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."