Faramir Fiction Archive

Family Honor (NC-17)

Written by Mcguffan

14 July 2006 | 162886 words

Chapter 20

Struggling to keep his pace steady, Aragorn let his gaze roam to the horizon. It was the only safe place for him to look, but the view brought him little joy. Before the company stopped for the evening they should have arrived in the shadow of a small wood. Not even the nearness of their goal, however, could lift Aragorn altogether from his current despondency. Nearby Faramir conversed with the Prince of the Yavney tribe. The man was working on him. Aragorn could tell by the small lines that had formed around his lover’s mouth and the almost imperceptible stiffness in Faramir’s shoulders that he could not help but notice whenever he was incautious enough to allow his eyes to drift too close to the young Captain. It was a torment to Aragorn not to interrupt. He imagined the prince’s words and, more vividly, he felt his beloved’s reaction to them. Knowing that Faramir was upset cut his conscience like jagged metal. Unable to interfere he found the only respite was to direct his attention elsewhere. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could safely focus on. Halbarad, Gildel and Warin were circulating among the Gondorhim. Speaking in low voices, answering questions, making last minutes adjustments to their patiently nurtured plan and generally being useful. Of course, Aragorn had not been abandoned in the flurry of constructive activity. At least five Gondorhim surrounded him at all times. These men, however, changed often. Every hour others replaced the soldiers, while the relieved men hurried off to do things of greater importance. Aragorn would have liked to participate in the planning. He knew, however, that whatever he did received the almost frighteningly intense scrutiny of his watchers. The single-mindedness of the Variags was actually of great benefit for while they watched Aragorn, other activity was able to take place without attracting notice. Aragorn chided himself for taking his forced inactivity with such ill grace but he hated to feel useless.

Driven by restlessness, Aragorn’s thoughts wandered down morbid paths. He felt that a comparison could be made between himself and the `Killing Fist’. Like the Gauntlet, he was surrounded by an aura of history and destiny but once the veil of myth had been pierced what was left? A useless relic of a long-forgotten time. Also like the Gauntlet, Aragorn could not help but wonder how much time and potential was being spent on him by others when, in the end, there was no magic in him. Though, the thought would have deeply offended his friends Aragorn sometimes believed that he was tolerated only for the promise of victory that was implicit in his birth. If that promise never came to fulfillment how could he return all the kindness and loyalty he had been shown? These were distressing thoughts but battling the demons of his own conjuration was all that Aragorn could safely do. With the sun high overhead, Aragorn had hours left before he would have the luxury of confronting an enemy outside himself.

“It is the only thing to do, now.” The voice was urgent- coaxing, compelling. “Honor is satisfied. You have spun this out as far as can be done—further than anyone else could. Now is the time to give in. Give in, my friend, before it is too late.”

“And what will that accomplish? I am hunted by a madman, why should I believe he would be satisfied with my capitulation.” The Captain’s voice was calm and steady but if one listened closely one could hear stress fraying the edges of his tone.

“There are no guarantees, it may be that it is already too late, but Lorel is not mad. He acts for a reason. Give him what he wants. In a battle you would lose everything but he would also lose enough so that he would prefer to avoid a conflict. Why can’t you see it! Surrender is your only choice now.”

Faramir had nothing to say to this that he had not already said several times and so he remained silent. Placing a brotherly hand on the younger man’s shoulder, the Prince of the Yavney tribe softened his tone. “You care for him. All right, you’ve proved that. It is enough. You do not know what Lorel intends. Perhaps Strider will do well among the Variags, it is not impossible. If he will fight for them, say whatever it is they wish to hear. This might not end badly for the ranger.” At this last statement Faramir shook off his companion’s hand with a look of sorrowful indignation.

“Very well,” The prince conceded. “Imagine the very worst, it changes nothing. You were not given charge of these men to throw their lives away on a futile romantic gesture. Your life is not your own. It belongs to your people and you may not do as your heart pleases. If Strider is worthy of the admiration you apparently feel for him, he will understand and accept.”

“All right.” Faramir spoke so quietly that the Prince had opened his mouth to begin yet another attempt at persuasion before he registered that the Gondorhim had spoken.

“Pardon?”

“All right, I will talk to the Officer.” Faramir was clearly miserable. “I will see if there is any chance he may be satisfied with what I am willing to give.”

“Oh Faramir! This is excellent. It may not seem so now, but you are doing the right thing. I will take you to him now.”

“No! Not now. I can’t. I must talk to—I must think. This is not easy. I must prepare.”

“Faramir, there is no time. My tribe will be leaving at first light.” Indeed the Prince had an uneasy feeling that his tribe was determined to leave before the dawn tomorrow whether he was with them or no. In his determination to remain with the Gondorhim for as long as possible the Prince had pushed the patience of his people almost past breaking. “Oh, if only you could have come to this decision sooner. I could have been sure of protecting you then.” The Prince abruptly abandoned this subject as he took in Faramir’s pale and stricken face. He did not want to risk alienating the young man after having worked so hard to convince him of treating with his enemies. Even so, it would have been much more convenient had Faramir given in sooner.

“I thank you for all your care but I cannot meet with the Officer now. Don’t ask it, please. I know you have worked on my behalf, but you cannot protect me. I will meet with Lorel tomorrow. He will make known what he wants and… and we shall see. To give over one of your own simply to gratify the malice of a madman, it is not right. It is not right.”

“Life and death are more important than right and wrong. When you are young it seems otherwise, I remember.” The Prince was genuinely moved by Faramir’s struggle. He admired the younger man for his ideals even as he believed he was acting in Faramir’s best interest by persuading him to give up those ideals. “I will talk with Lorel and arrange a meeting for tomorrow. Return safely to your home, my friend, and we will put all those agreements you worked so hard for at the gathering into effect. That will be your real victory over the Variags, yes.” Giving Faramir what was meant to be a comforting embrace the Prince left Faramir’s tent and headed toward the Variag camp. Faramir followed quickly after him, needing the clean fresh air. Impatiently he gestured his lieutenants to him. He dared not linger by himself for fear that thought of what he had done would leave him in helpless tears.

The night was not as dark as might have suited the Gondorhims’ purposes. Not even a full moon, however, could have dampened Isu’s spirits. The youth was too excited for sleep even if sleep were supposed to be among the night’s activities. Before Isu started out with his companions Halbarad had given him an affectionate cuff and told him to stop smiling or the brightness of his teeth would bring every Variag within a mile to investigate. The memory pleased Isu and he had no choice but to smile again, though he was careful to pull his lips carefully over his teeth in deference to Halbarad’s admonition.

Halbarad was, unfortunately, not with Isu at the moment. The lad would have felt more comfortable with the older man’s steady presence for the work they were engaged in required care, the more so for they were working in the dark and in strict silence. During a brief lull Isu turned his gaze back toward their carefully positioned camp. As was usual, fires were burning. Isu tried to pick out which of the figures huddled near the light was Halbarad. Typically, Halbarad preferred to keep himself away from the campfires even when the night was cold. For tonight, however, Halbarad had thought it best to be rather more conspicuous. If their enemies took it into their heads to keep a close eye on him, he didn’t want them stumbling about searching.

Surrounding Isu’s adoptive people’s fires in something like a protective semicircle the Yavney had set their tents. There was some activity in that camp, even at so late an hour, associated with that tribe’s predawn departure east. The commotion served Gondor’s purposes well and Isu amused himself guessing whether or not this advantage was the result of coincidence or planning. Beyond the Yavney, Isu saw glimmers of the Variags’ fires stretching far out into the night. The disparity in size between hunted and hunter should have discouraged Isu. The odds were clearly against Gondor. As he stretched a length of thick twine taut and tied it in a knot Halbarad had shown him, however, Isu felt exhilarated. Tomorrow would almost certainly bring battle. Isu had faith in his cause and was glad of the opportunity to enter his new country having already proven himself. He was convinced that Captain Faramir would emerge victorious and even if luck should go against Isu in the fight, the young man was not afraid. After all, immortality was for the elves. The dawn could not come soon enough to please him.

Feeling boneless and entirely sated, Faramir summoned the last of his strength to wrap his arms around Aragorn as the older man collapsed beside him. Already Faramir missed the feeling of Aragorn on top of him, inside him and he was eager to renew contact. Delighting in the younger man’s affection and love, Aragorn felt a sense of blissful contentment as he clasped the younger man in a loose embrace. As their breathing quieted Faramir, who had rested his head against Aragorn’s chest, could hear the strong rhythmic beating of his heart. The sound was comforting and he let himself drift with the sound.

After the Prince had left, Faramir had had a long conversation with his lieutenants while Aragorn and Halbarad hovered just out of hearing range. When the officers were dismissed, Faramir spoke briefly with the rangers before returning to his tent. The tension among the men was clear for anyone who wished to see. Not long after the Captain had retired, Aragorn followed him. Relief flooded Faramir as his beloved appeared and he felt all the frantic tension that had been consuming him moments before evaporate as Aragorn crossed to him and without any words seized him around the waist and sealed their mouths together. The two fell on one another, kissing desperately while hands urgently pushed garments aside. So glad to be together and so glad to be assured that each man craved the other with equal ferocity the lovers clung together. Eventually, they made love but the more important thing at the moment had been simply to hold each other as close as possible

“Frustrating day, my Faramir?” Aragorn asked smoothing the soft hair at the nape of his lover’s neck.

“Mmm.” Faramir affirmed, rubbing his stubbled cheek against Aragorn’s chest in an approximation of a nod. “The prince has been good to me. He has treated me with kindness and respect. According to his own standards he has been a true friend, but I could have easily hit him at least a dozen times today.”

This confession caused Aragorn to chuckle. Faramir was far too civilized, in the best possible sense of the word, to make use of violence except in the last resort but it was a sentiment with which Aragorn could identify. “It is lucky then that we shall not have him with us any longer.”

Faramir’s reply was to try and burrow even closer against Aragorn’s chest but as they were pressed so closely together, Aragorn could feel the other man’s grin. “And what of you, my lord, how have you fared?” The question came out a bit muffled for it had been spoken to Aragorn’s sternum.

“I was bored, but that is no good cause for complaint.” When Aragorn was in a certain humor it seemed to him that a great deal of his life was spent marking time. Surely, it was better to move before the time was fully ripe than to let all of his hard won knowledge and skills rot on the vine. The frustration could be nearly overpowering. Yet, Aragorn had found himself able to cast aside this mood with Faramir so warm and alive and present with him.

Making a small noise indicative of sympathy, Faramir tightened his hold on Aragorn. He understood his lord’s frustration and he understood that its source was greater than the past day or even the entire adventure in Khand. Faramir shared the emotion for it weighed heavily upon him that circumstance should keep the king from his people. Yet, he did not know best how to offer comfort.

“Right now, however, I am quite contented.” Aragorn continued, letting his fingertips move lightly along Faramir’s spine.

“Good.” If Aragorn was contented then so was Faramir and if Aragorn was contented lying beside Faramir, simply talking then Faramir was even happier.

“You are not over-worried about tomorrow?” Aragorn inquired gently. Faramir’s welfare was very important to him and if the younger man was nervous then Aragorn wanted to reassure him.

“No.” As he spoke, Faramir realized that it was true. “I suppose, could I have followed my inclination I would have postponed a confrontation forever, willing to live with an uncertain future in exchange for present security. Now that a confrontation is at hand, I find I am almost eager for it and the idea of spending a moment longer under the Variag threat seems hateful to me. Is that not strange?”

“I would think it is good sense. One should not seek out a challenge one is not prepared to overcome. Likewise one should meet a challenge when one is ready.” Aragorn could tell from the experience of many conversations with Faramir that his lover was beginning to sort through and hone ideas that would leave both of them with a slightly different, somewhat larger understanding of the world. Aragorn found it fascinating to observe, akin to watching a spider spinning silk or a painter creating a portrait. He felt privileged to track Faramir’s thoughts as the young man talked.

“How can a person know? It seems to me men must often misjudge either the challenge or themselves. One can only truly know if one was ready or not by whether or not the challenge was overcome.” Faramir, who had been lying on his side with some of his weight resting on Aragorn, struggled on to his stomach. He folded his arms over Aragorn’s chest then leaned forward to rest his chin on his folded arms. He was the very picture of intellectual earnestness except that he was naked.

“I don’t know. Perhaps that is the only way to tell, just as it is true, more generally that a man is judged good or evil by the results of his actions rather than by his intentions alone.”

Faramir considered this for a moment. Even as he did so, however, he was conscious of an enormous sense of gratitude. He had often taken refuge in his thoughts, huddled safely in his books and studies when the outside world threatened him. Finally though there seemed a bridge between his thoughts and the world around him. His mind was no longer simply a refuge but a world unto itself that could make sense of the world outside. With Aragorn, Faramir felt safe enough to venture forth, to explore, where before he had hidden. With Aragorn there to anchor and keep him steady, he felt free.

Thus, Aragorn and Faramir passed the night.

Maintaining a rigid stance, eyes fierce and stern was difficult for Lorel as, in his mind he giggled and rubbed his hand with nearly maniacal glee. He had watched the departure of the Yavney- and good riddance- in the chilly pre-dawn light and now he was awaiting his meeting with Captain Faramir. The night before, Lorel had resigned himself to a contest of arms with the Gondorhim. It was a disappointment, for battle would risk harm coming to his prize. He didn’t want Strider to be killed. Cheating Barad-dur of the opportunity of revenging itself on the last of Isildur’s line was not something the Officer wished to risk. He had been jubilant, then, the night before when the Yavney Prince had sought him out to deliver the happy news that Faramir had finally agreed to a meeting.

Negotiation was particularly appealing to Lorel for, even though it would be therapeutic to engage in a little blood sport after all this useless travel (damn, the brat for pushing things so far), he felt the need to conserve his resources. Further, the Yavney Prince had made several threats that if Faramir did not arrive safely back in Minas Tirith then he would see to it that the Steward was told everything the Prince knew and suspected about his son’s fate. This might be a bluff. The Prince would have no proof and making accusations against a comite-tribe to a foreigner would be frowned on. Even if the Prince did talk, there was a limit to the amount of harm it could. Those who were inclined to side with the Variags would not believe it and those who had grudges would. Still, Lorel didn’t want a rumor that he broke the rules of the Gathering haunting him for the rest of his days.

Most importantly, Lorel looked forward to meeting with Faramir, because he wanted to see the brat surrender. He wanted to watch the noble Captain betray his king and his lover to save his own skin. In Lorel’s opinion, people had an annoying habit of mistaking stupidity for nobility. Noble was just code for `too stupid to know one’s own best interests’. How idiots could beguile otherwise intelligent people puzzled the Officer even as it enraged him. The Yavney Prince was a prime example: he doted on young Faramir, getting positively misty eyed when speaking of his young man’s lofty ideals. Now Lorel was interested to see the strength of the Captain and his comrades’ nobility/stupidity, just how deep was it? Would Strider offer himself in exchange for Faramir and the other’s freedom? Would Faramir try and bargain his own freedom for his king’s? The image of the two men arguing over which of them was to be the more self-sacrificing had Lorel chortling to himself.

Of course, Lorel knew that, however amusing his prey might be, he needed Strider. Nothing could be allowed to interfere with the ranger’s capture. He would demand Strider, Halbarad and Faramir plus all of the Gondorhim’s supplies, but if only he could get Strider then he would forgo the others. It would not be easy to let the others go but Lorel was determined to be sensible. Besides sending Faramir back to his father thoroughly emasculated before both the Variags and the Gondorhim by having surrendered his lover to his enemy would not be averse to his purpose. As for Halbarad, well, Lorel guessed Halbarad’s `nobility’ would take the form of following his lord and attempting a rescue. When he did Lorel would have both rangers.

The Officer had spent most of the hours till morning spinning the permutations of victory through his excited brain. He reserved a few moments before the appointed time of meeting to instruct his troops. He gave them the strictest instruction that under no circumstance was Strider to be killed- that was of paramount significance. Beyond that, Faramir and Halbarad were to be carefully watched. The others were inconsequential. He reinforced his command with the usual threats, but perhaps because of his own exuberant mood he also added a few blandishments, promising rich rewards when they returned to the Capital with their prisoner.

Looking out over the gray, misty light of morning, Lorel smiled to see the vulnerability of his quarry. Their small flimsy tents and supply wagon were the only obstacles between the groups. The Officer noted how the Gondorhim huddled near the trees- as if they could offer shelter. Lorel had been surprised to see so many trees, so tall and so close together but he did not allow the strange phenomenon to disconcert him, rather he thought how good it would be to take this rich land and use its resources. After this mission’s work the Officer felt confident he could expect some of this fertile territory would belong to him, once the Dark Lord chose to fully reveal himself.

Despite his clear advantage, Lorel reasoned it would be foolish to take chances. There was only about 100 yards between himself and the cowering Gondorhim and then another 50 yards between the Gondorhim and the tree line. He was about to order his men to circle the enemy, cutting them off, even from the illusion of escape. The other tribes had gone. Preserving the absurd charade that he meant the Gondorhim no harm no longer mattered. Lorel no longer felt any qualms about flexing a bit of muscle. Before he could issue the command three figures emerged from the group of Gondorhim and began walking purposefully toward Lorel and his hundreds of men.

The approaching men were tall, dark haired and heavily cloaked. As yet he could see nothing of their features yet their posture spoke of determination. When the men were near enough to discern their identities, Lorel released a breath he had not known he had been holding. Captain Faramir was in the middle, a step behind and to the left of the Captain was Halbarad and on Faramir’s right: Strider. The only three that mattered were tamely coming right to him. Lorel forgot about the others, they could disappear into the trees and it would make no difference to him. Let the cowards run if they wished. The Officer allowed himself a small smile. Lorel was now content to wait a few moments longer before taking possession of his prizes. He was eager to find out how his quarry would try and wriggle their way out of this. At twenty paces the three men halted.

“Of all Khand’s tribes with whom we have shared the hospitality and community of the Great Gathering only the Variags have refused all of Gondor’s overtures of good will.” Upon the first few words, Faramir’s voice quavered slightly but then steadied and grew in strength. The young Captain spoke Khandoric as though he had learned the language from songs and fairy tails and the lyrical, slightly stilted word choice reinforced him in Lorel’s mind as a hopeless innocent. “It is strange, therefore, that the Variags should have traveled so far with us. You have made it clear you do not want our friendship. What, then, do you want?”

Lorel would have thought that even Faramir would have had more than plenty of this sort of meaningless talk. The Captain knew very well what the Officer wanted. Could he truly be so fond of his own voice as to further draw this out? “I am grieved to have been so deeply misunderstood.” Lorel replied. He would play a little longer if Faramir was so intent on it. “I am eager to further my acquaintance with the Gondorhim. So much so that I invite all of you to our return with us to our Capital to partake of a full measure of our hospitality.”

“Tempting, but as we are so much nearer Gondor, why do you not come with us and allow me to play host.”

Lorel smiled thinly, it was time to end this. “Let me rephrase my invitation: You and the rangers bring the rest of your supplies and come with me now and I won’t slaughter your entire camp.”

“You can’t think that anyone would accept such an offer?” Faramir answered with the faintest hint of scorn. Lorel had not expected Faramir to accept the offer. He was still disappointed. He had hoped Faramir might agonize a bit over the it.

“It is understandable that you would not want to risk yourself for the sake of your men. You are young yet, Captain, and I am prepared to be generous with you. Give me the rangers and the remainder of your supplies and you may go.”

“You have traveled far from your home and the safety of familiar territory. You have threatened those peacefully departing from a gathering against your strongest customs. I cannot understand it. Why would you risk so much, why would you put yourselves in the way of such dangers for two men? I have tried to learn something of your ways and I respect much of what I have seen of your culture but this makes no sense to me. I have thought that it must be some personal madness that drives you so. What can these rangers mean to you?” Faramir sounded patient, curious, the very model of a reasonable man.

“You know what he means or you would not protect him.” Lorel snarled.

“Very well. Though, I still cannot understand why this is so important to you, take what you have been seeking and leave us be.” Faramir gestured toward Strider and Lorel unconsciously leaned forward. Was the ranger-king actually going to come to him, walking tamely into his enemy’s hands with no more fanfare than a flick of his young lover’s hand? It defied all credulity and yet…

Strider took a step forward and reached into the folds of his cloak. Lorel’s muscles bunched, ready for anything. Then Strider was holding aloft the Gauntlet. The `Killing Fist’ glinted dully in Strider’s hand while Lorel tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

“It must mean more to your people than I was led to believe. If you had spoken to me about it I would have left it in the care of the tribes as a demonstration of good-will.” Faramir explained as Strider held out the Gauntlet as though he expected Lorel to send one of his own men forward to take it.

“You stupid fool!” Lorel spat, thoroughly enraged. “I want Strider, the bloody tournament champion.”

Something sparked in Faramir’s eyes for just a moment but it was gone so fast Lorel could not have been sure he had seen it. He could not avoid seeing, however, that the Captain then had the audacity to feign confusion. “I don’t understand. You made him no offers after he won. Why do you want Strider?”

“Do you think I am deceived by your ridiculous act! This `ranger’, this `Strider’ is your king, Isildur’s Heir, the descendant of the Dark Lord’s most hated enemy and you shall not protect him!”

It seemed strangely quiet after Lorel’s last shouted word died in the air. Then, the Officer heard Halbarad. The man snickered to himself, though, somehow the sound seemed to carry as far as Lorel’s bellow. “You hear that, mate? You’re King.” Strider made a helpless little shrug, his expression bemused.

“You believe that? You must be mad. You have brought so many men into foreign country because you think…” Faramir shook his head as though trying to shake off extreme surprise. “There can be no profit in negotiating with a madman. Gondor has no King. Go back to your own country. You seek something that does not exist.” With that Faramir turned his back and began to move away, Strider and Halbarad falling in at his sides.

For less than a second, Lorel was stunned silent by the sheer audacity of the Captain. Then he screamed to his men to stop them. As his soldiers surged forward, Lorel took in the larger landscape for the first time since he began exchanging words with Faramir. The Gondrohim camp was completely abandoned. Not one of the enemy remained around the empty tents and cold campfires. They all must have slipped away while their Captain prattled. Lorel felt a gleeful surge of excitement. Faramir, Strider and Halbarad were running now but he doubted they would make it even so far as the forest before his own men brought them down. Then he would have all three of them, already visions of what he would do with them were beginning to fill his brain when he heard a sudden shout and everything began to happen at once.

When the men chasing after the three fugitives drew level with the abandoned tents left by the Gondorhim a flight of arrows from the tree line descended on them. Lorel had a split second to think that there might perhaps be a few Gondorhim left willing to give their leaders aid, then the second flight of arrows was loosed. These arrows burned and only a few were aimed at the pursuing Variags. Most of the arrows were aimed at the supply wagons and the area where the horses, dogs and varg-hounds were all tethered. The animals began shrieking and rearing as the burning missiles brought the smell of smoke and blood into their world. At that moment, someone from his own ranks fired at the escaping figures. The arrow did no damage falling harmlessly between Strider and Faramir but Lorel saw it and turned on the archer. He slapped the man hard enough to dislocate his jaw and bellowed amid the sound of panicked beast and confused men that the rangers should not be harmed.

Amidst all the chaos Lorel could see that the enemy archers could do only a limited amount of damage. Confusion was the greater enemy. Struggling to be heard, Lorel began shouting for organization. The supply wagons needed to be protected. It would be devastating to lose the provision they had left to fire. The animals, too, had to be protected and calmed. It would not be so difficult, if only he could regain order. Then one of the arrows struck one of the abandoned tent and the structure exploded in flames. It burned faster and hotter than it should have done and the Variags suddenly stopped and fell to the ground screaming as Lorel heard the crack of several explosions. Shards of something flew in all directions with each portentous sound. A few more of the tents were now burning with similar results. All the Variags who had been following the three fugitives were now laying on the ground, struck down by arrows, shrapnel or simply fear.

Rage lent Lorel volume and authority and soon he had any man within grabbing and shaking distance at work, putting out the fires in the supply wagon or trying to wrestle the horses away from the worst of the confusion. He felt that he had nearly regained a semblance of control when another chorus of shouts erupted. Turning Lorel saw that the Gondorhim’s own supply wagon was rolling slowing towards them from a small rise in the ground. Even as he watched, several of the burning arrows hit it. Lorel could see as the covering came loose that the wagon was filled with clay pots and jars. Knowing now what had caused the devastating explosions in the tents, Lorel ordered his men to flee the gently rolling cart. Moments later, whatever was in those clay vessels whether oil, pitch or even alcohol burst their containers sending clay shards hurtling in all directions.

`Damn it!’ Lorel howled even as he worked to contain the damage spread by the cart that was trundling slowly through his camp until it lost the rest of its moment and came to a gentle stop still spraying fire and death. Time, he was losing precious time. Lorel had been so caught up that he had not even noted the moment Strider and the others reached the comparative safety of the trees. These cheap tricks would not delay him long, he fumed. Seizing the first of his Lieutenants that came under his eye he shouted at him to collect as many men as he could and go after the fugitives. The man’s eyes rolled toward the arrow riddled bodies that lined the path the Gondorhim had used to escape.

“They are running now!” Lorel snarled, disgusted that a few archers could inspire dread in one of his lieutenants. “We have already taken the worst they can do. Do you want to let these men walk away from what they have done here!” This sobered the man and he straightened his posture as much as he was able given that his Officer clutched a fistful of his shirtfront.

“Follow them, pin them down then wait for reinforcements.” Lorel commanded. “Remember, you must not kill Strider. Kill any of the others you must, but the Valar themselves will weep for your fate if any harm comes to Strider. Do you understand me?” The lieutenant nodded and Lorel shoved him away turning back to the task of regaining control of his camp.

It was too soon to gloat. Too soon even to feel relief, but Halbarad could not keep the grin from his face as he reached the line of trees with Faramir and Aragorn. The Gondrohim were waiting for them- clearly excited and thrilled with their present success. Making sure that everyone was together, Aragorn returned Halbarad’s grin, reaching to clasp his shoulder. Faramir looked a little dazed but he managed a weak smile when Aragorn squeezed his hand. Still clasping hands Aragorn and Faramir began leading their small band through the woods. Halbarad and a few other men who had some experience of the forest stayed in the rear, covering their tracks as best they could without falling too far behind.

Despite his natural caution Halbarad felt exhilarated. They were free! Pursuit, of course was inevitable but for the first time, on this long journey he felt the advantage had shifted to their side. Halbarad had not missed the look of pride and affection that his lord had bestowed on Faramir before they moved to the head of their group and the ranger was prepared to concede that that look had been well earned. Faramir had borne the brunt of their confrontation with the Officer and his performance had been almost flawless. Not only had he kept Lorel distracted long enough to let the Gondorhim retreat to the forest and prepare their attack but he had kept the whole of the Variag camp riveted. Though surely some of the watching enemy must have noticed as their would-be quarry slipped away, none had had the initiative to do anything about it.

Then there had been the conversation itself. Faramir had played it well. Halbarad had been watching the ranks of Variags as well as their Officer and Faramir’s words had found a receptive audience. Each time the young Captain had repeated the dangers the Variags faced, each time he had attributed Lorel’s motives to madness, Halbarad had seen wretched agreement from those under the Officer’s command. Upon hearing their leader assert that one of the rangers in front of them was the King of Gondor, every man Halbarad observed looked either horrified or miserable. Lorel’s already weakening hold over his men had grown yet more tenuous.

This pleasant review of his enemies’ failures and his allies’ accomplishments, agreeable though it was, had not lessened Halbarad’s vigilance. Stopping in mid-thought Halbarad turned his head, alerted by a faintly heard sound. A moment later he was certain he heard the sounds of horsemen crashing pell-mell into the forest behind them. Tensing Halbarad waited and then he heard the first scream and relaxed. Isu and his companions had done a good night’s work. There had been no time for anything terribly elaborate but thick twine had been stretched close to the ground between trees ready to catch the unwary, a few nets filled with the largest rocks that could be quickly found had been placed along branches ready to tumble upon the heads of any causing too much of a disturbance. Oh, yes it was too soon to gloat but Halbarad found his mind turning of its own volition to a note that might be sent to Lorel in payment for all the Officer’s missives. For some reason the note in his head seemed to want to be written in verse form. Halbarad smiled.

Not even Flyn was immune to the nearly euphoric excitement that had been running through the Gondorhim. They all knew they were close, close to home and safety. Despite their growing fatigue, there was a restless energy to all their movements. Flyn himself had not truly slept since the night before the Yavney tribe left them. He had spent that night acting as lookout for Isu and the others while they ventured into the woods to set their traps. That morning he had served a similar functions, keeping an eye on Faramir’s talk with the Variags while the others prepared the burning pitch for their arrows, finished setting the traps around the entrance to the forest and filled their tents with dried wood. He had not been given the most critical of tasks; Flyn could not help but be aware. Others served as lookout besides himself and it was never suggested that he should take on any of the more complicated responsibilities. Still, he was happier than he would have realized to be given anything to do. After a long period of isolation, arising- he felt sure- from Halbarad’s baleful influence, he was glad to have been included once again into the group.

To his dismay, Flyn had been too far away to hear any but the first few words of Faramir’s conversation with the Enemy. Their talk began in Khandoric but still curiosity wheedled Flyn to take in every sound he could. At another time, he might even have left the shelter of the trees to creep closer. Now, though his desire to know just what his Captain and the foreign Officer could have had to say to one another vexed him like an unscratchable itch (and it whatever they said was surely riveting for though the Gondrohim were as careful as could be their activities could not have gone unnoticed by any but the least attentive) Flyn he stayed in his assigned place. He contrived not to notice this change in himself and when Faramir, Strider and Halbarad returned breathless and excited to begin the march through the forest, Flyn told himself that the relief he felt was solely attributable to the fact that they were finally leaving their enemies scattered and confused behind them.

The urge to move as swiftly as their own of their horses’ legs could carry them was nearly overwhelming. The Gondorhim were kept to a moderate but steady pace, however. Flyn understood the rationale: they had a fair way yet to travel and they would not be able to stop often or long so they should conserve their strength and choose their route with care. Still, when the first sounds of pursuit filtered toward them, several men looked close to panic. The habits of a Lieutenant had apparently remained with Flyn for he found himself muttering assurances and coaxing those near him back into formation. The pursuit did not last long. Some of their hunters had obviously fallen victim to their hastily constructed traps, but whether the others had gotten lost, returned to their camp or simply given up altogether Flyn could not have guessed.

Even when the forest had been silent but for several hours no one was lulled into believing they were truly safe. The Variags had chased them with too much tenacity to give up so easily. If Flyn was in the Officer’s position- tracking a vastly out-numbered quarry through unknown territory, he knew what he would do. He would split his force, send some men through the forest, then send a group to circle around to the north and another to circle around from the south. Another group would probably be left to guard what remained of the supplies. Flyn had seen maps of this region, even if the enemy hadn’t. The Gondorhim were safe from the south. A river bordered the forest in that direction and the difficulty of fording it for the desert dwelling Variags would likely prove to be a long delay. Flyn was also confident that any direct pursuit was bound to flounder. The Gondorhim were moving steadily through terrain that would prove more of an obstacle to a larger force of men. Also, Flyn suspected, anyone following them through the forest would spend a great deal of time making sure no more traps had been set.

The greatest danger would be from the north. If their maps were correct in the essentials the Gondorhim should come out of the forest sometime in the morning. They would have no choice but to halt during the darkest hours of the night, if not to rest the horses then at least to prevent losing their way. After leaving the forest they would still need to journey for the better part of a day before reaching one of the eastern most garrisons. It was still a long way, but they had already come so far. It was hard not to hope.

The men who came out of the trees in a rushing mass returned to a much more calm Variag camp. They expected to be punished. That was in the nature of things. As soon as the terror of the unknown forest, where the earth itself rose up and grabbed hold of their horses legs sending their riders flying, plants grew steel jaws that snapped shut on the unwary and horrible tree limbs that slashed down on the intruders, left them the familiar dread that was life in the Variag army replaced it. The most senior of the men drew what courage remained to him about himself and told his Commander how the forest itself had come alive to keep them out.

Lorel felt a terrible calm descend upon him as he listened. When the coward finished his explanations, the Officer simply turned away from him. The cold stillness frightened the soldier more than the expected rage and he continued to cower in place long after Lorel had dismissed him from his attention. Lorel was angrier than he could ever remember being and it leant him a clarity he had never experienced. He did not yell or order punishment because his wrath could not quench itself in the suffering of the miserable cowards who had abandoned the pursuit. Time was too precious.

Calling his lieutenants to him, Lorel regarded his men judging and weighing them for his purpose. His mind was moving impossibly fast. By the time his lieutenants assembled before him, he had decided what to do next. He would not send men into the woods again. They would not go and he would not waste the time needed to force them. If they could not go through then they would go around. Never had the Variags moved with such haste. The grim quiet of their leader spurred them faster than whips. When all were mounted and prepared to depart, Lorel turned to them. “The ranger must be taken alive. All depends on that.” There would be no quick, easy death for Strider. Even as his own rage burned him, Lorel knew the fires of the Dark Lord’s vengeance burned hotter. This knowledge made him glad. Kicking his horse into a gallop, Lorel signaled his men forward. They would ride the horses to death and then they would run themselves to death but the men of Gondor would not escape.

`Almost there, almost there.’ Faramir heard the words in the rhythmic pounding of his horse’s hooves and in the thudding of his own heart. Surely it could be no more than a dozen miles now a little more? A little less? `Almost there, almost there.’ At any moment he expected to see Gondor’s banner flying high above beckoning them to salvation. The garrison was small, just a fort meant to demarcate the extreme edge of what Gondor meant to tell the world it would fight to hold. Unlike Osgiliath which served a similar purpose and was heavily manned and was the sight of constant struggle, this fort held the line between what Gondor was able to control and those territories too remote for Minas Tirith to spend always diminishing resources cultivating and protecting. The garrison, though, could stand against a Variag siege until help could be summoned or the invaders gave up. `Almost there, almost there.’

Then the horses reached the top of a gentle slope and it was there. A wild shout rang out from at least a dozen throats. Faramir caught a glimpse of the outer wall surrounding the fortress with familiar banners streaming along the parapets. Then, he immediately looked toward Aragorn, a mad grin plastered over his face. An answering grin transformed the ranger’s usually grim expression. Without thinking Faramir slowed his horse to come level with Aragorn, the need to be near him, to touch him while he had this wild joy in his heart was overwhelming.

“Look!” A shout of alarm suddenly broke through the exaltation. As one the Gondorhim turned to see where Flyn, his face pale, was pointing to the northeast. The gladness drained away leaving the desperate men with the sound of a soft groan. From the crest of the hill, they could see, less than a mile off, at least a hundred Variags riding towards them. At the sight of their prey, the men from Khand seemed to pick up speed rushing in upon them, flooding over the rolling grassland.

The Gondorhim watched frozen for less than a second. Then the spell broke. Faramir shouted orders to move, to run even as the small troop urged their horses into a gallop. It was purely a race now, but a race that had to be won by a fair margin. They not only had to reach the safety of the fort, but alert the garrison and mobilize them to defend against the fast approaching enemy. Faramir could not allow the Variags to overrun the fort. He could not allow an act that would force Gondor into a war. Above all, Aragorn had to be kept safe. If they lost hope then they lost everything.

As the ground dipped, the fort was again lost to sight though the Khandrihm were not. Somehow, the enemy was gaining ground, not much but, their horses lathered and close to exhaustion, were bringing them nearer. They wouldn’t make it. Faramir could see that even as his heart tore at how close they had come. In the knowledge of inevitable defeat, Faramir felt his resolve harden. Even as he realized what he had to do, Aragorn and Halbarad came up along side him.

“If we continue as we are, they will overtake us before we reach the fort and give warning.” Aragorn’s voice was roughened by exertion, but Faramir could still hear that his lord had followed the same reasoning as he himself, though he had drawn a different conclusion. “They are not firing arrows, even now they do not seek a kill. Halbarad and I and some of the others can give you time. You go on and, bring what help you may.”

`Please no, my lord. Do not give me an order I cannot obey. You must not make me leave you. If I could I would send you on to safety, but you would not go. If you will stand then I will stand with you.’ Faramir spoke none of these thoughts, reaching instead for cold logic and an authority he knew Aragorn would recognize. “No, I am responsible for these men and I will stay as well.” You go, Please. Please! Aragorn only nodded sadly, before slowing his horse and wheeling sharply. Halbarad matched his every move.

“Flyn, Hilo, Isu! Go on! Bring help! Everyone else, form ranks!” Faramir shouted, turning his horse and drawing his bow in hopes of loosing a few arrows before battle was joined.

Such was the discipline of training that many of Gondorhim had begun to obey before comprehending the import of the commands. Eyes widened, and more than one man felt himself tremble but only Flyn and Hilo rode on. Isu could not believe the orders he had been given. Surely, the Captain did not mean to send him off to safety while he stayed. It was too outrageous to be credited and so the youth simply took up a place in the line that now faced the onrushing enemy and fumbled for his bow.

“Put up your hoods.” Aragorn shouted, drawing his own up. If the Variags stayed to true to their determination to take him alive, they would have to hold back against all the Gondorhim until the ranger could be identified with certainty.

Faramir drew his arm back and let his arrow fly. It was strange, after so much reckless speed to be still now. As he drew another arrow he wondered how long before they could reasonably expect help. He wondered how many men were stationed at the fort. He wondered how long before they could be told enough of the situation to act. Then, Faramir stopped wondering and shouldered his bow. Drawing his blade he looked towards his lord. He received a look of such unexpected tenderness and affection that he almost lost himself in it. As though sensing his rider’s distraction, Faramir’s horse reared as though to redirect his master’s attention. Faramir grinned and rubbed his mount’s neck, reassuring him while he awaited the Variags.

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