A/N: Aah, my favourite initial, super-long author's note gleeful dance Hooray, my triumphant return! After an almost two-year hiatus in which I have been working as an editor on the site, I finally return with- I hope- a much better level of skill than hitherto. So I present to you my piéce de résistance- for now. I have been working on this story for an incredibly long time, mostly because I have altered characters, events and endings enough times that it is virtually nothing like the original idea. In short, Faramir is kidnapped and held hostage for a large ransom, for reasons which no one really knows. Gandalf pops in to help Boromir, who is having troubles at home with Denethor. However, things go awry when there are problems with the ransom, and Boromir is afraid that he might never see his brother again. I will thank you kindly to send me HELPFUL reviews of the non-bitchy sort, and to let me know what you think.
Enjoy!
Chapter 1: Captured
A horse galloped through the gates of the city into the darkening plains, its rider bent low over its neck. Faramir twisted the reins tensely, his jaw firmly clenched in memory of the last few days. Osgiliath had been a terrible defeat. Hundreds of men, all dying about him; everyone but him it seemed. No, he had been left to return and face the wrath of the Steward, and he was still raw from it.
"Faramir, why must you forever be a stain upon my honour?" Denethor said in a voice like thunder, glaring daggers at his younger son. "I trust Osgiliath, one of the most vital cities to our defence, to you, and you have let the enemy just walk in and take it on a whim!" Faramir stood, his head bowed, bearing his father's attacks in silence, although he was writhing with humiliation inside. "Do not stand there with your head down as if you were a slave or a beggar! You are a lord, even if in name only!" Denethor paced the floor agitatedly, strongly resembling a gruff old lion, his long robes swishing about as he whirled again. "If your brother had been in command, he would have held it with half the losses!" Faramir sighed. Boromir again. He could make no mistake without being told Boromir would not have made it, and could have no success without being told Boromir would have done it better. He loved his brother dearly, and was glad for his success, but he often wished he could escape from the ever-present shadow of his perfect older sibling.
"I am sorry father; but we had too few men, and the orcs were far too many. We did the best we could."
"'The best we could? The best we could!'" Denethor mumbled in a rage, his voice suddenly rising back to a hoarse shout. "'The best we could'?! Excuses, always excuses. You can make no excuse! There is no excuse! Do you have any idea how important Osgiliath is? With it, the enemy sits at our very doorstep! It was pure idiocy on my part, ever letting you command that city in Boromir's absence! It was he who insisted on it, and I could not refuse him. I see now I was wrong." He put a weary hand to his head, his voice dropping to a strained growl. "Now get out of my sight before I do something I will regret!" Faramir bowed and silently left the room.
Faramir's horse stumbled, and he brought his mind back to the present, seeing the beast was exhausted. Pulling gently back on the rains, he brought the dark stallion to a slow walk. The sun was halfway below the horizon, turning the lower sky into molten fire. Above, the sky was rapidly darkening into the shades of night, and Faramir felt a twinge of worry as he turned his horse and saw how far he had ridden. The chill breath of nightfall stirred the sparse grasses of the plains of Pellenor, and Faramir forced himself not to turn and look at the ill-fated city of Osgiliath, small in the distance. He was in no mood to see the crumbled ruins of the once proud city whose downfall was his own fault. He wound his fingers miserably in the reins, writhing inside with shame. It seemed as though nothing he did was right. Always he was lost in his brother's blinding light, and the shadow of his father's displeasure. Some days, he managed to tell himself it was for his own improvement; then other days, he felt like he would die in the attempt to be seen. He fingered the ring on his left hand, a sign of his empty rank. It was an ugly, gaudy monstrosity of gold with a superfluous, heavy ruby displayed garishly in the centre. He wished he could be rid of it, but he knew he couldn't.
As his horse plodded tiredly back the way they had come, he waited with growing agitation as the walls of the city seemed to get farther away rather than closer. He looked at the sun, now almost lost behind the burnt earth. The gates of the city closed for the night one hour after sunset; they would not be opened for any man save by the Steward's request, and Faramir knew he would get no such favour. Suddenly, his horse froze and refused to go another step, laying its ears back against its head. There was a stirring in the grass, not caused by any wind. Faramir instinctively reached for his sword, but felt his heart sink as he found only the empty sheath. He had taken it out before his conference with his father, afraid he might throw himself on it. He was now completely unarmed, with not even a dagger at his side.
A dark figure leapt out onto the path before him. His horse shied away at this sudden approach, and Faramir was almost thrown to the ground. It was all he could do to calm the animal, and it took many comforting words before the creature stood still. The dark form on the path was still standing in the centre of it, hooded and cloaked. Seeing Faramir was now watching however, they threw their hood back. To Faramir's surprise and relief, he found standing before him a beautiful young woman. Meeting her eyes, he felt a shiver run down his spine. Her proud, noble face was as white as ice, with no hint of colour anywhere. Her dark lips were twisted into what he assumed was an attempt at a friendly smile, although her eyes, as dark as two glittering pieces of coal, shone contemptuously out on him, speaking of her disdain for all. To his astonishment, however, when she spoke her voice was pleading and frightened.
"My Lord, I cry your mercy! I was returning from a voyage to another city and, while I was taking my ease, my horse started and ran off, along with all of my baggage. I have been walking for near two days, and now I fear I shall be shut outside the gates yet another night." Her voice was cultured and well-mannered, hinting at a noble upbringing. Her bearing was regal and proud, and her head was held high as she looked him full in the face. However, Faramir could not remove his suspicions of her.
"Why was a young maiden such as yourself travelling alone and unguarded?"
"I am the daughter of a once-wealthy merchant who passed away several years ago. Since then, I have been running my fathers affairs alone. My brother is only a lad of ten, and all other men in my family are dead. We have just come to this noble city from one of the outer villages, and we are not intimate with anyone here yet."
"Why did you not hire someone to escort you?" She had a ready answer for this also, although she seemed to be getting somewhat irritated by all the questions.
"As I said, before my father died, we were very wealthy. But since then, most of his fortune has been spent in caring for my mother, who has been wasting away since his death. I am not the keen business man he was, and I am afraid I have not done well in managing his affairs." She darted a glance at the tall grass on either side of her, anger briefly flashing behind her eyes.
"What are you looking for?" Faramir asked, growing more suspicious of this cold woman. She whirled back to him with a withering glare, her patience seeming to snap.
"Enough questions." She said tersely and turned on her heel and began to walk away. Suddenly, strong hands were grabbing Faramir and pulling him from his horse, which shot away in alarm. Faramir was paralysed by confusion, allowing the figures around him to push him down and bind his hands. Their faces were covered and their figures muffled with huge black cloaks, but their darks eyes shone out at him with a wild, hungry light. Then, out of the growing dark loomed a huge shadow. Faramir suddenly realised his attackers all stood to the side, their heads bowed in respect. Towards him, pacing slowly, was the dark figure of an immense man. Although the wild men were fairly large in stature, they were dwarfed in comparison to this mountain of a man. He must have stood almost seven feet high, and his broad chest and brawny arms told him to be at least sixteen stones of raw strength. The wild men seemed cowed before him, and lowered their eyes respectfully as he passed. He halted before Faramir, seeming to study him closely. Unlike all the others, this man wore no covering on his face, which was square and hard and handsome. He gave a low rumbling chuckle.
"Good work boys," he said in a low, rough brogue. "Looks like my cat has caught the bird." He chuckled again.
"You may put away your ego for the moment, Dreyd!" a voice said from behind him. The woman from the road swept up, irritation evident in her eyes. "Perhaps we might, instead, finish the task at hand before someone from the city or the road spots us, and we are all hung for treason." She said it quietly and with an almost wheedling note, but the disgust in her voice dripped over them all like oil. Dreyd seemed to shrink before her caustic gaze, but quickly stuck out his chest and glared back. Turning to his men, he gestured to them. Several of them raced forward and seized Faramir by the arms, dragging him towards a waiting horse that had been called from the distance. Pulling himself out of his shock and confusion, Faramir fought off the hands gripping him. Managing to roll onto his back, he kicked them away and tried to get to his feet. Then, something whacked him between the shoulders and he was sent sprawling to the ground once more. A heavy boot was placed on his back, pushing his face into the dust.
"Don't try to run from me, boy!" Dreyd snarled. Faramir struggled to breathe through the dust filling his nose and mouth, writhing beneath the painful pressure of the foot. The heel ground painfully into his spine. "You hear?" Lifting his foot, Dreyd viciously kicked Faramir in the ribs, then turned on his heel and stalked away, yelling over his shoulder "don't let him get away again, you worthless rabble." This time, seven burly men fell upon Faramir, seizing him and pinning him to the ground. Still, Faramir foolishly struggled against them. With a howl of irritation, one of them raised his sword and brought the hilt down hard on the back of Faramir's head. He suddenly lay still, and, with a grunt of satisfaction, the man slung the limp body over a horse and, all others mounting their own beasts, galloped off into the night.
TBC
A/N: So there you go. The first chapter. That is all.