Faramir Fiction Archive

Warriors of Gondor (NC-17)

Written by Hel

14 May 2012 | 182144 words | Work in Progress

Part 18: ASSASSINS

A small town had grown over the years to cross the road at the base of Amon Din. The marketplace was bustling with activity as Faramir wandered up and down the gaily- decorated booths. He laughed and joked with the vendors, often buying bits of candy to share with the throng of children following him. Belgar and Nelis were close at his heels, their eyes constantly scanning for trouble. His armed escort was spread throughout the marketplace so that they could cover all avenues of approach.

When he reached the section that bordered the Druadan Forest, a loud argument drew the attention of his forward guards. Nelis spared the disturbance only a brief glance, knowing that the watchful escort would deal with anything from there, then he joined Belgar in carefully scanning their surroundings to make sure it wasn’t a diversion. It was by their diligence that the first arrow that came out of the overhanging trees was seen as soon as it took flight.

At Nelis’s shout, Faramir’s sword came out and cut the projectile from the air. His servants dragged him to the nearest pavilion as the arrows began to fall thick and fast, and the locals quickly disappeared into the surrounding buildings and booths. The forest erupted with wild yells and orcs. The battle was fierce and bloody, Faramir’s escort joining him in astonishing speed.

There was little doubt about how it would end, even with the element of surprise. Along with the forty experienced warriors in his escort and his own servants, the people of the town who were able rushed to Faramir’s aid. That the Steward’s youngest son was the target of their attack could not be denied. Almost all of the arrows had landed near him. As the final death screams from the forest echoed through the market streets, one of the guards dragged the man who had caused the diversion to his lord.

Faramir was busy aiding the people of the village with their dead and injured children. There had been at least twenty children near him at the time of the attack and almost all of them were hit by arrows or hurt in the rush to shelter. He worked steadily until every child had been cared for and all of the other injured had been cared for before turning to the prisoner. There was something about his expression that made the tear streaks on his face even more intimidating.

The man was of mixed descent, a nondescript person who would usually disappear in any crowd. That he was a stranger to the village was more than obvious; he was also a stranger to Gondor. Unfortunately for him, he had had no idea of what he had been getting himself into.

“My lord,” the village mayor called out as he neared. “I apologize that such a thing could happen in our village.”

Giving the man a sad smile, Faramir put a comforting hand to his shoulder, leaving a smear of blood. “It is hard to prepare for everything when the enemy has so many at his beck and call. I apologize for not protecting you better, it is my first priority.” Turning to the prisoner he continued, “I intend to find out as much as I can from this one. Do you have somewhere private where we can question him?”

“All that we have is at your disposal, my lord,” the man nearly wept, glad that it would happen here. “We have a small jail, but it has adequate facilities for what you need. I will show you there.”

The man began talking immediately, though it was obvious that little of what he said was the truth. He really had no idea of what he was facing. At Faramir’s nod, Belgar stepped forward and the screaming began.

Nearly two hours later Boromir arrived, the large troop of cavalry with him encircling the village. Many of the warriors dismounted and went into the forest to help search for any remaining orcs while the rest relieved Faramir’s escort from their guard posts around the town. The young man who led Boromir to the jail was not really needed. The continuous screams would have done just as well.

Faramir first knew his brother was there when his arms enfolded him. Turning quickly, he buried his face in Boromir’s neck. “They killed four children, brother,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the tortured man’s screams.

“Hush, my beloved one,” Boromir crooned to his weeping brother. “We will take care of them and we will find out who is behind this.” At his signal, the mayor and all others not of the brothers’ inner circle left the room. Belgar continued his work while Nelis began the report on what they’d discovered.

“He is from the north, my lord,” the servant told him. “He was given a description of my master and instructions on what to do by a contact there. He traveled with several companions who have disappeared, we’ve brought all who even came near his description and he cleared them. It definitely looks like one of Galmar’s connections though they have left nothing we can use to prove it. There has been no new information out of him for some time now and probably won’t be any more.”

“You can write me a report when we get back to Minas Tirith,” Boromir told him. “Continue for now, I want him to be an example that will be spoken of throughout Middle Earth. I want to do our best to assure no one will dare to move against my brother in such a way again.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Nelis said grabbing and kissing Boromir’s hand before returning to help Belgar.

“Come, my brother,” Boromir told Faramir. “Let’s get you cleaned up and then we can write a report for father.” They retired from the room and asked the mayor for quarters where they could prepare their report. When they were done, they joined the mayor and citizens of the town to deliver a brief memorial service for those who had died. By the time all was completed, night was falling and it seemed best to spend it where they were.

The mayor gave them his own bedroom to sleep in, offering his wife, adult children and even himself if the brothers wanted. Boromir gently refused, pleased that the man and his family looked disappointed but wanting to be alone with his brother. As alone as possible anyway. Nelis had come to tend them, along with a couple of warriors from their personal guard, as well as several servants who had followed from Minas Tirith. After the attempt on Faramir’s life, they intended to make sure that they would be undisturbed.

The room was actually larger than the one they shared in the White Tower, though it was not part of a suite. Boromir was wild to undress his brother again and make doubly sure that he was indeed unharmed. Of course he didn’t stop there. He ran a hand down the long line of Faramir’s spine while the other hand pressed at his shoulder to keep him still. The scars from his childhood beatings were still visible and those with more sensitive hands could even feel the slight ridges they made in his flesh.

It angered him to think of all the harm and danger his beloved brother had endured at their father’s hands. All the suffering they’d both endured at the hands of his minions. The scars that marked Faramir’s back, buttocks and thighs seemed to symbolize this to him. He wanted them gone, or altered.

Turning his head toward his brother and reaching back to take hold of the hand that rested on his shoulder, Faramir interrupted Boromir’s brooding thoughts. “Mark me, brother,” he whispered as if reading his mind. “Make it all better.”

He kissed his brother’s back before taking his knife from Nelis, who stood waiting across the bed from him. The lines were straight, only the angle and length differing, the few battle wounds only served to accentuate the regularity of the cane scars. With careful strokes, he began an outline of Minas Tirith. It would take little work to bring the chaos of scars into a recognizable pattern, but he would still do it in several stages. Later he would have Saphron add color to it and maybe a small banner flying from the top of the White Tower, which would be at the top center of his brother’s back next to the king’s seal.

Faramir moaned at Boromir’s attentions, his hands buried under the pillow his head rested on. Each stroke of the knife brought the sense of relief he found so hard to achieve on his own. Each kiss from his brother was a blessing that made him feel cleansed from the evil in his world. The swift, sure movements brought on an incredible arousal and hunger for more of Boromir’s touch. Staying still beneath the knife was becoming almost impossible.

Handing the knife back to Nelis, Boromir re-examined his brother’s back. Already the picture had started to form, making the individual scars almost disappear. He was pleased with his work.

“Don’t stop, please brother,” Faramir whimpered, arching his back for more attention.

“We have to ride tomorrow, maybe even fight,” Boromir admonished. “That is enough for now.” He put his hand in Faramir’s hair, turning his head so that he could kiss his lips. “Be patient, little brother,” he whispered.

Looking over at Nelis, he nodded his head to signal the servant to begin applying salve to the cuts. “Your efforts helped to save my brother today,” Boromir said watching the younger man who touched his master with eager, loving hands. It was almost frightening to see such fanatical devotion, but that was what Boromir had intended when he had them bond with his brother. “Would you like a reward?” he asked.

“Serving my master is all the reward I need,” Nelis said earnestly as he finished anointing the new cuts.

“And so you shall,” Boromir told him smiling at the attentive way he waited for commands, ready to do anything. Rolling Faramir to his side, he rubbed his brother’s thigh. “Prepare him for me,” he told the eagerly awaiting man, pulling Faramir’s left knee towards him to further expose Nelis’s goal.

His unabashed joy in his task was clear as he crawled up onto the bed to bury his face in Faramir’s ass. Boromir grinned as his brother squirmed in reaction to the skilled mouth that was pressed so tightly to him. He reclined so that his weight rested on his elbow and he could kiss his brother wherever he wanted to. He could almost forget that someone had tried to kill his beloved Faramir earlier.

Nelis backed off for a moment to retrieve some oil from a waiting servant. Even though he knew that Boromir might stop him at any moment he took his time, using both hands to massage the tight muscles in Faramir’s legs before sliding upward toward his waiting buttocks. His whole attention was concentrated on the beautiful body before him. Thoroughly enjoying touching his beloved master, he used everything he’d learned in his training and personal experiences to pleasure him.

Boromir was entranced watching Nelis. His own hands couldn’t keep still on Faramir’s flesh as his own arousal grew. When he could take no more, he rose to his knees beside his brother. Hearing Boromir’s movements, Nelis rolled quickly out of the way. As Boromir pulled Faramir into position and thrust into him, Nelis knelt beside the bed to wait for further orders, panting heavily.

The brothers didn’t last long once Boromir had started. The events of the day had driven them wild with the need to be close even more than the need for sex. When they finished, Boromir held his brother, careful of the new cuts on his back. Mindful of his waiting servant, Faramir turned to Nelis and signaled that he could reach his own climax. He knew he would wait until he had permission.

In the morning they decided to leave Belgar to continue his work as long as possible with strict orders to leave as horrifying a sight as possible. The mayor was to make sure that the body of the man was hung outside the gate until it rotted away. Then they returned to the White Tower to give their father a carefully edited report of the incident. He would never believe that his chief body servant was capable of treason.

Belgar had been working on the prisoner for five days when they came to him. There were three children, about twelve or so from the look of them and all showing signs of being injured recently. He stopped what he was doing and cleaned his hands and knife in the waiting bowl of water. “May I help you?” he asked them, unwilling to continue in their presence.

“We would like you to stop,” said the tallest of the three. “We think he has been punished enough.”

Belgar sat in a chair so that he would be at eye level with them. “I’m not still punishing him,” he told them honestly.

“You can’t still be getting information out of him?” the boy asked in surprise.

“No, not that either,” Belgar affirmed. “Are people still coming to listen outside the window?”

“Only a few,” the boy answered.

“That is why I continue,” he told them. “If our enemies know that they will suffer terribly for attempting to harm our Lord Faramir, they will be much less likely to do so.” He examined the children before him. The smallest one was a girl, the other two boys. Their spokesman fiddled with a broken arrow while he watched Belgar with wide curious eyes. “Is that the arrow you were shot with?” the man asked.

“No,” the boy said solemnly. “This one killed my brother.”

Nodding in understanding, he held his hand out for the splintered length. The child handed it over and watched in surprise when Belgar rose and drove it into the groaning prisoner’s eye socket, stilling his moans. “Is that better?” he asked them.

“Yes,” the boy said nodding gravely and turning to leave.

“Wait,” Belgar told him as he removed his blood covered leather apron. Signaling the guards to take care of the now dead man. “Where are your parents?” he asked them, leading them out of the room.

“My parents are dead,” the boy told him. “These are my cousins, Shirel and Firith, I’ve been staying with them and their mother, their father was killed in the war last year. Their mother was killed in the attack along with my brother. So now they’re orphans just like me.”

Belgar nodded at the ever more common story. “What is your name and who are you staying with now?”

“I am named Birel, we have been staying in the local orphanage, we don’t have anyone else,” he said.

“You can come with me if you wish,” he told them. “There is always room for more children with my family.”

“We thought you lived with Lord Faramir,” Birel said in confusion.

“I live in the White Tower, but my family lives in Minas Tirith in a big house,” he told them.

“You are married?” the boy asked.

Belgar smiled tolerantly. “I will never marry, I am bound to my Lord Faramir and none will ever come before him. However, my parents, brothers and sisters, cousins, aunts and uncles and many other relatives live together in a large house in the fifth ring of the city. There is always room for more children. That is if you would like to come with me.”

“We would still be among strangers,” Birel said. “What would be so different from here?”

“They are family, you would become part of the family,” the assassin told the boy as they walked down the hall. “You would belong to them and they would belong to you.”

“Like you do?” the boy asked.

“Like I used to,” he answered as he entered the room that had been assigned to him. “Now I belong to my Lord Faramir and no one else.”

“They gave you away?” Birel was surprised.

“No,” Belgar laughed packing his saddlebags. “I had to work very hard and compete with many others to take oath with my lord. It is one of the greatest honors and privileges a Gondorian can hope for.”

The children whispered amongst themselves for a few moments. He could hear what they said, but didn’t let on. It was their choice as far as he was concerned. He felt that their bravery and compassion would be a good addition to the ‘House.’

“Would we see you?” Birel asked him.

“Yes, my lord visits with the children of the House often, and I usually am by his side,” he answered. “It is very rare that we are parted.”

“Than we will come with you,” Birel told him while the others shook their heads in agreement.

“Good,” he told them.

Sitting at opposite ends of the table from each other, Denethor and his heir had complete control of the meeting. He’d been uneasy at first in this change his oldest son had suggested, but each time they met in the chamber where they conferred with their military and political advisors demonstrated that it worked well. It was impossible to watch both ends of the table at once so one never knew if they were under scrutiny.

“We have left only a small raiding force in Ithilien,” Boromir told the small assembly, indicating the territory on the large map at his end of the table. There was a matching map on the other end, both highly detailed. There were no indications on them of where their secret bases, such as Henneth Annûn, were located. Those who needed to know didn’t require them, but everything else was there. “We have divided most of the army up into smaller forces protecting their home territory. Our scouts in Ithilien should be able to warn us in time to regroup if necessary.”

There was a small moment of silence followed by several questions from the advisors. Some were rather heated, but most were made with the knowledge that Boromir was one of the best military leaders Gondor had ever seen. Many even compared him favorably to Thorongil. A small scuffle broke out halfway down the table as a cavalry captain and a counselor pushed for dominance.

The room became deathly still as Belgar took one large step toward the two men and paused, his eyes looking to Denethor for further orders. The Steward managed to hide his startlement and looked at the two culprits. “Are you gentlemen ready to continue with our meeting?” he asked coldly.

“Yes, your grace,” both men replied, ashen faced and more chastised than if he had yelled. Belgar returned to his former position and the others in the room returned to their business, although most were considerably subdued. That Belgar would occasionally whisper in Faramir’s ear, as usual, added to the caution of those present. The Steward’s youngest son would then either nod or shake his head and sometimes lean over to whisper to his brother who would look down the table at those on each side as if assessing them all. Even Denethor had learned to dread those weighty gazes though Boromir would give his father a reassuring smile when he began to show discomfort.

At first, the distance from the three assassins who served the two brothers as body servants was a relief to Galmar. Then he began to feel the constant pressure of being under careful watch. Any time he looked across to them, it was to see another pair of eyes staring back. The three looked almost enough alike to be brothers and Galmar knew that they were most likely related because it was almost impossible to reach their level in the hierarchy of the brothers’ servants without being ‘of the family.’ Three pairs of identical eyes watched his every move, and sometimes the clear blue eyes of Faramir. He was always being watched at these meetings, and it was beginning to seriously unnerve him.

They had even begun to haunt his dreams. Stefle’s inscrutable look, the fanatical glint in Nelis’s eyes, and Belgar’s stone cold glare were almost a relief from Faramir’s piercing gaze. He was seriously revising his estimate of the Steward’s youngest son, and thinking maybe he had been wrong about which of the brothers was really in charge. Especially after the failed assassination attempt in the village at Amon Din, he was learning to truly fear the man he had long though of as his prey.

To make things worse for him, Denethor seemed to be becoming closer to his sons with this arrangement. No matter how loud the room or how quietly Denethor spoke, Boromir seemed to hear him. He also deferred to his father’s decisions, though sometimes he would suggest modifications. With this latest show of obedience to the Steward by Faramir’s bonded servant, Galmar was quickly losing ground in his efforts to drive them apart. He would have to come up with some new plans soon.

Fidgeting impatiently, Éowyn let her brother braid her hair back from her face. He always gave her warrior braids, which irritated Gríma, a goal in itself, but they had done this since childhood. Braiding each other’s hair gave them time to talk privately, though Brinel was usually close at hand near the door to make sure that their conversation wasn’t overheard.

“I don’t want to stay here and watch over our uncle, Éomer,” she said in an outraged whisper. “I feel like I’m in a cage, and that despicable Gríma always spying on me. Sooner or later I’m going to lose control and stab him again, I just can’t stand it. You remember how mad our uncle was the last time, and he won’t listen to reason, not where the worm is concerned.”

“There is no one else, sister,” Éomer told her. “Théodred needs to ride with me and learn how to lead his Eored. Already there are complaints that he is not enough of a horseman to lead our people. Besides he is too young to deal with the worm, Gríma would eat him alive if we weren’t here to protect him.”

“And Théoden King won’t let me ride as a shield maiden anyway,” Éowyn said sadly. “He lets fear cloud his judgment where I’m concerned. I’ll die a lonely old maid, unloved and a slave to duty.”

“There are those who love you, my sister,” Éomer kissed her nose. “Things can’t remain like they are forever. As soon as Gondor gains the upper hand against Mordor again, Faramir will be coming for you. It has worked to Rohan’s benefit to have you still here. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Smiling sadly at his words, her attention was caught by the signal Brinel sent. They were about to have company. Turning so that her brother could finish by joining the three braids at the back of her head, she looked to see who was coming to her room this early.

“It is a matter of propriety, your majesty,” came the hated voice of Gríma through the open door. “It is the custom of civilized countries to provide ladies-in-waiting for princesses.”

“I don’t think she will care for the idea,” Théoden said, stopping in the doorway at the sight of his niece and nephew.

Suddenly Éowyn felt as if she’d been caught doing something wrong. The surprised look on her uncle’s face and the satisfied one on Gríma’s made her feel strangely guilty. Éomer wore only his pants and Éowyn was only in her under dress, they usually dressed for the day after they’d finished. The way Éomer was leaning over her would be easy to misinterpret were one’s mind of the sordid type.

“Oh my,” Gríma said after making a startled gasp.

Éomer looked up from adjusting her braids, wondering at the strange feeling he was getting from the two newcomers. The look on their faces confused him, making him frown. “What is wrong, uncle?” he asked.

“I didn’t expect you to be here,” Théoden said, trying to still the suspicions that had been stirred by Gríma’s earlier comments. “It is rather early to be visiting with your sister, neither of you have even dressed yet.”

“We always braid each other’s hair before we dress when we have the time,” he said, clearly surprised by such a comment. “Mother said you and she used to braid each other’s hair as well; it is the custom.”

“I had nearly forgotten,” Théoden said, moving into the room and resting a hand on Éomer’s shoulder. He was silent a few moments as nostalgia overcame him, like it tended to so often of late. “Times do change though, sister-son. We must think about the future of our people. Until she is wed your sister needs to show a little more caution in her behavior. I will not have her become a subject of rumor.” He had moved to the door while he spoke.

“What rumor?” the young man questioned, rising to his feet. “I will cut the tongue of any who would dare besmirch my sister.” He was looking angrily at Gríma.

“Don’t blame Gríma, Éomer,” Théoden chastised him. “He is loyal and just trying to help.”

“I have little appreciation for his kind of help if it means casting suspicion on my brother and I,” Éowyn spoke up, trying to rein in her temper but having little luck doing so. “Would you ban us from each other’s company? What’s next? Will you bar Théodred from seeing me as well?”

“Now Éowyn, you know that is not what is intended,” Théoden said as he tried to calm his fiery niece who already held a bared blade in her hand.

“Théodred does not have two lovers who are seeking your hand in marriage, your highness,” Gríma said quietly. “And are they not brothers?”

Éomer moved faster than any could really see his movements. The advisor was against the wall in the hallway with the prince’s knife at his throat before the last word had left his mouth. “What do you accuse me of, worm?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“Éomer, stop this at once,” Théoden yelled, moving back into the hall. “It is time you started showing some restraint and acting according to your station.”

The prince released Gríma, but not before he left a visible cut across the man’s neck. “I find it hard to ignore such pointed criticisms of my personal life. This is the kind of thing that is causing so much dissension of late.”

“And your actions have not?” the king asked angrily looking pointedly at the large tattoo on Éomer’s shoulder. “We are trying to bring our people forward to civilization, not slide back into the barbarism of the past.”

Éomer looked at his uncle with shock and anger. “I will not break with the traditions of our people, Théoden King,” he said in a low growl. “Maybe it is best if I stay away from Edoras and out on the Mark where a barbarian such as myself belongs.” Unable to restrain his rage any longer, he turned and left.

“So you would allow the worm to drive my brother from these halls, uncle?” Éowyn said, as angry as Éomer. “You would drive away or imprison all your family on the word of such a vile creature?” She stepped back into her room, slamming and barring the door.

Brinel listened at the door to hear the two men move away down the hall, watching the princess throw herself down on the bed in an angry fit of tears. Once she was sure they were gone, she strode over to the weeping girl. Taking one of the leather belts that hung by the weapon rack, she brought it down hard on Éowyn’s vulnerable backside.

With a squeal of pain followed by a growl of rage, the younger woman turned to face her attacker.

“It was not amusing to see you and your brother play into the worm’s hands so easily,” Brinel hissed at her, dropping the belt to the floor now she had Éowyn’s attention. “It seems all I’ve been trying to teach you has slid right out your ears. I’m quite sure there will be a large army of matrons, all of the ‘worm’s’ choosing, descending upon you any minute now. You’ll most likely never have a private word with your brother again.”

Éowyn gasped in horror at her words, she was still new to this kind of warfare and hadn’t even considered the consequences of her and Éomer’s actions. “What can I do, Brinel?” she asked grabbing the older woman’s arm.

“Think on it for a while, then you tell me, your highness,” was the impatient reply. “You are smart enough to figure this out. I might not be here forever to tell you what to do. When you are finally out from under your uncle’s and the ‘worm’s’ thumbs you will have to make many of your own decisions. That is if you can match wits with Wormtongue and earn your freedom.” With that, she set about laying out the Princess’s wardrobe for the day, refusing to say any more.

“Please,” Stefle begged on his knees at Boromir’s feet. “We can counter any new agent that Saruman sends. It’s been over a year since he poisoned the horses and we know that he has tried to kill Lord Faramir several times. Now he is turning his attentions to you. Please, my lord, he is too dangerous.”

Boromir remained unmoved. “When you find out how he is getting information in and out of the White Tower, he can die. He is becoming desperate, we’ve made sure of that. Galmar is our best lead to break their underground, you can’t touch him until then.”

“As you order, my lord,” Stefle gave in to his lord’s demands. He would just have to make sure the pressure increased until Galmar made the right mistake.

The architectural style of the Meduseld didn’t allow for anything as handy as secret passages. For someone as clever as Brinel, this didn’t pose much of a problem. She’d already integrated herself into the household and gained the trust of the other servants. It made her real job as bodyguard and protector of the princess much easier. The princess herself aided immensely in that she was as quick to learn as she was to anger.

It was for the protection of her charge that she followed the lady-in-waiting through the keep. This woman was the only one not chosen by the princess herself but by the king, or rather Gríma. Brinel wanted to confirm that the woman was working for the councilor before she took any action.

Without any sort of caution the woman, Darowyn, went straight to the ‘worm’s’ chambers. Brinel smirked as she concealed herself behind a bulky planter in the large hallway. It would take a stupid person to betray her own people, she thought. The quick scan that Gríma made of the hall before he ushered the woman inside didn’t reveal her to him.

Since she already knew everything the woman had to say about her time with the princess, she left her post for a new objective. With quick, determined steps Brinel made her way to the room of the woman she had been following. One of her first efforts when she had arrived in Edoras was to make friends with those servants who attended to the most likely supporters of Gríma Wormtongue. The girl who was maid to Darowyn had grown very close to Brinel, especially since she was so understanding and helpful in dealing with the ‘lady’s’ abuse of her servant.

“I need you to help me, Rina,” she told the girl when she opened the door to her knock. “I must speak with your lady privately, but she mustn’t know I’m here until I’m ready.”

“I don’t know, Brinel,” the girl whispered to her friend. “She will beat me for it.”

“I will have you added to the princess’s service today. She will never hit you again,” Brinel told her. “But I need your help now, it is in service to Rohan.”

Biting her lip in indecision, the young woman thought for a few moments before nodding her acquiescence. “She always goes to her dressing table first,” Rina told her. “If you wait behind the dressing screen, she won’t see you.”

They didn’t have long to wait before Darowyn strutted into the room holding up a necklace with a teardrop shaped emerald pendant. “Look what I’ve got, girl,” she crowed as she entered the room. “A nice little reward for a job well done.” She immediately sat at her dressing table, leaning forward to examine herself in the mirror. “I can even wear it right away since it doesn’t come from the treasury like that other stuff.”

She was so busy looking at herself that she didn’t notice Brinel approaching her. The first she knew of the other woman’s presence was a sharp pain in her back that made her arms drop numbly as a strong hand covered her mouth. “So pretty little trinkets are your price for treason, my lady,” Brinel whispered into her ear. “If you answer my questions truthfully I might let you live to enjoy them.”

Darowyn nodded her eyes wide with fright. It was a thorough questioning. Brinel found out everything that the woman knew in a very short time. This person had never been a shield maiden or done anything to serve her country or people. There was no inner strength for her to rely on, no friends to come to her rescue. It was sad, but her own actions had separated her from the usually close-knit society of the Eorlingas.

When it was clear that there was no more to learn from her, Brinel withdrew the long thin hairpin she had driven into her spine. “I think you need to rest now,” she told Darowyn. “This will make you sleep.” She carefully drove the pin into the base of the woman’s skull watching her eyes slid closed involuntarily. She stood patiently behind her listening to her breathing slow and then stop before she withdrew her weapon. There was barely a point of blood where the pin had entered making Brinel smile in satisfaction.

Rina had looked on in growing horror as her mistress had told of how she had betrayed the Mark. Now she felt filled with fear and anger as she saw the lifeless woman’s head slump backwards. “You should have made it painful, or at least let her know what was coming,” she told her friend.

“I am not like her to hurt another needlessly,” Brinel scolded. “Besides such a peaceful expression will belie any thoughts of foul play and there will be no traces of poison. The only ones who will know what really happened are the ones who need to. It is not time yet to openly confront the chief councilor, but we can let him know somewhat of how far our hand reaches.” She began unfastening the corpse’s clothing. “Let’s get her in bed and find that other jewelry she was talking about. I’m sure the princess will know what should be done with it.”

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