not allow the Prince to send his assassins to murder my heir."

Faramir looked up sharply. Had Eldol withheld information about Eledwhen? Did Denethor believe the Princess had been killed? Barely daring to breathe, he asked, "The body of the Princess? Where is it?"

"Buried with the bodies of the soldiers you and Boromir killed. I should have known they could not stand against my sons."

Faramir would have been grateful for the pride in his father's voice if the circumstances had been less bizarre. So Father does not see everything, he mused. Aloud he said, "Why kill Eledwhen? She was only a young girl."

"She was a temptress; nay, even worse -- an enchantress. Her beauty lured men to commit irrational acts. Boromir is well rid of her. It is fortunate I found her out before she could ensnare your brother. You already were lost to her. I assume she confided in you; told you why she fled the city?"

Faramir shook his head in denial. "No, Father, she refused to speak of what happened. You misjudged Eledwhen. She was true to her word."

When Denethor spoke, his tone was mocking. "Yet you know of my little 'indiscretion.' How, then, if the Princess was so 'true?' I think you threw the dice and hoped to win both your brother's Stewardship and his bride! I would have recognized you for a traitor long ago, but I was fooled by your strange ways. You and your absurd dreams!"

Faramir shifted forward in the chair, placing his weight on the balls of his feet. He tensed and prepared to propel himself forward. He hoped he could catch his father off-guard and overpower him, but Denethor appeared to read his thoughts. "You are so very transparent. You never will be able to outwit me."

"Father, let me send for your physician. You are not yourself. Let me help you." His son's tone was plaintive, almost pleading.

Denethor moved his head heavily from side to side. "I do not need the help of a traitor! Do you think I have not anticipated your every move? Men who are loyal only to me guard your door. You will send no word to your co-conspirators. I allow you to be detained in your chambers only because you are of my blood. Otherwise, you would be in the dungeons chained like a dog! I wonder how the Prince likes his new quarters?" Denethor laughed gleefully at his last words.

Faramir felt a sharp thrill, as well as the familiar rising of fear and dread. He fought for control of his turbulent emotions, his head down, eyes shut. "Would you murder your own son?"

"Who said anything about murder? Nay, I would have you kept someplace safe so you cannot harm yourself. You are ill and need rest. No one will be permitted to disturb you until this illness has passed."

Faramir struggled to marshal his thoughts. What were they doing to Theodred? Would his father order the Prince tortured? Thought of a new terror caused him to raise his head quickly and fix his father with a piercing stare. "Where is Theoden King?"

"He remains in his chambers blissfully unaware of his son's base intentions," Denethor answered evenly. "I shall wring a confession from Theodred's lips and present the truth to Rohan's ruler. The King should be pleased, for I have been told that the Prince is behind the murder of many of his father's councilors. Long has he prepared for the King's demise and his ascension to the throne by eliminating all who might oppose him. Almost do I admire his cunning."

Faramir tried once more to return his father to reality. "Who has told you such lies and why would you believe them? If you continue on this course, I shall do whatever it takes to have you removed from your duties as Steward. I cannot allow you to plunge Gondor into war with Rohan."

Denethor's face became red with rage, but his voice remained chillingly calm. "How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have such a thankless child. You break your father's heart."

Faramir almost snarled his reply, so hot was his anger. "You never had a heart to break. Do you, who drove my mother to an early grave, truly believe that Boromir and I were blind and did not see what lay behind her long suffering? You enjoy inflicting misery on those you 'love.' All my life I strove to live up to your expectations, but no matter what I did, or how highly others praised me, I never was good enough to be Denethor's son. You always favored Boromir over me and constantly tried to drive us apart. Why? I deserve an answer."

The Steward moved close to his son and whispered, "Because you are so like me."

Faramir felt for the wall behind him, seeking the reassurance of something solid beneath his hands. The room seemed to spin as he fought to regain control. He realized he was sweating profusely and that his heart beat erratically. He felt as insane as his father looked.

"The King of Rohan and his son are no threat to you. Send them home before events reach the point of no return." He hated the pleading tone in his voice, but was too exhausted to care.

Denethor smiled ironically, yet his dark eyes were humorless. "You know it not, but that point was reached long before the Rohirrim entered our city. I have seen Gondor's demise. There shall be fire and ruin, and none shall escape the wrath of Mordor. It is useless to fight. We can only wait for the fatal blow to fall."

Never had Faramir been so afraid of his father, or felt such fear for Gondor. I must get a message to Uncle Imrahil, he thought. He is our only hope.




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9. Of Elves and Men

Kudos to readers who saw hints of dialogue from popular movies. There was a Star Wars reference in Chapter 8, and there will be one in this chapter. The title of Chapter 8 was inspired by a line uttered by Katharine Hepburn in the movie, The Lion in Winter. I can't help myself. This chapter's title is inspired by the title of a novel by John Steinbeck. The Princess speaks words that are Latin during a vision. It is the root of all languages. If you are waiting to see what happens to the guys in Minas Tirith, you'll have to wait until Chapter 10. 

IX: Of Elves and Men

Boromir slept through the night and all the following day. Eledwhen fretted that his continued sleep meant something was seriously wrong.

"Worry not, child. Your Lord lies in the embrace of a healing sleep; his road back to us is not an easy one to travel." Noting her concern at his last words, Haldir added hastily, "But his body mends and the grayish color that precedes death is no longer present. I can see his body repair itself, albeit slowly. His blood is renewed and the strength returns to his limbs. In just such a way do the Elves heal, only much faster. Denthor's heir is fortunate to have been touched by such grace as you so lovingly bestowed upon him. He will live to fight another day."

Eledwhen frowned at the thought of Boromir returning to war. She did not like to think of losing him. How handsome he is, she thought as she wiped his face with a damp cloth. He looks so much younger, and so terribly vulnerable.

"It is the temporary release from the burdens he has borne during these long and dark years that makes his face so restful," said Haldir.

Eledwhen gave a sharp yelp of surprise. She had not spoken aloud, yet the Elf knew her thoughts. "Can you read minds?" she asked, blue eyes wide in amazement.

Haldir produced a silvery laugh. "I hear your thoughts. Sometimes they are clear; sometimes they are too muddled to be discernable. Humans are difficult to read because their thoughts are so disorderly. They lack the precision and clarity we Elves have. You are only half Human so many of your thoughts are clear enough to be understood."

He walked to where the Princess knelt beside Boromir and placed a long, slender finger to her forehead. "We can speak with our minds; words are not necessary for us to communicate. Were you ever in need, your thoughts would reach me and guide me to you."

Eledwhen stood and began twisting a lock of hair. She thoughtfully digested this fantastical information. "My mother was an Elf, you say. Would she not have had such… powers? I have never heard anyone speak of such things, not even my father." The Princess spoke slowly, drawing out each word with careful precision.

"It could not have been easy for your mother to live among mortals. Perhaps she hid her 'talents' so others would not discover her Elven heritage. You had no conscious memory of your mother's homeland until we met. Until then, it was merely a repressed dream."

Vivid memories of the short years with her mother flooded into Eledwhen's consciousness, flitting rapidly across her mind. The recurring dreams of a small child listening attentively to stories about Elves actually had been memories of times spent with the Queen before her death. So swiftly did the memories return, they soon overwhelmed her, much as floodwaters unleashed when a dam breaks.

Haldir's thoughts touched her mind, stemming the flow. You try too hard, too soon. There will be plenty of time to examine each thought separately once we reach Caras Galadon, the city of the Galadrim. I shall take you to meet the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel. They will be able to tell you who your mother was.

Eledwhen blinked rapidly and swayed. The Elf moved swiftly to her side, encircling her waist with an arm to steady her. Haldir silently chided himself for not teaching her how to control the sudden onslaught of information.

"I beg your forgiveness, my Lady. I was overly eager to push you to use the gifts you possess and did not think. I have taken you too far, too fast. Humans must crawl before they can walk." His limpid eyes were filled with concern, yet sparkled with delight. Eledwhen frowned. He looks exactly like a child with a new toy. I amuse him.

"Indeed you do, Princess," Haldir said aloud. "Amuse me, I mean." He grinned rather foolishly. Finally, he released her. Executing a formal, and rather grand, bow from the waist, the Elf moved to the stream and began filling the water skins.

"Are we leaving?" she asked.

"We have tarried here long enough. It is best we move on. The Lord Boromir should be strong enough to travel on the morrow. For now, try and get some sleep."

* * * * * * * *

Eledwhen had slept only a couple of hours before a loud cry woke her. She raised her head, careful not to disturb the sleeping man beside her. Haldir was standing with his back to the fire, gripping his bow tightly. An arrow was nocked and ready for flight.

Eledwhen moved cautiously from beneath the blanket and wrapped it about Boromir. Moving soundlessly to where Haldir stood, she whispered, "What is it?"

"An owl. Something has startled it."

"The bird of darkness, a harbinger of evil." Eledwhen's voice sounded distant and strange. Haldir stole a glance at her, then returned his gaze to the forest. His keen eyes searched for movement.

The Princess studied the impenetrable sky and an icy breeze caused her to shiver. She looked to see if Boromir remained asleep.

Haldir was tense. "Do you feel it?" he asked breathlessly. "Something evil this way comes."

A shudder surged down Eledwhen's spine. She moved quickly to stand beside Boromir, while the Elf strained to pinpoint the approaching danger.

Rohan's Princess was distracted by the swirling darkness above the flames of their fire. She felt herself drawn into them, consumed by their heat. Within the flames shapes began to form. She saw a village burning to the ground while its inhabitants screamed and ran in panic and terror from fierce orc-like creatures with sharp spears and an assortment of wicked-looking weapons. One of them pounced upon the back of an old man, driving him to the ground. It began ripping him with its talon-like claws and consuming his flesh raw. She hoped desperately that this was a dream and not a vision of some atrocity actually taking place.

Too horrified to watch further, Eledwhen fought to withdraw from the clutches of the vision. Instead, she felt the approach of a suffocating evil. A large owl flew toward her, its wings extended to their full span, talons turned toward her. She could see its lifeless black eyes, unnaturally bright, reflected in the fires of the torched huts.

The owl spoke as it bore down upon her. "I am the bane of innocence; the herald of death and misfortune. Embrace evil or live amongst myriad torments and endless suffering."

Eledwhen pulled Faramir's dagger from her belt and shouted to be heard above the screams and cries of those being tortured. "Be gone. I am a daughter of Rohan and share the blood of the Galadrim. I do not fear you."

With a fierce screech, the owl lunged for her, its long talons seeking a hold within her soft flesh. She steeled herself for the attack. Suddenly a brilliant light pierced the darkness. A voice called to her, repeating her name again and again. She closed her eyes and shook her head to clear her vision before risking another look. The owl and the village were gone. Faramir's blade blazed like fire in her hand.

"What did you see?" Haldir's expression was anxious, his voice strained.

When Eledwhen spoke, her voice was toneless. Her eyes were riveted to the campfire.

"Cave Cave Mordor Videt." The words caused the Elf to take a step away from her. The language was unfamiliar, but the words carried a clear threat. "What do you say, child?" Haldir asked. She repeated the words in the same detached tone.

"Cave Cave Mordor Videt. Beware, Beware Mordor Sees." Haldir stared at her. He felt a dark presence and reached for a hunting knife in a sheath strapped at his back by a baldric.

Eledwhen shook her head like a dog emerging from water. "I must return immediately to Minas Tirith. My brother and my father are in danger. Denethor has been seduced by the Dark Lord. He keeps his son, Faramir, prisoner in his chambers and my brother is chained in the dungeons. If I return, the Steward may let them go." She ran to her horse and began saddling her. Haldir placed a restraining hand on her shoulder.

"You and the Lord Boromir must first come to Lothlorien. There you shall take council with the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel. Let them guide your footsteps. You have had a waking dream, but the truth of it is not certain."

"My heart tells me that my brother suffers at the hands of the Steward. I must return, but I will take your advice and delay any final decision until we reach your city. For now, my first duty must be to the safety and wellbeing of the Lord Boromir. How soon before we reach the Golden Wood?"

"Two more days of hard traveling will bring us to the edge of my homeland. Try to sleep now. The evil has passed. I will stand watch, for I have no need of sleep and much need for thought."

Eledwhen smiled gratefully and moved to where Boromir lay sleeping. "I fear he will not wake."

"He will, when the healing process is complete. You, too, need healing, though your hurts are of the spirit and not the flesh. The Lady Galadriel has the power to heal many hurts." Haldir moved to stand beside her in that peculiar gliding motion common to Elves. Eledwhen had noticed it immediately when they had first met. It was graceful, yet oddly disturbing. "Will you tell the Lord Boromir everything once he is stronger?"

"I do not know. I have not spoken of it because I fear he may be forced to kill his father. There are many who are fiercely loyal to the Steward and would not take his murder lightly, even were it perpetrated by a son whose only motive was to save his land and its people. Nay, that is not what Gondor needs."

"And what needs do you have?" Haldir asked.

"I need solitude and time. Time to heal, and time to think."

"There is plenty of time in Lorien. I am certain that the Lady of the Golden Wood will want you and your future husband to remain as long as you wish."

"I fear that, for Boromir, time is the enemy. The longer he remains away from Gondor, the worse things will become. Faramir cannot stand alone against his father."

Haldir closed his eyes, his analytical mind searching for something he had missed. Snapping his fingers, he murmured, "Of course, of course. Why did I not see it before?"

To the Princess he said, "You have explained why you fled the White City, but you have said naught of this journey or its purpose. It is not logical that Boromir would leave his brother to face such a crisis alone; not if they are as close as you say. If he knows nothing of his father's 'transgression,' then why did he not return to Minas Tirith?"

Eledwhen laughed deprecatingly. "That is too pretty a word to use for such an ugly act. However, I owe you the full tale. Faramir returned alone to Minas Tirith to try and hold things together until Boromir could return with answers to a dream they shared. I rode with Boromir to avoid facing the Steward."

"A shared dream between Humans?" asked Haldir, clearly startled.

"Faramir had a recurring dream in which he heard a voice speak of a blade that was broken, a halfling and Imladris. I know nothing of halflings and broken blades, but I do know about Imladris. My mother spoke of it."

The Elf looked down at Boromir, shaking his head in disbelief. "This man dreamed about Imladris?"

"Once, or so he said. But 'twas his brother to whom the dream appeared frequently. Faramir told me it came to him so often he was unable to sleep. On our way from Rohan to Minas Tirith, he had the dream while we were riding and nearly tumbled from his horse."

Haldir's stare was incredulous. "A man had a waking dream? Elves have such dreams, but a man? These are indeed strange times," he muttered.

"You would like the Lord Faramir, for he is unlike most men. He possesses many qualities you may find unnatural in a Human."

"I should definitely like to meet this man," Haldir said, chuckling. "Members of that race never cease to amaze me."

Eledwhen returned to the fire and settled next to Boromir. He was tossing and turning, as though something haunted his sleep. The Princess stroked his brow tenderly with her hand. Haldir smiled. Young love, he thought wistfully. Then he turned his sight upon the woods, his entire being attuned to danger. Eledwhen smiled. 

* * * * * * * * *

Haldir was riding Eward; Eledwhen and Boromir were astride Arod. The Man had become conscious the day before and insisted that he was strong enough to sit a horse. The Elf decided that if this Man of Gondor was obstinate enough to refuse to listen to his medical expertise, he was fit enough to sit in the saddle. As a precaution, Eledwhen rode behind Boromir, prepared to grab him should he start to fall. She sat with her arms firmly encircling his waist, occasionally pressing one cheek lightly to his back. The Princess had been euphoric when he had finally returned to the land of the living.

Boromir was weary physically, but his spirit was light. He vaguely remembered his struggle against the two Dunland deserters and his almost fatal error in judgment. He had calculated (wrongly) that he could kill both and reach Eledwhen before the two in the woods caught wind of his escape. But sometimes the best-laid plans go awry, and he had received a deep wound in his upper thigh. A gash in this location normally is not fatal; it was his bad luck that the sword sliced through the artery. He chuckled to himself, knowing how ironic it was to have been nearly murdered by his own sword. Faramir would never let him forget. Let him tease me mercilessly, Boromir thought ruefully, at least I am alive to endure his taunts.

The last thing he remembered clearly was Eledwhen holding him in her arms. She had been crying, he assumed over his imminent demise. Beyond that, Boromir had no clear recollection of events. He had found it rather surreal, awakening to find his future bride speaking with a pale and slightly effeminate being (at least in his opinion) that he assumed to be an Elf. It had been many years since he had seen one, for not since his youth had those of the Firstborn journeyed to Minas Tirith. However, his surprise at seeing Haldir was nothing compared to the feelings of joy he felt at being alive.

Boromir smiled and lightly touched Eledwhen's hands to reassure himself that this was no dream. In response, she pressed her soft body more tightly against his and lightly brushed her lips across the back of his neck. He felt familiar stirrings deep within his body and knew beyond a doubt that he lived.

Eledwhen had been ecstatic to see Boromir waken. She had wanted to throw herself into his arms, but was too shy to do so. He was, after all, not her brother and respectable young women refrained from such unseemly displays of affection with men who were not kinfolk. Idly, she wondered if she was still respectable.

Of course you are. Do not ever think less of yourself because of what others do. The Princess peered over Boromir's shoulder and saw Haldir looking back at them. She gave him a small smile of thanks.

* * * * * * * * *

"We are nearing Lothlorien. Soon you will be able to see the golden leaves of our mallorn trees." As the afternoon wore away into evening and the miles melted behind them, Eledwhen could discern the outline of the eaves of the Golden Wood. She could just make out a wide gray shadow and thought she heard the rustle of leaves.

The three riders suddenly were beneath the mallorns' spreading boughs. Great gray trunks extended skyward, branching off far above the ground. Their leaves were fallow gold. "We are at least five leagues from the gates," Haldir said. "I believe…." The Elf's words died off and he tilted his head to the side, listening much the way a hound does on point. "Yrch!" he hissed.

Boromir reined his stead about sharply, his eyes scanning the wood. Haldir leapt from Eward's back and ran in the direction of the sound of the approaching orcs. Only a few minutes later, he returned hurriedly. "There are at least two dozen orcs marching straight toward us. They block our path into the Golden Wood. We must retrace our steps and enter at another point."

A great shout alerted them that the creatures had picked up their scent. Boromir grasped his sword hilt and struggled to remove the blade from its sheath. He cursed colorfully at his weakness.

"No!" Haldir shouted, as Eledwhen simultaneously yelled, "What are you doing?" Eledwhen dismounted by sliding backward off Arod's rump. She ran to Eward and flung herself onto the mare's bare back. The Princess had nothing more than her hands and legs to control the animal's actions, but Eward understood her perfectly and began to move forward.

"Stay!" Boromir commanded, using his Captain's voice. Eledwhen placed her right hand gently against Eward's neck and the horse stilled.

"You will go with the Elf. I will stay and fight until you are safely away. Then I will follow."

"There is no time for debate," she said. "They are almost here. You are not well enough to fight or to ride a horse without falling off. Go and I will join up with you later."

Haldir moved quickly to Eledwhen. "I will lead them away. You and the Lord Boromir ride Arod north until you find a safe place to hide. I will find you." He reached to pull the Princess off the horse, but stopped as Boromir spoke.

"I will not allow a girl or an Elf to fight my battles. Nor will I skulk off into the woods like a thief while others die in my stead. Elf, take my Lady to Lorien while I distract the orcs."

Haldir was furious. Time was short. They had no time for such heroics. "Do not be bullheaded! You are too weak to even lift your sword, much less wield it. You will only succeed in getting yourself killed. Eledwhen cannot save your life every time you make a fatal error in judgment. You will get us all killed." He was beginning to really regret that the Princess had saved the man's life.

Boromir looked at Haldir murderously, clenching and unclenching his free hand into a fist. "I will not buy my safety at the expense of a girl's life. It is cowardly."

"It is necessary, you son of a mule! I have had enough of this. You will ride with the Princess into the wood. Eledwhen, get down NOW!" Haldir was angry enough to leave them both as fodder for the orcs.

Boromir grasped his sword and attempted to raise his arm. The effort left him dizzy and out of breath.

"Do something!" Eledwhen snapped at the Elf.

"What would you suggest?" he replied acidly.

"You've had almost two thousand years of experience. Think of something!" she retorted angrily.

Boromir watched first the Princess, then Haldir as they argued back and forth about him. He did not like being discussed as though he was not present. Finally, he growled, "Whether or not I get myself killed is my affair. I'll thank you both to stay out of my way."

The man put heels to his mount's sides to spur him forward, but Haldir moved quickly in front of Arod. The horse immediately obeyed Haldir's unspoken command to halt. "Get out of my way, Elf," Boromir said, kicking the horse with his heels in an attempt to force it to move forward.

"Stop acting so mare-ish," Eledwhen said, close to tears. "You are not yet my husband and I am still the Princess of Rohan. I will do this."

Boromir again tried to force his mount forward, but Arod disobeyed his master and refused to move. Seizing the opportunity, Haldir leapt behind Boromir. He gripped the man's neck and applied pressure to both carotid arteries, cutting off the blood supply to the brain. Boromir slumped backward as he blacked out.

Eledwhen clucked softly to her horse and they began to move forward. "What are you doing?" Haldir asked, dismayed at the sudden turn of events.

She answered in a small voice. "Take my Lord to safety. And, if you have time, please come back for me."

With his arms around Boromir, the Elf could not stop Eledwhen, who was almost to the wood. If the orcs saw him and Boromir, he might not have a chance to escape. Exasperated, Haldir told Arod to turn and run. Now I remember why we have had no dealings with folk other than our own kindred, he thought bitterly. Haldir could hear the orcs shout as they spotted Eledwhen. Her only hope was for him to find help within Lorien. Remember child, if you need me, call for me. There was no response. Despair followed him into the Golden Wood.



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10. Holding On For A Hero

I had a hard time trying to decide what to do with Eledwhen's situation so I took the coward's way out and left the answer for the next chapter. But the action in Minas Tirith makes up for my leaving you in suspense where the Princess is concerned. This chapter moves pretty fast. It starts out in Lothlorien and moves to Minas Tirith. Both events are happening at about the same time. Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth has a major role and gets to play hero.

 

Chapter X: Holding On For A Hero

Arod ran as though his life depended upon it. The scent of the orcs had terrified him and put the wind to his hoofs. They had galloped for some 15 minutes when the Elf sensed, rather than saw, archers perched on branches of the mallorn trees. "Daro!" he said in a commanding tone to Arod; then he waited.

Shadowy shapes, wholly clad in gray, began to form a circle around the newcomers. The woodland folk were noiseless in their movements and difficult to see unless they moved. Haldir spoke swiftly in their Silvan dialect. One of the Elves moved forward, his fair face showing obvious relief. He was Orophin, brother to Haldir and Rumil.

"We have watched for your return, for you have been gone longer than is your wont," said Orophin. He peered closely at the form in front of Haldir. "What stray have you brought home this time, Brother?" The Company laughed merrily, knowing well that Haldir had a soft spot in his heart for injured animals.

"A Man," he answered, enjoying the discomfiture this pronouncement elicited from his brethren. "He is the Steward of Gondor's heir, Boromir, and is in need of care. Rumil, choose one of your people and take this Man to our Lady. Say to her that one of our kinfolk is in danger from the orcs on our southern border and that the rest of us go to her aid. Ask no questions, for time is precious." The last he said to Orophin, who had started to speak. Haldir slid off Arod's back, while another Elf prevented Boromir from falling. Rumil took the place vacated by his brother.

"Ride swiftly and see that you deliver your package in good order," Haldir said good-naturedly. "Though he has given me some trouble, still he is a Man of importance and dear to one of our own. Give the Lady my greetings."

Haldir watched his brother and the others disappear into the forest. Nodding to the remaining archers, he began running back to the border. He reached out to Eledwhen with his mind. Again, there was no response. If the orcs have captured the Princess, we must find them before they feel safe enough to stop and make camp. The Galadrims' feet barely touched the earth as they ran swifter than the wind.

* * * * * * * * *

Eledwhen was terrified. It was as though she was caught within one of her visions. She had seen orcs before, but many of these creatures were almost man-high and horribly deformed, even for orcs. They uttered loud cries as they spotted her and Eward. She hoped to lure them away from Haldir and Boromir, then circle back once she had outrun them.

Unfortunately, the Princess had no better luck with the orcs than Boromir had with the Dunlendings. A hail of black-shafted arrows flew straight toward them, several of them entering Eward's hindquarters. The mare screamed shrilly and rose upon her back legs, pawing at the air in an attempt to protect her mistress. Striking ground for the last time, she lost control of her limbs and sank heavily down. Eledwhen jumped from Eward's back as more arrows imbedded themselves deep within the mare's bloodied body. The girl sobbed bitterly as she fled, for she had raised Eward from a foal.

Eledwhen ran blindly through the woods, trying to keep some sense of direction so she would be able to find her way back to the spot where Haldir entered the woods. She had to stop to get her bearings because she was disoriented and unsure in which direction the orcs were.

A loud crash nearby caused her to pull Faramir's dagger from her belt as she spun around. An orc streaked from between two trees and barreled into her. Both fell to the ground, limbs flailing. She shrieked loudly and struggled to impale the creature with her blade. The orc grabbed her wrist and twisted it painfully until she dropped the dagger. It then began ripping at her clothing, drawing blood as its sharp claws tore her skin as well as her clothing. Her cries were wild as she continued to fight. She could hear other orcs moving around them, grunting and making sniffing sounds like hounds on a scent. Only this time it was her smell they had gotten a whiff of.

A huge and very black orcish creature, which Eledwhen would learn later was one of Saruman's fighting Uruk-hai, roared loudly as he pulled the smaller creature off the girl. He swung the orc around and released it into a group of onlookers. The smaller ones fell back, making unintelligible noises of frustration. The Princess looked up into a pair of evil yellow eyes that were little more than slits in the twisted mass of flesh that composed its face. She attempted to scramble away, but was caught by an enormous hand and swung roughly to her feet.

She thought it would rape her for sure, but instead it grabbed a small rope from one of the other orcs and tied her hands together in front of her body. A longer rope was thrown to the black Uruk, who looped it around her neck in a slipknot, leaving a length of rope that he took hold of. It motioned the company to head south away from the Golden Wood, then gave the rope a vicious yank that nearly caused Eledwhen to fall. Able to maintain her footing, she had no choice but to run with her captors. 

* * * * * * * * *

Faramir was nearly sick with worry. It had been three days since his father had confined him to his chambers. He had spent most of the time pacing and trying to come up with a way to get a message to the Prince of Dol Amroth. His father's men had been totally unmoved by his pleas for help. He tried to keep his thoughts from straying to the dungeons, where he knew Theodred was held captive. He felt ill at thoughts of what his father's men might be doing to the Prince. Faramir heard loud voices in the corridor outside his chambers, rushed to the door and strained to hear. Recognizing one of the voices, he could not believe his good fortune. It was Prince Imrahil.

"What do you mean my nephew is still too ill to be disturbed? I demand to see him."

The muffled reply was too low for Faramir to catch the words, but a burst of angry invectives from the Prince of Dol Amroth let him know that his uncle was displeased with the reply. "I will speak to the Steward about this," Imrahil said loudly enough for his nephew to hear through the door. The sound of heavy footsteps receding down the hallway told Faramir his uncle was leaving. Frantically he banged on the solid wood door and shouted. There was no answering reply. Frustrated, he moved to the window overlooking the Court of the Fountain, hoping for a chance to signal his uncle for help.

* * * * * * * * *

Imrahil swept regally past the gaping page who opened the door to find a furious Prince almost in his face. The boy stumbled backward in surprise and Imrahil took it as an invitation to enter Denethor's chambers.

The Steward was sitting at his desk, reading papers. He looked up irritably at the intrusion into his private sanctum. Seeing Imrahil's black countenance, he motioned for the page to withdraw. The boy nearly ran from his Lord's presence. He did not want to be in the same room with the two rulers when they locked horns.

"Well, what do you want, Prince?" Denethor's tone was anything but respectful.

"What nonsense is this about Faramir being too ill to receive visitors? There have been guards posted at his chamber door since the day of the Council. What are you up to now?" Annoyance overcame his usual impeccable politeness.

The Steward's eyes became slits. "If you wish to remain in the White City, you will be more cautious how you speak to its ruler."

Prince Imrahil shook his head irritably. "I am not now speaking to the Steward of Gondor, but to the father of my nephew. I went to speak to Faramir and armed men refused me entry on your authority. If he is too ill for visitors, why is he not in the Houses of Healing?"

Denethor smiled amiably. "I would not want this to go around, but Faramir's illness is not physical, but rather mental. He has taken leave of his senses." Leaning forward across his desk, he added conspiratorially, "I have it on the most reliable information that it was my youngest son who raped the Princess of Rohan."

Prince Imrahil's eyes widened and he made a choking sound. "Preposterous," he finally managed to say. "Your source is obviously the biggest liar this side of the Ephel Duath. You know as well as I that Faramir would never commit such an atrocious act. Who is your reliable source?"

Denethor stood up menacingly. "I have told you once to choose your words with care. Do I hear disbelief in your tone? Are you questioning my ability to recognize a lie when I hear one?"

"No, but I, too, can recognize a lie when I hear one," Prince Imrahil said smoothly. Denethor's eyes narrowed even further, but he said nothing.

The Prince of Dol Amroth stood silent, assessing his brother-in-law's mood. He decided to try a more roundabout approach. "I heard that Faramir and the Prince of Rohan did not fight. Do you know why?"

The Steward snorted contemptuously. "Theodred is a coward. He backed down because he knew he could not defeat my son. There may be hope for Rohan after Theoden's reign ends after all."

Imrahil nodded and moved to the window. "Where is the Prince now?" he asked casually, as though the answer was unimportant. "No one has seen him, either."

"He skulked off to lick his wounded pride. I doubt Theodred will show his face within the Citadel anytime soon." Denethor was enjoying this game. He knew Imrahil never asked an unimportant or casual question. He is trying to trick me into giving away information, but I am too savvy to be fooled by such transparent games.

Prince Imrahil stood silently at the window, his hands laced together behind his back. He rocked back and forth on his heels. Abruptly he turned to face the Steward, his face composed into a serene mask. "Well, then, good night. I shall be leaving Minas Tirith in the morning."

Without another word he strode from the room, opening and closing the door himself. Denethor was left staring open-mouthed after him. He was totally unprepared for the Prince to give up so easily. Normally the Steward would have been suspicious and ordered others to keep watch on Imrahil's movements. But in his unbalanced state, he believed himself the absolute victor and dismissed his dead wife's brother from his thoughts, instead returning to the routine matters of keeping his city running.

* * * * * * * * *

The Prince of Dol Amroth appeared unexpectedly and unannounced in the kitchens, which caused quite a flurry of excitement among the servants. The chief cook, a large buxom woman with a very red face from the heat of her cook fires, curtseyed rather clumsily as she wiped her large hands on an apron. "What can I do for the Lord Prince?" she asked, clearly flustered.

"I was wondering what you are preparing for our guests from Rohan? I believe the Prince ordered something special for dinner, did he not?" Imrahil studied her closely, but she seemed genuinely perplexed.

"Did he, my Lord? 'Tis the first I have heard of it. But I do think it peculiar that one of the Tower Guards ordered that horrible Rohirric dish made of sheep's guts."

"Did he now?" the Prince asked silkily. "Can you tell me where this guard is dining tonight?"

"Well, you know, my Lord, that is even stranger. The food is to be brought to the dungeons. We haven't had any prisoners for awhile, so I was thinking why would anyone be eating down there? Not like it's exactly posh, if you get my meaning." The woman smiled helpfully at the Prince, flirting with him just the slightest bit. How handsome and grand he is, she thought.

Prince Imrahil pulled a gold coin from a pouch at his belt and handed it to the woman. "I thank you for your time, madam. The food served in the Citadel is the best I have ever eaten."

The woman grasped the coin tightly in her meaty hand and babbled an inane reply as the Prince of Dol Amroth swept grandly out of her kitchen.

* * * * * * * * *

Prince Imrahil left the Citadel immediately and swiftly walked to where his swan-knights were quartered in the sixth circle. He pulled his Captain aside and gave him furtive orders. The man frowned, bewildered, but nodded and saluted his liege lord smartly. Faramir's uncle was chuckling to himself as he walked across the Court of the Fountain. He looked up at the Citadel's eastern tower where he knew Faramir's rooms were and thought he saw his nephew motion to him. For now, the Prince would have to trust that not even Denethor would harm his own son. The Prince of Rohan, however, was another matter, one that needed to be attended to with as much haste as possible.

* * * * * * * * *

Theodred pulled futilely on chains that held the manacles on his wrists to the wall of a small and rather rank cell in the White City's dungeons. He had been livid with rage when Tower Guards had accosted him outside Faramir's chambers only three days before. Caught unaware, he had been unable to draw his sword before they encircled him and stripped him of his weapons. Now he was having a very disagreeable conversation with one of Denethor's men, Hirgon, who had been ordered to question him. The swarthy, dark-haired soldier was known to be extremely loyal to the Steward. They had been over the same questions at least 50 times during the past few days.

"I know that you follow your lord's orders, but must we continue this insane line of questioning? Fetch Theoden King, my father, and we shall sort this out." Theodred's tone of arrogance, and even hatred for his questioner, was obvious.

Hirgon stiffened visibly, obviously taking offense at either the Prince's words or the tone in which they were uttered. "I am not your lackey, to be ordered about at your whim. The only person I shall fetch is my Lord's chief torturer. I have been ordered to force you to talk, one way or the other."

Theodred looked at the man's grim expression and knew he was as serious as a toothache; it would profit him naught to anger the man. "I meant no offense to you or the Lord Steward. I do not understand why he would believe that I control a plot to overthrow both Gondor and Rohan. There are days when I do not even want to be Prince! Including today."

The Steward's man did not look as though he appreciated Theodred's humor. His eyes remained hard and unforgiving. Theodred felt the first real prick of fear at the back of his neck. This cannot be real, he thought. I must be having one of Eledwhen's dream visions. I'll wake up any minute snug in my bed. He moved his hand to scratch his head and metal bit into his wrists. These manacles seem real enough, he thought grimly. He settled his gaze upon his questioner, trying to gauge the mettle of the man. He would need an ally to free him, and this was the only person available. If Hirgon is the only one who can help me, I am a dead man. The Prince tried again to gain Hirgon's confidence, but he was as unreachable as the stars.

"I am sick and tired of your endless lies," said the older man. "I have been more than patient with you. Only because you are a Prince have I not already used physical means to loosen your tongue. But now I believe it is time for more persuasive means. Do you still deny my Lord Steward's accusations?"

"I tell you that Denethor is mad and not fit to rule. Where is his son, Faramir? He can attest to my innocence."

Hirgon's eyes glinted dangerously. "I was warned you would try to implicate the Captain in your schemes. The Lord Faramir is gravely ill by your hand. The Steward says you poisoned his son, so look not for sympathy among Gondor's men." Hirgon gave him a scathing look and left the cell. Theodred tried vainly to pull his wrists free of the manacles that held him captive. He only succeeded in scraping the flesh off; blood seeped from the raw wounds.

* * * * * * * * *

Hirgon returned with a hulking figure Theodred knew could be none other than the chief torturer. The Prince searched the narrow, foxy face. Dismally he noted the arrogant pale eyes above high, slanting cheekbones and knew instantly he'd get no sympathy from such a man.

"Well, what say you now? Here is a man who knows how to make even the most stubborn men sing. Will you confess willingly, or shall I give the order?" Hirgon looked at the prisoner dispassionately.

"I swear by my sister's life there is no plot! If you would only ask the Lord Faramir…" Theodred's voice trailed off as the door to the cell opened and Denethor entered. Hirgon and the other man moved toward him, but the Steward waved them off with a dismissive gesture.

"Leave us, for now." He held his eyes unwaveringly upon Theodred's face as the men left. Once they were alone, Denethor gave a feral grimace that Theodred assumed was meant to pass as a smile. He braced himself for what was to come. The Steward studied the Prince closely. He looked extremely tired, as though he had not slept in the past three days. Denethor smiled smugly at the man's drawn face and unnatural pallor. He is not so cocksure now. To Theodred he said, "I have come to hear your confession. Will you admit to plotting against your King, or must I resort to more physical persuasions?"

The Prince sighed tiredly. "How many times do I have to say that there is no plot? This is all madness. Where is my father?"

Denethor laughed softly. "No harm has befallen him, nor shall it as long as you admit to being a traitor."

Theodred pulled hard against his chains; he wanted more than anything to beat the smug smile off the Steward's face. "I swear I will kill you if you harm the King of the Mark. And while I am taking revenge upon your family, I shall make certain that your son, Boromir, pays for what he did to my sister."

A surprised look crossed Denethor's face. "What did you say?"

Seeing the old Steward's confusion gave Theodred a certain measure of satisfaction. "Faramir told me how Boromir forced himself upon my sister that night she left. Insanity, it seems, runs rampant in your family." Theodred took an involuntary step backward as the Steward advanced rapidly toward him. When Denethor spoke, the Prince could hear the cold fury in his voice.

"I will make certain you do not repeat that lie to anyone else. Prepare yourself to spend your final hours screaming in unimaginable pain." With that, the Steward swept angrily from the room. Moments later, the chief torturer entered. He looked positively happy; in his hand was a long rawhide whip with a plaited lash and a knotted end.

* * * * * * * * *

Prince Imrahil hid behind heavy drapes covering windows along the dimly lighted passageway to the dungeons' entrance. He knew that only political prisoners of rank were kept within the Citadel, which meant that the Prince of Rohan would be kept below. The Captain of his Guard and two other swan-knights waited at the gate to the sixth circle for him to return with the Prince.

The Prince of Dol Amroth had been on a fishing expedition when he had asked Denethor about Theodred, but had known instinctively that his sister's husband lied. He had always disliked Denethor, especially for the way he had treated Finduilas. Even though she was dead, he would always be tied to this despicable despot. Imrahil sighed almost silently. He was tired and wanted to return to Dol Amroth. He ached to smell the sea air again.

Prince Imrahil tensed as he saw a servant moving down the corridor toward the entrance to the dungeons, a large, metal key ring hanging from his belt. He would have to be quick to enter before the door shut, and as silent as a stable mouse not to be caught. Even his position as Prince of Dol Amroth would not save him if Denethor discovered he had attempted to aid Rohan's Prince. The man of tomorrow is forged by his battles today, he thought to himself. If I pull this off, I should be crowned King. Swiftly and soundlessly he slipped through the door behind the servant. I am getting too old for this sort of thing. A man of my age should be able to retire comfortably to his gardens. Noiselessly he descended into the dungeons, following in the servant's footsteps.

* * * * * * * * *

Prince Imrahil heard the approach of heavy footsteps and quickly pressed his body into a recession along the dungeon passageway. He held his breath and waited. He saw Denethor pass by and unconsciously drew further back against the stone of the wall. The Steward looked murderously angry. Guessing that Theodred was the source of that anger, Imrahil realized he had best make his move quickly.

The unmistakable sounds of the lash told the Prince he had found Rohan's heir to the throne. Imrahil was surprised that no guards stood outside the cell. Cautiously he opened the door; he recognized one in the room as the Steward's man and one as the Prince of Rohan. The person applying the lash he did not know, nor did he care to. Drawing his sword as quietly as possible, the Prince of Dol Amroth slipped noiselessly behind Hirgon and put the sword to his back. "Stop him or die," he commanded.

Hirgon froze; he had been caught unaware, something he was not used to. Obviously the sounds the whip made striking the Prince had masked the man's arrival, even though Theodred had made no outcry but endured the flogging in silence. Hirgon motioned to the other man to cease his efforts, but the chief torturer was enjoying his "work" so completely he did not notice. Imrahil pressed the blade harder against Hirgon's back and the soldier roughly gripped hold of the arm propelling the whip. "Stop or I'll give you a taste of your own lash," he shouted. "Can you not see we are no longer alone?"

Theodred had pressed himself against the wall of the cell, unable to avoid the blows because he was chained to the wall. About a dozen lashes had torn through his tunic, ripping the cloth and the flesh beneath. As painful as the lash had been, no sound had escaped his lips. He would not give the Steward's men the satisfaction.

Imrahil moved to the side of Hirgon so Theodred and the other man could see him. The Prince of Rohan's eyes widened in surprise. He recognized the man as one who had been at the Council meeting…the man who had stood by the Steward's side.

"You," Theodred said, pain reflected in his blue eyes. "Why do you, who are kinsman to Denethor, help me?"

"All shall be explained later," Prince Imrahil said to Theodred. Then he turned to the man with the whip and ordered him to unchain the prisoner. The man looked at Hirgon, who nodded. "You choose rightly and so will live to suffer your Lord's wrath. Though if I were you, I would make myself scarce once someone frees you from this cell." Imrahil's old eyes were sparkling. I haven't had this much fun in years, he thought.

Once Theodred was free, he yanked the whip from the chief torturer's hands and turned toward Hirgon, who took a step backward before being stopped by Prince Imrahil's sword. Hirgon squared his shoulders and lifted his chin defiantly. "I was following orders, same as any good soldier." Theodred raised the whip to strike the man, but the Prince of Dol Amroth warned him that they needed to escape quickly. Obviously torn between his desire for revenge and the desire to seek better quarters, he let the anger slowly leach out of his body.

After chaining the two men to the walls, Theodred and Imrahil left the cell, locking it behind them with a key taken from Hirgon. "What now, Prince?" the younger man asked.

"We make for the gate to the sixth circle where my men wait for us. They will help you escape Minas Tirith."

Theodred snorted. "I have no wish to leave the city. I have a score to settle with the Steward." He pulled a piece of slashed and bloody cloth away from his skin and looked meaningfully at Imrahil.

"Exhibiting dignity in the face of defeat is a quality all great leaders possess. I hope the future King of Rohan understands that sometimes it is necessary to retreat in order to regroup for the next battle." Imrahil held him with his clear, sea-gray eyes.

Slowly Theodred nodded. "After you, Prince," he said, giving Imrahil a slight bow and a rueful smile.

"No, after you, Prince. I would prefer you walk in front, just in case you change your mind." Theodred chuckled and began moving down the passageway in the direction Imrahil directed.

* * * * * * * * *

It was dark when the two men emerged from the dungeons and made their way across the Citadel to the gate leading to the sixth circle. The Prince of Dol Amroth walked up to the guard and asked to be let through. As the man opened the heavy gate, two swan-knights grabbed him and knocked him unconscious. Theodred emerged from the shadows and followed Imrahil, his sword grasped tightly in his hand.

"My men will take you to the stables and get you out of the city. Put on these clothes; they will identify you as one of my knights. Your injuries can be tended to once you are safe."

"Not without my father," Theodred said. "I fear it is not safe for him to remain. I must go to him." Theodred began to move back toward the Citadel but Prince Imrahil placed a hand on his shoulder, removing it quickly when he saw the man wince in pain. "I will see to Theoden King and my nephew, Faramir. Believe me when I say that no harm shall come to them as long as I draw breath."

Theodred studied the strong face and sincere eyes before putting on the tabard identifying him as one of the men of Dol Amroth. "I always did look good in blue," he joked as the men hurried him along. They had gone no more than 10 paces before men wearing the livery of the Citadel Guard challenged them. One of them recognized Theodred and shouted an alarm. All drew their weapons and the unmistakable ring of steel meeting steel filled the grounds near the barracks. As more men began joining the fray, Prince Imrahil tried to stop the fighting. He was aghast that men were fighting within the walls of the White City.

Prince Theodred ducked a blow from behind and used his booted foot to push another away from him. Despite his anger at Denethor's actions, he did not want to kill these men of Gondor. However, he knew that soon there would be no other option. As he continued to fight, he caught a glimpse of a bright light out of the corner of one eye and wondered if the barracks had been set on fire. Gradually he began to hear the cries of many people, but could not make out the words. As he lifted his arm to block an opponent's sword, he heard a knight of Dol Amroth cry out, "Mithrandir! Mithrandir has returned to the White City!"

A blinding white light caused the soldiers to fling up their arms to shield their eyes. When they could see again, the old wizard they knew as Mithrandir stood in the center of the melee, his staff raised high, his weathered face fierce. "What the blazes is going on here? Have you all gone mad?" His voice was loud in the silence. Seeing Prince Imrahil, Mithrandir stalked over to him and demanded to know what was happening.

Imrahil shook his head and said only, "Not here. My words are for you alone." Remembering Theodred, he motioned for the younger man to join them. "Come, Prince. I think things are about to change for the better." 




------



11. Holding On For A Hero, Part 2

Chapter XI: Holding On For A Hero Part II

Mithrandir and the two Princes hurried to Faramir's chambers within the Citadel. No one had dared challenge the wizard as he swept angrily across the Court of the Fountain. As they walked, Prince Imrahil spoke of Faramir's plight. Mithrandir had thought to confront Denethor immediately, but instead went to release the Steward's son. The sentries had tried to deny him entry, but their obvious fear of the wizard made their efforts half-hearted at best.

* * * * * * * * *

Theodred was stripped to the waist and on his fifth tankard of ale. Imrahil was tending to the deep lacerations inflicted by the bullwhip. Faramir stood watching; he felt guilt wash over him like hot rain on a summer's day.

Theodred held out his silver tankard for a refill and saw Faramir's expression. "For pity's sake, stop looking like someone who has just lost his first battle! You are not responsible for your father's actions. Keep my tankard filled and I'll call us square. There could have been a lot worse damage done. Thankfully, your uncle is a sane man."

"I'll take that as a compliment," the Prince of Dol Amroth said lightly. "Now stay still so I can clean these cuts. I went to a lot of trouble to save you from being tortured to death. It would be ungentlemanly of you to die of infection because you are too stubborn to submit to my ministrations."

Faramir took the drinking vessel from Theodred's hand. The two men exchanged rueful glances and tried to hide smiles from Imrahil. Mithrandir looked up and harrumphed loudly. Three sets of eyes looked at him expectantly. The old wizard had been given a synopsis of Denethor's unexplainable behavior by both princes and the Steward's son. Faramir's account of his last conversation with Denethor had shocked them all into silence. Now Mithrandir spoke slowly, his bushy eyebrows knitted close together.

"I have been sitting here trying to make sense of Denethor's actions. Faramir, when did your father begin acting strangely?" Faramir pursed his lips together; he remained silent as he refilled the two-quart drinking vessel. Handing Theodred his ale, he replied, "Boromir noticed something different about Father after King Theoden and his royal party arrived. Father made a couple of bawdy remarks about the Princess Eledwhen that Boromir felt were unseemly and totally out of character."

Mithrandir raised an eyebrow. "Continue," he urged. Faramir looked uncomfortably at Eledwhen's brother and hesitated. "Speak out!" said Theodred, slightly slurring his words as he drained his sixth tankard. "We are all warriors here. Even the wizard has wielded a blade a time or two." Mithrandir gave him a withering stare that the Prince chose to ignore. "I am certain your father could have said nothing that would be more shocking than what we have faced in battle."

Reluctantly, Faramir repeated the comments made by his father concerning Eledwhen. Theodred scowled, then snorted in disgust at Gondor's Steward telling his son not to treat the Princess like a camp whore until after the wedding. "Sounds to me like a plain case of envy," Theodred said. "Just an old man's musings over memories of his more virile days. I see no insanity behind those words, only jealousy."

The wizard and Prince Imrahil remained silent. Both knew Denethor far better than the Prince of the Mark. Denethor had never been overly interested in pursuits of the flesh, a fact Finduilas could have confirmed were she still alive.

Mithrandir looked at Faramir sternly with his impenetrable eyes. "What else did Denethor say or do as regards the Princess that troubles you so? We cannot help your father if you hide information that may be valuable in solving this problem."

Again, Faramir looked at Theodred. As tipsy as he was, the Prince still noted how pale the Steward's son was. "I swore not to speak of it," Faramir said miserably, staring at the floor. "The Princess does not want it known."

Imrahil put down the cloth he was using to clean Theodred's wounds and moved to his nephew's side. He spoke gently. "Your father is not well. We must know what you know. Perhaps there is an answer in his actions. Tell us. It can be no worse than the torture of Rohan's Prince."

Faramir raised his head and looked dejectedly at Theodred, who stood up and gripped the back of the chair in which he had been sitting. Somehow he knew what Faramir would say even before the words passed his lips. The Prince of Rohan was now as sober as the first day of his life.

"I no longer can hide the truth. You know naught how heavy the burden has been to keep such a secret, and the more so since I have had to bear it alone. Theodred, I am sorry I lied to you. Father was the one who raped Eledwhen. He drugged her but she became aware before it was over. She would not speak of the crime because Father swore he would have her brother killed, which is why she fled the city. I think that whatever evil drove him to Eledwhen's bed that night is responsible for his actions since. I cannot imagine from what source his delusions spring. At times I felt he was repeating information told to him. But even were this true, it is not like Father to believe such obvious untruths." Faramir looked almost pleadingly at his uncle. "Who would tell Denethor that Theodred and I plot to kill our fathers to gain their kingdoms? What would be the purpose, and the gain?"

There was a heavy silence as each pondered Faramir's questions. Prince Imrahil finally spoke. "We must come upon Denethor unaware and force him to the Houses of Healing until we can sort this out. If he has to be physically restrained to keep him there, then so be it. Faramir will assume the duties of the Stewardship until Denethor is judged fit to rule, or until the Lord Boromir returns. If someone has gained this much influence over Denethor, we must find him as quickly as possible. The Lord Denethor is not an easy man to sway. What say you, Mithrandir?"

The wizard opened his mouth to speak, but Theodred's angry voice interrupted him. "I say chain him to the wall in his dungeons and give him a taste of his own insanity. I care not the why or wherefore of his actions, I demand vengeance. Do not think to paint the Steward as an innocent dupe in some complicated plot to thrust Minas Tirith into war with its allies. For if you do, you had best not count the Rohirrim amongst your friends, for Rohan will be satisfied with nothing less than the Steward's blood."

"Nay, my son. Such actions will lead to war, and such a war between Gondor and Rohan will profit no one but the Dark Lord." All eyes were drawn to the entrance to Faramir's chambers and the King who stood there cloaked in despair. Theoden swayed slightly and placed his hand against the doorframe to steady himself. Theodred rushed to his father and offered his hand. The old King's eyes narrowed as he saw the ugly red welts upon his son's body. "Who dared put the lash to the Prince of Rohan?"

"The same man who forced himself upon your daughter, and my sister. The Steward has sorely abused your children. Would you still defend him?"

Theoden King shook his grayed head. "I cannot defend a man who would rape an innocent child…were he in his right mind." Theoden rushed the last words as his son's eyes lit up eagerly. The father guessed (rightfully) that his son thought he was being given permission to carry out some form of retribution against the Steward. "However, something must be done about Denethor immediately. You have diagnosed the cancer, now you must root it out. Ignoring the problem will cripple the most powerful countries in Middle-earth." Turning to Faramir, he said softly. "What has become of my daughter? I thought to die of grief at her loss, but now that I know she lives, I would know where she is." Theodred began chuckling.

"She's off to visit your late Queen's kinfolk. I imagine she's halfway to Imladris by now…unless the Steward's eldest has been careless with his charge." Theodred frowned as he uttered the last words. He hated the thought of Eledwhen traveling alone with Boromir. Though he no longer thought of Denethor's son as a drunken rapist, still he worried about Gondor's Captain-General being able to withstand a horde of orcs.

* * * * * * * * *

The orcs and the much larger Uruk-hai had run southward, dragging their captive with them. Eledwhen was exhausted. The skin beneath the ropes was chafed and raw. Her legs ached from the unaccustomed physical activity. Although she was used to riding a horse for hours at a time, running for many miles used much different muscles and put unaccustomed demands upon her body.

Only two hours after her capture, the company came to a sudden halt. The trees had thinned and they were standing in a small clearing. The large creature who had claimed her barked orders in its abominable language. There was some grumbling among the ranks, but they obeyed him. He obviously was in charge. Eledwhen sank to the ground, too exhausted to stay on her feet another moment. Her muscles were screaming in agony.

As she sat with her head down upon her chest, a pair of huge iron-shod feet came into her vision. Eledwhen felt the creature's eyes upon her and her flesh crawled. "Pretty Human," it grunted in the Common Tongue. "Make good sport. Grishluk like soft woman flesh."

The Princess forced herself to meet its leering stare. She recognized the lust in those cruel yellow eyes. It was not that different from the look Denethor had worn the night he raped her. Let me die now, she thought miserably.

Grishluk turned to make certain the others were following his orders. He saw several of the larger orcs grouped together and staring at him and the girl. The Uruk stalked over to them and a fierce argument ensued over the division of the "spoils." Though they shouted and snarled in their own harsh tongue, Eledwhen knew she was the cause of the squabble. The heated glances cast her way, as well as the pushing and shoving of those engaged in the verbal fight, left no room for doubt. The debate was going nowhere and Grishluk became extraordinarily angry. He suddenly swooped up his scimitar and separated two orcs' bodies from their heads. "The Human is mine. Who dares challenge me?" he growled in the Common Speech. The rest of the company looked nervously at the two headless orcs. They grumbled under their breaths, but it was clear that the fight had been shocked out of them.

Uttering a fierce, war-like cry, Grishluk turned toward Eledwhen. She rushed to her feet and moved backward quickly, forgetting the guard who watched her every move. His laugh was ugly as he placed himself directly behind her, blocking her retreat. "You're lucky we don't eat you," he sneered.

Terrified beyond speech, the Princess frantically tried to run but was held firmly by her guard. The Captain moved to her in his halting, lumbering gait and gripped her arm. With one swift jerk, he threw her onto the ground. More of her body was bared as Grishluk fell upon her and began ripping her clothing, his huge clawlike hands raking her flesh. Blood seeped from the thin lines that traced the path of his nails like a road map across her body. She closed her eyes to shut out the sight of his yellow fangs and strange yellow eyes. Somehow, Eledwhen managed to collect her thoughts and direct a single plea for help toward Haldir: Please find me. I cannot stand this.

* * * * * * * * *

As the Elves of Lothlorien raced along the orc trail, Haldir stumbled and almost fell as Eledwhen's thoughts slammed against him like a blow. His senses were first assaulted by the overwhelmingly strong emotion of terror. Then he heard her voice. He shuddered, a physical reaction to her fear. Hold on, child. I am coming.

* * * * * * * * *

Grishluk used his knees to force her legs apart and his hands groped for the cord that kept his breeches up. Eledwhen decided she had only two choices: submit and allow herself to be raped, hoping that Haldir would eventually rescue her, or make Grishluk angry enough to kill her. She chose the latter.

Using all her strength, the Princess used both fists to hit Grishluk across the face. She found that her hands being bound at the wrists in front of her was actually an advantage, for she could strike with greater force. She continued to fight by gashing his face deeply with her nails. The Uruk captain howled in pain and fury, and Eledwhen took the opportunity to bring a knee into his groin. His roar of agony deafened her. Enraged by her unexpected resistance and the agony it caused, Grishluk struck her across the face with a backhanded blow. She tasted blood in her mouth, sweet and coppery. Instead of backing down as Grishluk expected, Eledwhen continued to kick, and even to bite him.

Losing his temper, the Uruk began to beat her with closed fists upon any part of her body he could make contact with. She felt at least one rib break and found drawing breath painful. Earlier, when Grishluk had fallen on top of her, he had placed his long saw-edged knife nearby; now Eledwhen twisted her body and attempted to reach it. Grishluk gave her another powerful backhanded blow to the side of her head and her vision darkened. No! If I pass out he will ravish me. Willing herself to remain conscious, Eledwhen continued her struggles. But by now, the captain had had enough foreplay. The more the girl fought, the more excited he became. He could barely contain himself. She had only succeeded in goading him into a lustful frenzy. He grunted at one of his companions to hold her down as he finally succeeded in untying the cord at his waist. His breeches came down as he mounted her.

Eledwhen redoubled her efforts to throw him off. Haldir's voice was a dim echo in her mind: Hold on, child. We are almost there. The Princess' reply was so dim the Elf could not catch it. Then his mind was filled with her screams, raw and ragged as though torn from her throat. Then he heard her screams in reality and knew they had found the orc band. As one, the archers loosed arrows from stout bows, killing any target they hit.

Haldir threw down his bow and began hand-to-hand combat with several of the smaller orcs. In one hand he held his razor sharp hunting knife; in the other he gripped a short dagger honed to a wicked edge. The heavy orcs were no match for the Elf, who moved like quicksilver.

Eledwhen gathered her remaining strength and bit down hard on Grishluk's right earlobe, nearly ripping it off as he jerked his head backward. He vented his rage and frustration by striking her repeatedly about her upper body. The Uruk that pinned Eledwhen to the ground was laughing, obviously enjoying his captain's discomfort. A flash of movement caused it to look up. Haldir was approaching rapidly, his fair face so fierce that the creature rose ungraciously and hastily retreated. Grishluk was not even aware that his companion had departed.

The Elf came up from behind, yanked Grishluk's head backward by the hair and slashed his throat with the dagger. His black blood gushed from the gaping wound, spraying Eledwhen and the ground around her. Haldir removed the heavy weight from her body and she turned on her side, retching blood and vomit.

Eledwhen was bloodied, bruised and torn. Weak with pain and embarrassed by her near nakedness, she brought her knees to her chest and closed her eyes tightly against the gray mist that surrounded her. Her hearing was still good and she thought she heard a horse whinny. Eward. Is that you? Did I only dream that you died? I am so sorry that my stubbornness caused you such suffering. Opening her eyes only a little, she thought she saw Boromir and Arod. I must be dreaming. The Galadrim took them into the Golden Wood. I wonder if this is what death is like?

She was shivering violently from the cold and the shock. Gradually the Princess became aware that someone was placing something warm over her. Haldir? Eledwhen reached out to him with her thoughts. He responded in words and she started badly; he was behind her and several feet away. Quickly she opened her eyes to see who had covered her and saw Boromir's gray, haggard face. "You were supposed to go with the Treepeople. How could you possibly be here?"

"The Elf has not been born who can outwit me," Boromir said solemnly, giving Haldir a scathing glance.

"For one so weak, he gave us a merry chase," Rumil said, emerging from the trees with his companion. "I am sorry, Brother. He took me by surprise and somehow managed to toss me off the horse. Had we been on Elven horses and not afoot, he would not have left us behind. How he managed to stay in the saddle is a mystery. I would not have given two loaves of lembas for his chances."

"I could not rely on Elves to save Eledwhen," Boromir said ungraciously. "It was easy tracking the orc band; even a half-blind child could have followed the trail. Surely you do not think that I would leave the woman I love to face danger alone?"

Haldir was seething inwardly. The Human had endangered his brother's life by taking a foolish risk. He cared nothing about what happened to Gondor's future Steward, but his family was dear to him. Haldir fixed Boromir with a hard stare. If looks could maim, the Man would have returned home to Gondor in his saddlebag. "For such a renowned captain and warrior, you make colossal errors in judgment. How you have managed to remain alive I will never understand."

Boromir stood up shakily. The ride to rescue Eledwhen had drained his remaining strength and he was conscious by sheer will power alone. "Why you arrogant, offensive, effeminate little…" Eledwhen's shaky voice stopped his tirade. Man and Elf turned their attention to her. "Please don't fight. I do not feel well. It hurts to breath and my head aches terribly. I think that thing broke my ribs."

Immediately Boromir and Haldir knelt beside the Princess. Haldir moved his hands to her sides to feel her ribs. "Keep your hands off of her, Elf!" Boromir commanded.

"Unless you are skilled in leechcraft, I suggest you let me tend her injuries. It is possible a broken rib punctured a lung. Can you not see the blood?" The Elf leaned over her, noting her shallow breathing. "Do you think you can ride, Princess? I can bind your chest to keep your ribs from causing any further damage, but I cannot know how extensive the injury unless I examine you." Seeing the panic on the girl's face, he nodded his understanding.

"I will hold her until we reach your city. I will allow only the Lady Galadriel to tend to her. Though I trust her no more than I do any other Elf, even in Gondor we have heard of her healing ways. And, too, she is female. My future wife has been too oft abused at the hands of her male companions."

Haldir's eyes narrowed and he bit his lip. "As you wish. I am certain the great Lord of Gondor knows what he is doing." Although his words were respectful, his tone was sarcastic. The Elves searched for arrows to replace the ones spent during the fight, while Boromir placed Eledwhen upon Arod and settled behind her. "Hurry. It is time we left," he snapped impatiently.

Haldir stiffened visibly and his brothers began to move toward the Man. "For Eledwhen's sake, we will ignore your rudeness," Haldir said aloud, then gave instructions to the rest of the Elven company silently. They turned once more toward the Golden Wood.



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12. Hold Fast

Chapter XII: Hold Fast

The march back to Lothlorien took longer than the original flight of the orcs. In deference to Eledwhen's condition, they moved slowly and avoided rough terrain where possible. Boromir was too tired to speak, which suited the Elves just fine. They found him both boorish and obnoxious. Rumil looked back at the Man as they walked and whispered to his brothers in their Silvan tongue, "I cannot imagine what she sees in him."

Haldir gave him a tight smile, then bent his thoughts to the entire Company. Perhaps we could manage to lose him in the Silverlode. All began laughing aloud and Boromir looked up sharply. He had momentarily dozed off, but the sound of their mirth awakened him.

"What is so funny, Elf?" he asked, his tone cross.

"Only a private joke," Haldir replied lightly, trying to stifle a broad grin. The three brothers exchanged secret smiles. Boromir frowned and mumbled something about Elves lacking manners. "We heard that," Haldir groused. Then all became silent as they hastened toward the Golden Wood.

* * * * * * * * *

The Company had just crossed Lorien's border when a shout brought them up short. Elven hands reached swiftly for weapons, but stilled as they recognized that the speaker was one of their kin. Haldir turned to address Boromir. "We have returned at last to my homeland. These are scouts sent to search for us. The Lady Galadriel is already aware of your injuries; here are two litters and some of our strongest to bear them. If you will hand me the Princess, my brother Orophin will help you dismount."

Boromir's answer was a disgruntled snort. "I am not so injured that I must be carried like an invalid. And Eledwhen is perfectly alright as she is." His rein hand strayed to his sword as though to reinforce his point. He was scowling.

"You are impossible to please! You argue incessantly while you should be caring for your future wife, who has grown worse with constant jostling from sitting on that horse. Let us carry her, at least, on a litter. I personally care naught for your suffering, but I cannot stand to feel hers." Haldir and the Man locked eyes in a contest of wills. Eledwhen moaned in pain, causing Boromir to finally relent and give his assent for her to be carried. He loved her too much to see her suffer needlessly.

Slowly he let her body slide down Arod's side into Haldir's waiting arms. "Easy!" Boromir shouted. "Do not handle her as though she is a sack of potatoes!"

Haldir would have made a scathing retort, but stopped himself. He could feel the Man's anguish over the girl's condition. "Your love for the Princess seems to be your only redeeming quality," Haldir said grudgingly. Gently he placed Eledwhen upon the litter and wrapped an Elven blanket tightly about her. The Elf then turned to scrutinize Boromir closely. The Man obviously was at the end of his strength, a state that would suit their purposes just fine. He would be much easier to deal with unconscious. "You will either allow yourself to be carried upon this litter, or you will be on your way to Rivendell alone. The choice is yours."

Boromir debated his choices before asking, "What of my horse? I will not leave him at the mercy of wild animals or orcs."

"He will be well taken care of. Now, if you have no further concerns, please lie down on this litter so we may begin our trek to Caras Galadon. Delay hurts the Princess further." Boromir dismounted stiffly. When his feet touched ground, he clutched the saddle to keep from falling. His head was spinning and he felt his stomach roll. Turning toward where he had last seen Haldir, he reached a hand out as though for help. Darkness enveloped him and he pitched forward.  



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13. At Long Last Love

Here you go. More Boromir. This chapter should be titled "Boromir vs. Galadriel." But this is not about a boxing match or pro-wrestling. I hope you find answers to some of your questions. For movie buffs, there are snippets of dialogue from a very popular movie or two. I'm sure someone will recognize them. I am not using any of this for profit, etc., etc.

 

Chapter XIII: At Long Last Love

Eledwhen was walking through a deep wood of gigantic mallorn trees. The great gray trees were of mighty girth and indeterminate height, with thick trunks that extended far above the ground before branching off. Each graceful branch was alive with leaves that gleamed like pale gold in the filtered sunlight. She felt a cold breeze upon her face, but did not shiver. Eledwhen felt strangely warm and immune to the elements.

The fragrant grass surrounding her was a vibrant green and studded with small golden flowers shaped like stars. Somehow she knew she was looking at her mother's namesake, the lovely elanor. For the first time since she had entered the city of Minas Tirith, the Princess of Rohan felt at peace. Mother, I am home.

The images of the Golden Wood slowly faded. Eledwhen thought she heard the sound of someone softly weeping. Was the warm wetness on her arm teardrops? With a great effort, she opened a sleep-encrusted eye and saw Boromir sitting in a chair by her bedside. He was holding her hand, his head bowed, and tears were falling slowly down his cheeks.

"My Lord, why do you weep?" Her voice was no more than a hoarse croak. Boromir slowly lifted his head and blinked rapidly. Eledwhen placed a hand to his face and gently wiped away the tears.

"You came back to me," he whispered, wonder in his voice.

"Did you believe I would not? There is no power in Middle-earth that could keep us apart. I shall always be with you." The Princess closed her eyes and slept.

Boromir sensed another presence in the room and quickly looked up. The Lady Galadriel stood just within the arched opening to the room. She, too, was weeping, though her tears were bitter. After a few moments, she motioned for Boromir to follow her. He watched her easy movements, as graceful as a swan, as she left. He touched Eledwhen's cheek tenderly, then slowly rose.

* * * * * * * * *

Galadriel's gaze was stern and unwavering, and Boromir could tell she was angry over some matter. To help deflect that anger, he spoke in his most courtly manner. "I thank you again for my healing and for your most gracious hospitality." He gave a deep and grave bow as he spoke, then dared a glance at the Elf's unnaturally white face. She was not smiling. In fact, her suppressed fury reminded him of his father. Boromir sighed inwardly and steeled himself for the confrontation. For the first time since entering Lothlorien, he felt on solid ground. Displeasure from an elder was something with which he was well familiar.

"Twice you carelessly allowed the Princess Eledwhen to be attacked. I hold you accountable for her injuries. There also is the even graver wrong of her rape committed within your city. Only because Eledwhen does not want you to know the identity of the Man do I not now call you to answer for that outrage. However, we shall speak of it further once the Princess is well enough to tell you the truth herself."

Boromir closed his eyes. He could not look upon the Elven Queen. Her wrath was washing over him like a physical assault. His own feelings of guilt caused him to remain silent. Finally he recovered his composure, and the years of training under his father's tutelage gave him the courage to meet her gaze. He decided to try a maneuver he often used to defuse a potentially explosive situation. It worked on most people (though rarely on Denethor). He changed the subject and said as humbly as he could, "Yet you were gracious enough to expedite my healing. I have not felt this well in many a year. I feel sound in both body and soul, and I thank you."

The Lady of the Galadrim frowned. She knew well when she was being manipulated and she didn't like it, especially when the manipulator was a Man who had lived a mere 40 years. She was furious and having difficulty maintaining her self-control. Eledwhen loves him, so there must be something here to like. Galadriel looked at Boromir speculatively, searching for whatever had drawn the Princess to him.

Under her intense scrutiny, Boromir flinched as though he had been struck. It is as though she can see into my soul, he thought uncomfortably.

I have no desire to make windows into men's souls. Boromir started as the words entered his mind unbidden and wholly unexpected. His eyes widened and he took two steps backward, one hand making an age-old sign against evil.

The Lady Galadriel threw back her head and laughed loudly at such a superstitious display by the Man betrothed to her granddaughter. More than ever do I regret that Elanor followed her husband's wish that the Princess Eledwhen not be told her mother's parentage. The girl should have been given a proper elvish upbringing.

Boromir watched the Lady's face anxiously. It seemed that some of her anger had dissipated. He wanted to ask a question that had been preying on his mind, but did not dare until her mood lightened. "Ask your question, son of Denethor," she said solemnly. "I do not bite."

Taking a deep breath, he asked hesitantly, "Eledwhen, was she…" He stopped, a frown creasing his handsome features. "I mean, did the orc…" Again he stopped, as though unsure how to phrase the question, or was afraid of the answer.

"No, my Lord Boromir. That vile creature did not rape Eledwhen. Though it did break two of her ribs, one of which punctured a lung. Plus the blows to her head caused a concussion. Thank goodness Haldir has impeccable timing or it would have been much more difficult to heal her hurts. It is fortunate she did not have to pin her hopes for rescue upon you, for things would have ended very badly indeed." The Lady Galadriel once more sounded extremely angry.

Boromir flushed a deep red. He was both embarrassed and upset that another had saved his fiancée not once, but twice. His feelings of inadequacy were at the root of his rude behavior toward Haldir and the other Elves. They did what he should have, and his failure was eating at him like a cancer. Still, why the blazes do they all have to act so bloody superior? "Because we are," she answered lightly, a smug smile creasing her fair face.

"If you dislike me so much, then why did you go to the trouble of healing me?"

"It was actually Eledwhen who saved your life, if you remember."

Boromir looked uncomfortable. "I almost died."

"Yes, I know."

He looked at her askance. "How did she save me from dying? What sorcery did she use?"

The Lady Galadriel laughed heartily. "My dear boy. We are Elves, not wizards. We do not use sorcery. Call it magic, if you must give a name to it. Part of the answer to your question is that Eledwhen is my granddaughter."

Boromir's stunned expression struck the Lady as comical and she laughed yet again. "I do not understand," he said. "She is the daughter of Theoden, King of Rohan. Never in his right mind would he have married an Elf!"

"Careful, my Lord. You tread on dangerous ground." Her voice was silky, yet dangerous. "It is unwise to insult your hosts, especially when they be of the Galadrim."

Realizing his momentary lapse in sound judgment, Boromir strove to gain less slippery ground. "How could Eledwhen have kept me from dying? What power does she possess that she can cheat death?"

"Are you afraid of dying, Man of Gondor?"

Boromir sighed. "I knew a soldier who once said that death smiles on us all. All a Man can do is smile back. No, I do not fear death."

Galadriel shook her head. "You Humans have so many quaint sayings. Tell me, did your friend smile at his own death?"

Boromir hung his head and winced painfully. "I do not know, for I was not by his side when he fell at Osgiliath." Both were silent for a moment before Galadriel continued. Her anger had been somewhat abated by his obvious suffering over the horrible fate of so many of his Men. When she spoke, her tone was much kinder.

"To answer your question fully…my granddaughter possesses empathic abilities. She has the rare gift of being able to absorb another's pain, or injury. But she put herself at great risk by taking you from death's door. She could have died with you. Now we have spoken long enough. I must speak with my Lord Celeborn. You may return to Eledwhen's room, if you so desire."

Before he could answer, the Lady of the Golden Wood glided silently from his sight.

* * * * * * * * *

The second time Eledwhen awoke she realized that she was lying on a soft bed in an airy room darkened by coverings across what she assumed were windows. She moved her head to the right and saw Boromir asleep in a chair. He looked exhausted.

"He has barely left your side since Haldir carried you here," a gentle voice said from someplace within the room.

Eledwhen turned her head quickly, searching for the owner of that melodic voice. A very tall Elf, clad wholly in white, moved gracefully out of the shadows. She was equally grave and beautiful. Eledwhen saw long hair of deep gold and a pair of glorious blue eyes. She was speechless, unable to do naught but stare into those incredible eyes, as keen as a lance in the starlight.

"Welcome home, daughter of Elanor. Long have I desired to see you, but was denied by your father. Though I deeply regret the tragic circumstances of our first meeting, I am overjoyed that you are here."

"You look so much like my mother. Who are you?" Eledwhen whispered the question, though she knew the answer before it was given. 





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14. Awakenings

Meanwhile, back at Minas Tirith… I finally return to the White City. Parts of this have been rewritten and make the story better than when I first put it up. But since FanFiction.Net has been down so long, very few people have actually gotten to read it.

Chapter XIV: Awakenings

Denethor sat alone in his secret room within the White Tower and contemplated the palantir before him. The dark whispers in his mind had receded, leaving him feeling adrift and oddly out-of-sorts. The Steward strove vainly to recall precisely what he had done these past few days since the Council, but could not quite call events into his consciousness. He felt extremely tired and very, very ancient.

Gondor's twenty-sixth ruling Steward shut his eyes and fought against the urge to weep. In the deepest recesses of his brain, he knew he was losing control of both his city and his sanity. And to make matters worse (if they could be worse), the palantir refused to show him where Boromir was or how he fared. Somehow, he must cling to the hope that his eldest son and heir remained alive and well.

Tired of sitting and suddenly restless, Denethor rose stiffly and walked to the window. His eyes were drawn eastward toward Mordor and to where he knew Barad-Dur rose like a festering sore upon the land. He felt defeated and utterly without hope. What is the use in continuing to fight that which is invincible? The Dark Lord's minions grow in numbers and strength daily, while our people die with no heirs to replace them.

Gondor's only hope was to enlist the cooperation of the Rohirrim. But Sauron's forces had set upon the proud warriors of Rohan as savagely as they had the soldiers of Gondor, and the King had refused to send his men to shore up Gondor's failing military might. It was the King's lack of response to Denethor's missives for military aid that had prompted the Steward to seek a union through his son's marriage to the Princess Eledwhen. Theoden at first had sent terse refusals without explanations as to why, and Denethor had given up the idea as a lost cause. Then, out of the blue, a messenger had arrived with a letter bearing the King of Rohan's seal and an acceptance of the proposal of marriage. Denethor had been stunned at the sudden reversal of fortune and immediately sent his own messengers with gifts for the Princess and her family.

Now all his carefully laid plans lay in ruins and he could not remember why. It was as though the past few days were nothing but a dream which dissipates into thin air upon awakening. He knew he had acted irrationally and alienated Theoden King and his son, but could not grasp what it was he had done. He contemplated returning to his chambers and sending for his son, Faramir. He could not remember speaking to him since the Council. Have I been ill? It is as though my mind and my thoughts are not my own to control. I must speak with Faramir and learn the truth of what has been happening within Minas Tirith.

Denethor turned toward the door but froze when he saw a faint red glow emanate from the palantir, as though a slumbering dragon awakened. He moved haltingly toward it, suddenly fearful of what he would see. A voice deep within the recesses of his mind urged him to turn away and leave immediately, but long years of wrestling with the Seeing Stone of Numenor had bound him to it and he was trapped. As the Steward drew nearer he began to see a great lidless eye form in the palantir's center. The eye was rimmed with fire; the pupil was glazed and as yellow as a cat's eye -- both watchful and intent. The black slit of its pupil opened and within there was nothing. Denethor fought to withdraw but was held captive by that fiery gaze. What is it you wish me to do? The answer to his question was so vile that the Steward snapped back violently, uttering a wild cry of denial. The red glow within the room began to pulse hotly and the two rulers fought a contest of wills.

* * * * * * * * *

Within Faramir's chambers, the old wizard sat before the hearth smoking some of his beloved Southfarthing weed. He was deep in thought. Theoden King had fallen asleep in a chair on the other side of the fireplace, while Faramir and Prince Theodred sharpened their weapons. The latter had stopped drinking and was preparing to fight his way out of the White City.

The Prince of Dol Amroth stood gazing out the window at Ecthelion's Tower. A bright flash of red light caught his attention and he stared as it continued to gain intensity. "Mithrandir, come here quickly." Receiving no answer, Imrahil whirled around. Faramir and Theodred were looking at him with questioning expressions. Theoden King, roused from his slumber, stood up slowly and joined Imrahil at the window. The wizard remained oblivious. Prince Imrahil frowned and snapped impatiently, "Faramir, rouse Mithrandir and all of you come here now!"

Hearing the urgency in his uncle's voice, Faramir moved swiftly to the wizard and called his name several times, then shook him by one shoulder until his gaze focused upon him. "What? Why do you disturb me?" he asked irritably.

"Mithrandir, come here and tell me what you see. There is something strange happening within the White Tower." Hearing the palpable strain in Imrahil's voice, the old wizard pulled himself from the chair and strode heavily to stand beside the Prince. "What do you make of that?" Imrahil asked.

Faramir had moved to the window as well and was trying to make sense of what he was seeing. The light was emanating from a room beneath the summit of the tower. He knew the layout well and had never come across such a room. "What do you think it is, Mithrandir?" he asked quietly.

"I think we have discovered the cause of your father's unexplainable behavior. Tell me, does the Lord Steward possess one of the great Seeing Stones?" Gandalf Grayhame noted Faramir's puzzled expression, then began moving toward the door, stopping only to grab his staff. "I must go to the tower and confront Denethor alone. If what I suspect is true, Gondor's peril is far worse than I at first thought. Prince Imrahil, collect your swan-knights and station them about the tower. The Lord Denethor is not to be permitted to leave under any circumstances. Faramir, come with me. The members of the Tower Guard will obey you. And as for you, Prince Theodred, stay here and remain out of trouble. This is an internal matter that must be handled by men of Gondor. Unless you would draw Rohan into war against an ally, you will stay here with your father."

Mithrandir threw a quick glance at the old King, who nodded solemnly. "I will keep my son by my side. I wish you success." Without a backward glance, the three hurried from the antechamber.

* * * * * * * * *

The Guards of the Tower did not notice the arrival of Faramir and Mithrandir, so in awe were they of the brilliant light display spewing forth from the uppermost room. They looked startled to see the Lord Faramir's sudden appearance, and even more so as Mithrandir moved to the tower's entrance. One began to withdraw his sword, but Faramir stopped him with a sharp command. "Our orders from the Steward are that no one enters, upon pain of death," Beregond protested. His father had been Captain of the Tower Guard and he, too, hoped to one day attain that position.

"From now on, you take orders from me and on one else. My father has become ill and is not himself. Until he recovers, I will assume the duties of the Stewardship." Faramir held each man in his stern gaze, searching for any hint of resistance. Two of the Tower Guards stood with hands upon the hilts of their swords. They had been in Denethor's service for more than three decades and were unsure what to do.

"You may be my lord's son, but I swore an oath of fealty to serve him. I am not certain that we can ignore the Steward's orders on your say so alone." The man who spoke was named Bahirund. In his youth he had been a daunting warrior and had been rewarded for his loyal service with his current post. Bahirund did not take his responsibilities lightly.

Faramir studied him intently, trying to decide how best to handle him. Only once had they fought in the same battle, but that one time was enough for Faramir to know Bahirund would fight to the death were he not convinced of his liege lord's inability to rule. "You have known me all my life and must realize that I would never do anything to harm my father or my country. And I remind you that you swore an oath of loyalty to Gondor as well. I call upon you to now honor that oath. The best way you can now serve the Steward is to see that he gets the care he needs. We only wish to take him to the Houses of Healing. Will you hinder me in this endeavor?"

Bahirund and the other guard exchanged uneasy looks. Seeing their indecision, Mithrandir moved forward and held each in turn with a steely gaze. "If you draw your weapons, you will plunge Gondor into civil war. Can you live with the blood of your countrymen on your hands? Think well before you act. You both have children and grandchildren. Should you fall needlessly in battle now, who will protect them when Mordor's forces come knocking at the Great Gate?"

Bahirund removed his hand a few inches from his sword and swallowed hard. "Loath am I to challenge a countryman or the son of my Lord Steward. Yet I do not like the idea of deserting my post."

"You will not be forsworn if you aid us in our efforts to force Denethor to seek medical attention for his illness." All eyes turned to the speaker as he strode purposefully toward the men in front of the tower and came to rest beside Faramir. The soldiers of the Tower Guard eyed his swan-knights nervously and hands strayed back to weapons. Prince Imrahil frowned. "You all know me and, therefore, know that I have always acted in the best interests of Gondor. I command you -- nay, I entreat you -- to help us help the Steward. There already has been fighting within the White City. Are you prepared to spill blood within its Citadel?"

Bahirund finally moved his hand away from his sword. He turned and nodded to the other guards and ordered them to stand down. Turning his grim visage upon the Steward's son, he said, "Captain Faramir, we are yours to command as long as our liege lord remains incapacitated." Faramir sighed inwardly and made a slight bow toward the soldiers.

"You have my undying gratitude. What you do this night shall spare our people much unnecessary suffering." Seeing that the situation was in hand, Faramir turned his attention to the pulsating glow from the tower.

"I actually am surprised to see you, my lord, for rumor has it that you were poisoned by Prince Theodred and on your deathbed." Beregond looked dubiously at the Captain. "You seem well enough."

Faramir chuckled wryly. "Do not always believe what others tell you. The rumor of my poisoning is just that, a rumor. There is not one scintilla of truth in it. Theodred and I are the best of friends, and I have never been healthier in my life. I also say that all of the rumors swirling around these past few weeks have been fabrications and a result of my father's worsening condition. Mithrandir, Prince Imrahil and myself will try our best to restore order within the White City."

Beregond shook his shaggy head slowly, then looked up again. "What devilry is this, my Lord Captain?" he asked, waving a hand toward the tower.

"I know not, but I fear greatly for my father. We most all hold fast to the belief that Mithrandir will be able to help him. I suspect that there is some great evil at work." Bathed in the red light showering down upon them, Faramir's fair features seemed awash in blood. Beregond made the sign against evil.

* * * * * * * * *

Satisfied that the guards would obey Denethor's son and the Prince of Dol Amroth, the wizard began the nearly 300-foot ascent to the top of the tower. Mithrandir barely spared a glance as he passed the small dining areas for the guards and the storerooms situated on the tower's lower level. He was bent upon reaching its highest point, where he knew he would find the Lord Steward.

Mithrandir slowly wound his way up the stair through the upper levels, a feeling of dread growing the higher he climbed. This will not be easy. I only hope I can pry the Steward from the Dark Lord's clutches with his mind in one piece.

Finally reaching the uppermost level, the old wizard stopped to catch his breath and to wait for his racing heartbeat to slow. He peered down the dark hall to where a red light spilled across the flagstones and strained to see the origination point of the light, which was then suddenly gone. He could see no doorway. Mithrandir held his staff high and in front of him as he studied the walls. It must be here somewhere, he muttered. The room is clearly visible from the ground.

A draft of air caught Mithrandir's attention and he stopped, puzzled. There was only a wall, yet he felt the stir of air. Then he cursed as he realized he had almost missed the door, which had been cleverly hidden behind a fake panel. Few would have ever noticed the hidden room. Obviously what Denethor intended, Mithrandir thought grimly. He stood for a few moments, going over in his mind what he would do should he find what he feared. The die is cast and all players are in motion. What we do now shall echo in eternity.

* * * * * * * * *

Mithrandir cautiously opened the door to Denethor's secret room. The red glow had almost entirely dissipated and the room was cast into near total darkness. Only a muted pulsating glow from deep within the palantir lit the room. Once the old wizard's eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could make out pieces of furniture and assorted books piled high upon two old wood desks. Upon a chair sat the Steward, his face in his hands, his shoulders slumped and shaking with the force of his sobs.

"There is nothing you can do here, wizard." Mithrandir took several steps backward, searching for the source of the deep voice, for it was not Denethor who had spoken. "You are too late, Gandalf Grayhame. I have broken the Steward's will and he is now mine to command. I no longer will have to fight to rule Gondor. See my puppet!" Denethor's head snapped up crisply as though tied to a string that had been pulled abruptly. He slowly rose from the chair. Mithrandir watched in stunned horror at the grotesque scene before him. Denethor's dark eyes were glazed and unseeing, and entirely rimmed in red. His face was a sickly shade of gray, and his once strong frame looked withered and decayed. He looked as close to the walking dead as a living man could. The Steward stood silently as though waiting for a command.

"Let him go," the wizard demanded forcefully. "You have caused enough devilry these past few weeks. It is time to let loose your victim and retreat within Barad-Dur. I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. I shall not permit you to destroy Gondor and Rohan. Do you foolishly believe that I cannot see your foul purpose here, or what hand has manipulated the Steward's actions? I am only surprised that Denethor has so completely fallen under your spell."

An evil laugh filled with hatred erupted from within the depths of the palantir. The sound filled the small room and echoed loudly off the walls. Some of the men below cringed in fear of that dread sound. Captain Faramir gripped his sword hilt tightly and looked at his uncle. A fetid wind began to blow from the East. It soon gained gale force and the soldiers had to scamper into the tower for protection.

"I am going up to help Mithrandir," Prince Imrahil declared. Faramir put a restraining hand upon his arm and shook his head.

"No. Did not the wizard order us to stay below? I feel it would not be wise for you to place yourself at risk when it is uncertain whether or not my father will return to us as the Steward of Gondor." Imrahil stood silent, his sea-gray eyes the only part of his body in motion. He was thinking things through, his keen mind sorting and evaluating events at hand.

"You are right, of course," the Prince finally said. "It is best not to meddle in the affairs of wizards or the supernatural. And I believe with all my being that Denethor has been beset by demons, or at least one demon. We must wait and see this through."

* * * * * * * * *

Mithrandir gripped his staff tightly and waited for the laughter to subside. A glint caught his eye and he looked sharply toward where the Steward stood. He no longer was motionless, but moving toward the wizard with a short-bladed dagger in his hand. Mithrandir called Denethor's name loudly several times, but the man was impervious to all but the silent commands of the Dark Lord.

The wizard moved with surprising alacrity for one with so many years behind him. He scooped up the palantir and held it firmly in both hands. "Be gone, I command thee!" Denethor stopped his forward movement and remained lifeless once more as Mithrandir and Sauron fought for control. The wizard hoped his nemesis was too drained from his mental battle with the Steward to sustain another protracted struggle.

Mithrandir felt himself being sucked downward into a violent maelstrom. As he fell, helplessly twisting and turning, he looked deep into the center of the vortex and felt a sickening sensation in the pit of his stomach. Then the air about him became exceedingly hot and he felt as though the heat was searing the flesh from his body. I must not lose this battle or Gondor will be lost, he thought, struggling to control his panic.

The old wizard braced himself mentally to stop his downward spiral. He would have to force Sauron to expend as much energy as possible, or he would never be able to best him. It must have cost him dearly to maintain control over Denethor, for the Steward is not an easy man to manipulate. Gambling that the Dark Lord was nearing his limits, Gandalf Grayhame began to fight a ferocious battle of wills. He called his opponent's name loudly again and again, until the air began to pulsate and crackle with the energy being generated. Mithrandir's hair literally stood on end and his long, gray beard felt as though it was trying to pull free of his face. Then his body felt sharp pings of pain, like the stings of a thousand bees. He cried out and heard Sauron's mocking laughter fill his head.

Foolish, foolish wizard. Do you really believe you have the power to stop me? I will destroy your mind and send you back to wander in darkness until your body becomes as useless as your mind. Mithrandir let thoughts of defeat feed the Dark Lord's vanity and waited for an opening. He doubted not that there would be only one. As he felt Sauron's essence probing his mind, the wizard prepared to launch his counterattack. Wait, wait. Almost. Now have I got you! Mithrandir drew the Dark Lord's essence into himself, then expelled it into the void with all the strength he could muster. The vortex became unstable and lightening flashed all about him like tongues of white fire. A fierce scream pierced the now boiling atmosphere. You deceived me! You are not weak and helpless at all!

Mithrandir chuckled mirthlessly. You forget that all warfare is based upon deception.

Sauron's voice sounded feeble and very far away. You win this skirmish, but you shall not win the war. Suddenly there was the sound of a hard snap and a brilliant flash of light as the wizard gained control of the palantir. The red light drained from the Seeing Stone, and Mithrandir was once more standing in the tower's secret room. Hearing a loud thud, he looked up sharply. The Steward had crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

* * * * * * * * *

Faramir and his uncle rushed to relieve Mithrandir of the burden that he carried. "You must take the Lord Denethor immediately to the Houses of Healing. Leave someone with him at all times, and post guards at his door. We can take no chances, for he has been under the control and influence of the Dark Lord himself. I do not know if his mind is his own."

Faramir looked anxiously upon his father's still form. "Are you certain he lives?" he asked doubtfully.

"Aye, but he has withdrawn far from us and we must fight to bring him back. Faramir, stay with your father until we are certain of his fate. Prince Imrahil and I will go to the High Court and hold council. We must piece together events of the past weeks and see what other mischief may be afoot."

Bahirund and two other Guards of the Tower took hold of the Steward and carefully began carrying him toward the fifth circle, where the Houses of Healing were located. Prince Imrahil instructed three of his knights to go with them, making it clear he was placing them under the Lord Faramir's command. Turning to Mithrandir, he said, "We must meet with Theoden King and his son and explain everything. Denethor has brought both nations to the brink of war and we must do what we can to set all to rights."

* * * * * * * * *

Considering what Denethor had put his children through, Theoden was extremely reasonable during the briefing with Prince Imrahil and Mithrandir. He seemed actually relieved that no action would be necessary against Gondor. Prince Theodred, however, was still fuming over the Steward's rape of his sister.

"I do not care if Denethor is as mad as a March hare. No one put a knife to his throat and forced him to rape Eledwhen. I say he must answer for that crime." Theodred met each man's eyes, his gaze challenging them to speak against him. His eyes were bleary and bloodshot from lack of sleep and too much ale.

"You belong in bed, Prince," said Imrahil kindly. "It is late and we all need sleep. It will be easier to decide what to do in the light of morning. Please, make no rash decisions this night." Saying that, he turned his questioning gaze upon the King of Rohan, who was biting his lower lip, deeply in thought.

"As a father, I want retribution. As the King of Rohan, I want peace between our two nations. But as a man, I would demand justice for the dishonor brought upon my daughter and for her suffering. I will have some satisfaction or no alliance shall be forthcoming." Theoden's tone left no room for doubt that he was prepared to sunder the relationship between Gondor and the Rohirrim.

Mithrandir finally spoke. "The Steward raped your daughter while under the influence of the Dark Lord. Of this I have no doubt. Sauron has been manipulating Denethor's actions these past few weeks in the hope that war would erupt within the White City itself, or that Rohan and Gondor would lay waste to each other's lands. Either scenario would end in Sauron's triumph without the sacrifice of a single member of his army. It is frightening how close his plan came to succeeding."

Theoden's face remained hard during the wizard's comments. Plainly, he was not mollified by the inspiration behind the Steward's actions. The Prince of Dol Amroth looked sympathetically at the King. He, too, had a daughter whom he loved dearly. Imrahil knew he would tear any man apart who touched her against her will. "I have no doubts either that the Steward acted under the influence of the Dark Lord. I understand how you must feel, Theoden, for I have a young daughter. But I also understand that, for us, a father's grief must be weighed against a ruler's responsibilities. We are not permitted to act as ordinary men because we carry the burden of our two great countries upon our shoulders. At the end of the day, we must do what is right for our people. All are doomed if we do not heal this rift."

Theoden raised his watery blue eyes and stared intently at Prince Imrahil. His features formed slowly into a sad smile. "I cannot fault your wisdom or your logic. For now, it is enough to know that my daughter lives. I must trust that Gondor's heir will take good care of her, wherever they are. Come, Theodred, it is time we returned home." 



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15. A Man for All Seasons

I had a lot of fun writing this. I hope you find it as amusing reading as I do. Once more, I am not using these characters or this story for profit, etc. I have followed Tolkien's description of Lorien pretty closely. Why mess with success?

 

Chapter XV: A Man for All Seasons

"I am Galadriel."

Eledwhen smiled broadly. She loved the way the Elf glided slowly to her bedside, as though floating on air. "You are my mother's mother."

"Yes, child, I am your grandmother. It is good to finally meet you." Galadriel was positively beaming. If not for a slight crease between her eyebrows, she would have been the total picture of bliss.

Eledwhen sensed that her grandmother was mildly agitated. "Are you angry with me? Have I done something wrong?"

"No, child, I am not angry with you. Why would you think so?"

"I sense that you are displeased about something." Eledwhen glanced askance at the Man sitting in the chair and lowered her voice. "Is it Boromir?"

Galadriel looked speculatively at her granddaughter. "You are very perceptive. Yes, child, I am angry with the Lord Boromir, but we should not speak of it now, for you are still too ill."

"Please don't be mad at Boromir. This wasn't his fault. He was too weak to fight and I insisted that I be the one to distract the orcs." Eledwhen's tone was plaintive. She seemed much younger than her 18 years.

"There is more to it than that, but we most definitely will not speak of it now. I do not want you fretting over this. You need rest and sleep." The Lady Galadriel bent over the girl and kissed her lightly on her forehead. The princess went immediately to sleep. As she straightened up, the Elf cast her gaze upon Boromir. I will not allow you to marry my granddaughter. I lost my daughter to a mortal; I shall not lose Eledwhen. The Man stirred uncomfortably, a frown on his face, as though he had heard her thoughts in his sleep.

* * * * * * * * *

"I tell you that I will not allow this marriage. Eledwhen is in Lothlorien and I am Queen here." The Lady Galadriel and her husband, Lord Celeborn, were having a heated discussion. Galadriel was pacing restlessly (but gracefully). "Do not tell me that you are in favor of her marrying that warrior!"

Celeborn shook his head slowly, a slight smile on his fair face. "My love, all of her people are warriors. Had she never been betrothed to Boromir or come to Lorien, she would have married whichever Rohirric warrior had the best lineage. They mate their daughters like their horses. That she is pledged to the heir of Gondor makes little difference as to her prospects."

"You mean her mortal prospects. I would have her remain here and learn her Elven heritage. That Gondorian boor will never allow her to spend any time with her maternal grandparents and you know it. I will nip this romance in the bud before things get out of hand. She will not be returning with him to Minas Tirith."

The Lord Celeborn nodded. "Of course, not. She is my granddaughter, too, and I will not permit her to come within a hundred leagues of Gondor's Steward. The Man should be placed on a spit and roasted alive for what he did to Eledwhen."

Galadriel smiled disarmingly at her husband, the way she always did when he was seeing things her way. Gliding to his side, she wrapped a slender arm around one of his and stared lovingly into his eyes. "You are always so wise, my Lord. Shall you break the news to Boromir, or shall I?"

"Hmmm. Perhaps we should speak with Eledwhen before saying anything to her betrothed. If we do not handle this properly, she may defy us and take off after him. I do not see us keeping her a prisoner, no matter how gilded the cage." He lifted one eyebrow regally as he said the last. He was well familiar with his wife's cunning wiles, and though he loved her dearly, there were some traits she possessed he most definitely did not like. Her ability to manipulate almost anyone was one of those traits.

The Lady Galadriel frowned petulantly. She did not like being stalemated. "All right, my love. I shall wait until Eledwhen is well enough to speak with. I suppose she should have something to say about her future. But I am certain she will see it my (here she coughed lightly to cover her slight slip of the tongue) our way once we have explained the facts to her. After all, she has only known the Man slightly more than a month! How could she possibly be in love with him?"

"She is a teen-age girl, and one raised as a mortal. I hear they are highly impressionable at that age. But you are correct, of course. Given time, she will cleave to her own. Blood always tells. But I warn you, Galadriel. Do not try to force your opinions upon our granddaughter. If you do, she will fight you and you will lose her to the mortal. She must believe it is her own desire to remain with us. Do you remember why our daughter, Elanor, left to marry the King of Rohan?"

Galadriel moved away from him angrily. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest and her eyes blazed. "After all these years you still blame me for that marriage! The Valar know that I tried to prevent her from throwing away her life. But would she listen? No! She insisted on following that handsome warrior king back to Rohan. We should have left him on our border for the orcs to finish off. I will never forgive Haldir for bringing him here for healing. Him and his strays!"

The Lord Celeborn placed a slender hand to his face, trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile. Galadriel bristled and moved mere inches from his face. "And while we are on the subject of Haldir, he is at fault yet again for bringing Boromir to our border."

"You did not have to allow him entry. You are the one who sent the litter for him."

"How could I not? Eledwhen was extremely ill and I could not risk upsetting her. But if Haldir had managed to lose him on the way…"

Celeborn finally lost control and laughed out loud. The sight of his wife worked into a royal tizzy was too comical for words. He had not seen her like this since Theoden King had sought healing for his life-threatening injuries. The King of Rohan and his eored had been pursuing a large band of orcs and Uruk-hai across the Wold. They had ridden full speed into an ambush at Lorien's southernmost border and all had perished except Theoden. "History does have a funny way of repeating itself, my love."

Galadriel shook her head. "I do not see how you can laugh. This is not amusing! If she follows him to Rivendell and then returns to Minas Tirith…" Galadriel smiled mischievously as an idea began to blossom in her mind. "She can remain here to finish her convalescence while Gondor's heir completes his mission to Imladris. Why did I not think of this sooner? Of course, it is the perfect solution. He will be months returning and, by that time, she will have forgotten him. I'm sure this 'love' she feels for him is nothing more than a passing infatuation."

She went to her husband and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "You always know just what to do. I am so glad I came to speak with you." Almost purring with happiness, the Lady of the Golden Wood glided from the room. Celeborn was left shaking his head and wondering how he had put up with her all these years. He had dwelt in the West since the days of dawn and she had lived with him for many more years uncounted. Never a dull moment, he thought. Not a one.

* * * * * * * * *

Boromir had been convinced to take a short tour of Lorien "for his health." He was certain that the Lady Galadriel had some other purpose behind her suggestion, since he was convinced she cared not a fig for his wellbeing. But he had to grudgingly admit that Lorien was incredibly beautiful. He was standing upon a wide lawn accented by a shimmering fountain. Since it was night, the fountain was lit by silver lamps that swung from the boughs of trees. The water fell into a basin of silver, from which a white stream spilled. Boromir looked back at the south side of the lawn from which he had come. A mighty tree with a great, smooth bole may be considered home for the Galadrim, but he hated heights.

He could not remember the journey to his room, but on the way down he had noted the many flets that served as floors. The white ladder was, he supposed, their idea of stairs. How the blazes can anyone live in a tree? It is not natural! Boromir shook his head. Even the wide talan with its enormous house did not make him feel comfortable. They've even got a mallorn tree in the center of their home. Elves! I must get Eledwhen away from here as soon as she is well enough to travel. I don't want her getting any Elvish ideas in that pretty head of hers. I feel in my bones that the Lady Galadriel will be a bad influence.




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16. False Hope

Chapter XVI: False Hope

Boromir wandered aimlessly through Lorien, deep in thought. He felt a sense of urgency, a feeling that time was slipping by much too quickly and he needed to resume his journey to Imladris. He was torn between the desire to wait until Eledwhen was well enough to go with him, and the desire to leave her safely behind with her grandparents. Only a nagging fear that he would never see her again if he chose the latter course kept him from leaving immediately. If I take her with me, more harm may come to her. Can I, in good conscious, expose her to more dangers? It would be selfish of me to put her life in peril to satisfy my own desire to be near her. Boromir sighed deeply and became aware of his surroundings again. A slight movement nearby caused him to whirl around and place a hand upon the dagger at his belt. He relaxed as he saw Haldir.

"You have nothing to fear within Lorien's borders," the Elf said gently, moving to stand before the Man.

"What is it you want?" For once, Boromir's tone was neither challenging nor angry.

Haldir smiled, recognizing the change in the Man's demeanor. "I was curious as to how you fare. Are you well?"

Boromir cocked his head to the side and studied Haldir closely. Sensing no hidden meaning, he relaxed. "Aye, well enough, thank you. The Lady Galadriel was very gracious to heal me. I have regained much of my strength."

"Then you will be leaving us soon?" Haldir's tone was just a tad too hopeful and Boromir bristled.

"Are you trying to get rid of me, too, Elf?" Haldir suppressed a smile and moved to stand beside the fountain. Boromir had come full circle and was standing once again near the "home" of the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood.

"No, I merely sense that you are anxious to be on your way. Soon you will be fully recovered and shall resume your mission. But what of Eledwhen? Do you think it is fair to drag her across dangerous country and submit her to more abuse?"

Boromir started to lose his temper, but then quickly gained control. The Elf was merely expressing aloud his own thoughts. The Man stood silent, head bowed, carefully formulating his reply. His thick locks blew across his face, as though to allow him privacy. Finally he lifted his head and pushed the errant hair back into place. "I cannot protect her by myself. It is hard for me to admit that, but it is the truth. I am willing to face death; I knew the risks before I set out. I am a warrior and can accept whatever I must. But Eledwhen…she is a beautiful young girl who draws men to her like bees to honey. It is not her fault that she is so incredibly lovely. But there you have it. There is very little beauty in this world at the moment, and so she stands out like a beacon of light. There always will be men who shall want to possess her, whether it is her will or no. It is my duty to keep her safe. I cannot do so if I take her with me to Imladris."

Haldir smiled kindly. "It is a wise Man who can admit his frailties." Seeing the anger in Boromir's face, the Elf held up a slender hand. "Peace," he said. "I meant no insult. I merely say the facts as they are. You are a brave and accomplished warrior, but you are not invincible. And traveling alone, a beautiful young woman is most certainly a liability. Had not Eledwhen been with you, you would never have been seriously injured by those brigands. You could have swiftly and effortlessly dispatched them and been on your way."

Boromir nodded grimly. He knew Haldir spoke the truth. When he and Faramir had discussed Imladris, they also had discussed the perils and the possibility that whoever made the journey might not survive. He had known even before the Princess arrived in Minas Tirith that he would be the one to undertake the risks. Faramir wanted desperately to see the Elven haven, but Boromir could not let his brother face such a perilous journey. Of the two, he knew he stood the better chance of success.

Looking up, Boromir noted that Haldir was watching him, a look of pity on his fair face. The Lord of Gondor became suddenly angry. He felt his innermost thoughts had been exposed and he did not like it. "I do not need your pity, Elf!"

"Nor do I extend it, Man!" The two once again faced each other in antagonistic postures. Haldir finally broke the silence. "If you truly love the Princess, you will act in her best interests. She will be safe here. No danger can pass the borders guarded by the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood. It would be selfish of you to insist she go with you."

Boromir dropped his eyes and sighed heavily. "I need to be alone," he said quietly. Haldir nodded and seemed to vanish into thin air.

* * * * * * * * *

Eledwhen was sitting in a chair gazing at the view of Lorien when Boromir returned. He stood silently at the room's entrance watching her. She seemed pensive and withdrawn. "How do you feel?" he asked gently.

The Princess turned her head toward Boromir and he could see she was crying. "Are you in pain?" He quickly crossed the room and knelt by her side. Eledwhen shook her head. "Then what is wrong? Why do you weep?"

"I do not want to travel anymore. I am afraid. Please do not be angry with me because I want to remain here with my grandparents."

Boromir looked at her thoughtfully and a deep scowl began to form. "Have you had words with the Lady Galadriel? Tell me, has she tried to influence you to stay?" Eledwhen shook her head slowly.

"No, my Lord. It is simply as I said. I do not wish to travel further. I have seen what horror men such as you must face daily and I am afraid. I beseech you. Let me remain here if you must continue to Imladris. However, surely the Lord and Lady can answer your riddle. Have you asked them?"

"Asked us what?" Both looked up and saw that the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel had entered the room during their conversation. Boromir stood quickly and offered a courtly bow to both, which was graciously returned. The formalities over, the Elves glided to Eledwhen. Her eyes were red from weeping, but there was a look of hopefulness in them.

"The answer to Boromir's riddle. If you know it, he will not have to journey to Imladris and can remain here with me." Eledwhen looked so young and innocent that Celeborn hated to lie to her. But he and Galadriel had decided it was for her own good. They most certainly could spare the Man the trip to Imladris, but they wanted him away from their granddaughter. Celeborn looked meaningfully at Galadriel, letting her know he wanted her to speak for them.

"I am sorry, but you must seek your answer from the Lord Elrond. He has called a Council, which you need to attend. Soon you must continue your journey. Your recovery has been amazing, even by Elven standards. Our granddaughter's healing abilities are quite remarkable. Do you realize how close to death you truly were?"

Boromir nodded. "I have seen many die. I know death well enough to recognize it when it comes for me. By rights, I should be naught but carrion for wild beasts, not walking about in a land of such beauty. I also know that I owe Haldir a dept of gratitude I shall never be able to repay, for he saved my lady."

Galadriel studied the Man closely as he took Eledwhen's hand in his. If she allowed them to spend too much more time together, she would never be able to break them up. "Celeborn, dear, why don't you show the Lord Boromir the rest of our home? Our granddaughter looks as though she could use some sleep."

Boromir looked suspiciously from one Elf to the other. He was not positive, but he felt they were up to something. "I wish to remain here with Eledwhen. We have not had much time to talk and I have something pressing I must discuss with her."

Galadriel moved gracefully to his side and took one of his arms in hers. She smiled at him prettily. "There will be plenty of time to talk with Eledwhen later. There is nothing so pressing that it cannot wait a couple of hours. It would be ungracious of you not to permit the Lord Celeborn to show you his home. He designed it himself, you know."

Celeborn chuckled and motioned Boromir to follow. "You might as well come with me. Galadriel almost always has her way." 



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17. A Fond Farewell

Chapter XVII: A Fond Farewell

Boromir barely listened as the Lord Celeborn explained the finer points of Elven architecture. He was too busy wondering what the Lady Galadriel might be discussing with his future bride. Boromir finally stopped and planted his feet firmly apart. He would not take one step further; it was time for a confrontation. Folding his arms defiantly across his chest, Gondor's heir waited for the Elven Lord to end his spiel about the open concept upon which his home was built.

Ever sensitive to those about him, Celeborn stopped speaking and turned with a quizzical look. Ah, the Man has finally decided to force the issue of Eledwhen's future. I no longer can postpone the inevitable. Celeborn tilted his head slightly to the side and tried to read Boromir's thoughts. The Man's raging emotions made it difficult, but it was clear that he knew he was being played. Galadriel's little game is over and we two must get down to the business at hand. The Elven Lord sighed inwardly and forced a smile onto his face. They were standing alone upon a wide flet overlooking the northern woods of Lorien. A chill wind blew lightly through the uncovered side.

"Speak what is on your mind. We have no secrets, you and I." Boromir threw back his head and laughed heartily. This was not the sound Celeborn had expected to hear. He composed his face into a mask and waited for the Man to regain control of himself.

Boromir finally stopped laughing and wiped tears from his eyes with the back of a gloved hand. When he was certain he had control of his voice, Denethor's son stared icily at the Elf before him. "Your lies insult my intelligence, Lord Celeborn. I am well aware that you and your wife hold at least one secret from me, and perhaps two. I believe that you do understand the meaning of my riddle and could tell me, if you were so inclined. I also believe that neither you nor your wife wishes me to marry Eledwhen. I may not be of the Firstborn, but I am not an idiot. I did not spend most of my life under the Steward's tutelage to wind up being played for a fool by a couple of Elves. Hear my words and mark them well. I shall marry Eledwhen, and she will go with me if it is our desire. If you try to come between us, I will take her away now, this very night."

It was Celeborn's turn to laugh. "Surely you are not arrogant enough to think that you can take my granddaughter without my leave? That, my dear Boromir, is a fight you could never win."

"What do you suppose Eledwhen would think if she knew your people killed her fiancé? Hmmm? Would she want to remain with you? I doubt it. The Princess is afraid to travel to Imladris and I cannot blame her. But if she stays in Lorien, it will only be because I allow it." It was Boromir the warrior who spoke these words, not Boromir the politician. He was tired of being congenial and playing the role of a respectful diplomat. It was time to cut through the manure these Elves were spreading. "If it is your intent to keep Eledwhen and me apart, you had best explain by what right you do so. She is betrothed to me by a legally binding contract and, more than that, she loves me and wants to be my wife. I will fight for her. Unless it is your intent to murder me, you will have to accept me as a kinsman."

Celeborn watched the emotions play across Boromir's face. He was a proud and arrogant Man, and truly the Steward's heir. Like two peas in a pod. The Elf was slightly amused in spite of his dislike of Denethor's son. "Your reputation as a formidable opponent is well deserved. And since you speak plainly, so shall I speak in kind. My Lady and I do not want this mortal marriage for our granddaughter. It would be criminal to sentence her to the life you offer."

Boromir wanted to throttle the Lord of Lorien. His sword hand reached for where the hilt should have been, but came away empty-handed. Boromir remembered bitterly that he was not allowed to wear it within the city. He took a step toward Celeborn, but stopped short as an Elf with a long bow already nocked and pulled entered his field of vision. He turned his head and saw several more approaching from the shadows. "Has this been your plan all along, to lure me away from Eledwhen so that your underlings can assassinate me?"

Celeborn laughed musically. "They are here to protect me from you! They sensed a threat to their Lord and responded. No one here desires your death. Not even my wife, though you may find that difficult to believe."

Boromir snorted derisively. "If your wife had the physical strength, she would personally throw me from the highest flet in your architecturally perfect tree house. I advise you not to treat with me as you would a common soldier, for I was raised among politicians and courtiers. Plus you know well who is my father."

Celeborn narrowed his eyes. His voice became all silky and dangerous. "I remember well who your father is, and what he is. If you wish to remain in my land, you will not mention his name in my presence, or my wife's."

Boromir was taken aback by the Elf Lord's comments. "Tell me plainly of what you speak. What grievance could you possibly have against my father?"

Celeborn waved the surrounding Elves away before speaking. "Your line is tainted. I cannot allow a union between Eledwhen and the son of the Man who drugged and took an innocent maid by force. It is unspeakably vile and unforgivable. And the more so because that maid was, and still is, betrothed to his eldest son and heir."

Boromir was shocked by the accusation and the shock fueled his anger. "You lie!" he shouted. "My father would never do such a thing. He has laid down strong laws forbidding such actions. I cannot see your purpose for telling me this, but I warn you not to take me for a fool."

Celeborn smiled tightly. "If you do not believe me, ask your betrothed. Or, were your brother here, you could ask him. Faramir saw the truth ere you set off for Imladris. You, however, have obstinately refused to see that which is so plainly obvious. I would have preferred that Eledwhen tell you in her own time, but you have forced my hand. And, in truth, I think this is a matter best discussed between us. It is not an easy subject for my granddaughter."

Boromir felt off-balance. He studied the Elf's face closely, searching for a sign that he lied. But Celeborn's blue eyes (so very much like Eledwhen's eyes) were unreadable and as cold as the peaks of the White Mountains in winter. "I must speak with Eledwhen," Boromir said. As he turned to leave, Celeborn's voice rang out loud and strong. "No! You shall not speak with the Princess on this matter. She is too ill. I will not permit it!"

Boromir shook his head and spoke without turning to face the Elf. "You will not permit it? Who are you to deny me anything? First you insinuate that my father is a rapist and now you order me about like a servant. You tread on thin ice, Elf!"

"Not nearly as thin as the ice upon which you tread. With but a command from my lips, you would lose the life which my granddaughter gave you." Once again they were not alone upon the wide flet. At least half a dozen well-armed Elven warriors surrounded them. Each looked extremely hostile and deadly. Boromir looked at their long bows, almost as tall as the Elves themselves, then turned his gaze back upon Celeborn. He had never backed away from a fight (except where his father was concerned), but he knew when he was outmatched. "I apologize if I have offended you," he said diplomatically. "This is your land and I am your guest. I shall, of course, abide by your rules."

Celeborn's lips curled into a smile, but his eyes remained as hard as flint. "I will send one of my household to show you the way to your room. You will remain there until Eledwhen is strong enough to receive visitors. If you do not, I will have you escorted to the northern border of our land and you will not be permitted to return."

Denethor's son could not resist one final parting shot. "You may be the lord of this land, but I shall be the twenty-seventh ruling Steward of Gondor and Eledwhen will be at my side as my wife." Boromir moved to leave but was stopped in mid-stride by the queer sound of Celeborn's laughter, which was a cross between a cough and a snort. "What is so funny, my Lord Elf?"

Celeborn answered softly, "I would not count on being the one to rule Gondor at the end of your father's reign." Boromir's face wore a puzzled expression but he did not ask the meaning of the words. He was afraid he would hear of his death. As he continued down the hallway, Boromir heard Celeborn's lyrical voice at his back. "Remember, do not discuss this with Eledwhen. I meant what I said about your banishment."

* * * * * * * * *

Eledwhen was restless and confused. After Boromir and Celeborn left, Galadriel had spoken to her about remaining in Lorien. The Princess agreed readily enough, and the Lady of the Galadrim had been ecstatic. However, when the conversation turned to her marriage to the Lord Boromir, Galadriel had brushed the topic aside rather abruptly. Eledwhen was now certain that her grandparents did not want her to marry the Man she was betrothed to. I need to speak with Boromir about this. Determined to tackle the problem head on, the Princess pulled a robe on over her nightdress and moved silently down a wide and open hallway in search of his room. She stopped when she heard Boromir's voice. He was arguing with someone and he sounded very angry. When the verbal battle ended, Eledwhen saw Galadriel leave a room to her left. The Elf's movements were less than graceful and it was clear she was extremely upset. When the Lady was no longer in sight, Eledwhen went to the room Galadriel had just exited.

Boromir was sitting on the bed, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. He was seething. Galadriel had made it clear she would do everything in her power to keep him away from Eledwhen. The Lady of the Golden Wood had come to his room full of apologies for the way Celeborn had talked to him, and they had exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes. She even asked after his health. Her demeanor had taken a 360-degree turn, however, when he asked her politely if the Lord Celeborn would be willing to marry him and Eledwhen before he left for Imladris. The conversation had then become quite ugly. Galadriel had bandied about such insults as "Son of a rapist!" and he had called her an Elven shrew, among other things. Boromir expected the grim archers to appear at his door momentarily to use him for target practice. That was not my shining hour, he thought glumly. I should never have lost my temper. All those years watching Father cut the legs out from under his political opponents with words alone, and I start a war with the Galadrim over a simple marriage.

Boromir sensed a presence in the doorway and tensed, but relaxed when he saw who his visitor was. "Close the 'door' and come sit with me," he said softly. The Princess drew the rich brocaded covering over the entrance and walked hesitantly across the room. "What were you and grandmother fighting about?"

Boromir took her delicate hand in his and drew her down on the bed beside him. She looked incredibly lovely in the white robe. He frowned, remembering Celeborn's words about his father and the fight with Galadriel. He said nothing, but began stroking the silken tresses that spilled down the girl's back like spun gold. Eledwhen closed her eyes, enjoying his touch. Her face became slightly flushed. Boromir watched her closely for a few minutes, then bent forward to kiss her. There was more than one way to gain his heart's desire. The girl's eyes fluttered open in surprise, but she did not pull away from him. "Are you afraid?" he asked quietly, his lips almost touching hers.

"No, my Lord," she whispered back. Boromir straightened up and laughed.

"Call me by my name, please. We traveled alone for at least a month. Surely you feel comfortable enough by now to call me something less formal than 'My Lord.' Are you certain you do not fear me?" Eledwhen scrutinized him closely, trying to decide what he knew.

"What did the Lady Galadriel tell you, my…Boromir." She lowered her head and blushed slightly as she stumbled over his name.

"It is unimportant and nothing we need to discuss now," he replied. "However, I do wish to speak with you of our marriage. I do not want to wait until we return to Minas Tirith. It is my desire that we wed immediately. Would that please you?" Eledwhen looked up at him with wide eyes. They changed from blue to deep blue with flecks of violet swirling about the irises. Boromir ached to make love to her. He took Eledwhen's hand and pulled her to him. His lips sought the warm flesh on her neck; his hands moved to caress her shoulders, slowly pushing the robe off them so his lips could trace a path across the silky skin. Eledwhen shuddered, whether in fear or pleasure he could not tell. He moved back and looked at her pale face. "You are afraid of me," he whispered hoarsely. "Perhaps you blame me for what another has done."

"Nay, it is not you that I fear, nor do I blame you for what has happened to me. Sometimes the fates are cruel and things do not turn out as we hope. Sometimes, when you touch me, it brings back frightening memories. I try not to think of that night in Minas Tirith, but the images come to me unbidden. The memories of the Uruk are even fresher. It has only been two weeks since I was captured. Please forgive me if I seem hesitant. I want so much to please you." She looked up and saw Boromir's face. He looked so hurt and distraught that she took one of his large hands in hers and kissed the back of it.

"I want to take the sadness from your face and see you smile again." Saying that, she moved her slender body against his and kissed him deeply. Boromir's passion erupted and he kissed her back, hard, and eased her down onto the bed. He caressed and kissed her until he knew they were reaching the point of no return. Uttering a deep groan, he rolled away from her and sat up. His breathing was quick, yet heavy. Eledwhen gave him a questioning look.

"If there was someone available to marry us, I would make good my promise to teach you the joy of lovemaking. As things stand, I do a great wrong touching you so. And, too, you still recover from your injuries…" His voice trailed off and he remained silent for a few moments. Boromir began to rise, but stopped when he felt her soft hand on his arm.

"I have benefited greatly from Elven healing and no longer feel any pain. It is strange that I was able to save you from death, but was unable to heal myself. The Lady Galadriel has very powerful healing abilities; I should be well enough to travel soon…if that is what you want." Eledwhen sat upon the bed, head bowed, hands folded demurely in her lap. Boromir could sense she was hoping he would forbid her to go with him. He sighed and put a hand under her chin, lifting her face until she met his eyes.

"Nay, Eledwhen, I will not make you come with me to Imladris. It would be too dangerous for you to accompany me further. It is my wish that you stay here with your grandparents and learn about your Elven heritage. I can see that this is your wish, too."

The Princess was overjoyed and threw herself into his arms, nearly smothering him with kisses. Both tumbled backward upon the bed, laughing like two children. "Oh, I love you so much! Let us say our wedding vows to one another, here, tonight. Our words will be as binding as any uttered before a magistrate." This was exactly the response he had hoped for. The Lord and Lady could hardly refuse a legal marriage once Eledwhen had physically bound herself to him. And if she were with child when he left…well, that was just one more chess piece on his side of the board. The Princess was speaking, but he had not been listening to her words. Boromir turned his attention back to Eledwhen in time to hear her say, "The Lord Celeborn could legally marry us. Do you think he would?"

Boromir laughed softly. "No, my love, he would not. He'd rather see me dead."

Eledwhen looked shocked and started to speak, but he silenced her with another deeply probing kiss. His hands stroked her backside gently. "Say your vow to be my wife and I will swear to be your husband until death do us part." The Princess of Rohan solemnly pledged herself to Gondor's heir, who uttered his vow breathlessly in return.

"If there is something I do this night that frightens you, tell me and we shall deal with it. If you wish to stop, I will understand. I love you and want to make you happy. We are now man and wife and nothing and no one can change that. I ask that you keep no secrets from me, and that you come to me with all problems instead of running off into the night." He chuckled lightly as he said the last, then began kissing her. They became entwined upon the bed, lost in their own world of passion and desire.

* * * * * * * * *

Here ends Book I of A Dynasty Broken. Please continue on to Book II, Paths of Peril, where you will learn more about what happened in Lothlorien before Boromir's departure through his thoughts as he searches for Imladris. The tale of the Fellowship will be told from Boromir's POV. The relationship between the Man of Gondor and Aragorn is rocky. Boromir and Eledwhen will be reunited in Book III, which I have not yet titled. Thanks for reading my story.