A/N: A correction: Somehow the semi-OC Ithilien Ranger "Madril" from chapter one was turned into "Madlir" in chapter two, possibly from a combination of spontaneous dyslexia and a subconscious desire to make his name rhyme with an obscure obnoxious character from a video game. Anyway, I'm sticking with the real name, Madril.

Chapter 4: Confidants

"Where is Legolas?"

"Ah. You are awake."

"Where is he?"

Aragorn turned from her and placed something around his neck; Hermione figured that it must have been the Evenstar. Then he looked at her once again. "Legolas…and Gimli…left at sunrise to continue following the trail."

"But…then what are we doing here?"

"Our road is to the south now."

"We're leaving them?!" Hermione rose indignantly.

"You are suddenly so energetic," Aragorn said with raised eyebrows.

"I…where are we going?! And why didn't you wake me to tell me they were leaving?!"

"We have a long journey of our own to embark upon, and I thought you could use the rest."

Hermione opened her mouth angrily, then paused, realizing that the course change was probably an act of kindness on his part. "I…apologize. For my weakness."

"No woman could continue at that pace, and few could do what you have done already."

Hermione forced a smile, knowing this was a compliment from Aragorn. "Um…thanks."

"We are going to Edoras to see King Théoden of Rohan. We will be asking for his assistance in recovering our friends."

"Why didn't we do that earlier, instead of following the orcs?"

"Because it meant leaving the trail, and…" he paused. "And I did not wish for the Fellowship to be broken any more than it has, unless it was absolutely necessary," he added quietly.

Hermione slowly nodded. "I understand."

"Then rise and we shall be on our way."

Hermione did so, and they set off. Aragorn seemed very confident in the direction they were going, which pleased Hermione, who was wary about leaving the convenient trail behind them.

About an hour passed in silence before Hermione struck up a conversation.

"What is this King Théodred like?" she asked curiously, glad that they were now traveling at a pace slow enough for her to strike up a conversation.

"I knew him only in his youth."

"Oh, so he's young."

"No, he must be getting on in years now…" Aragorn thought for a moment. "His son must be older than you, even."

"Then how…oh, right! You're actually seventy years old, you said."

"Eighty-seven."

"Eighty-seven, then."

There was a pause, and Hermione glanced casually at Aragorn's face. He was staring ahead, scanning the terrain.

Now might be the perfect time.

Hermione hadn't known how to address her fears over his being a Parselmouth. Legolas had claimed that Aragorn wasn't hiding anything, but it was possible Legolas had been too comfortable with their friendship to notice anything. Or maybe he knew and it had just never come up. If speaking to snakes was common in Middle-earth Aragorn would never have cause to bring it up.

But if it wasn't common—or only common among evil people—then he was hiding it. And she needed to find out which it was without arousing suspicion.

The only thing which really encouraged her now was the fact that, while she was sleeping and Legolas and Gimli were gone, Aragorn hadn't taken the opportunity to murder her. Although it was very possible that on their own like this he might be leading her into a trap.

If she was anxious about being alone with him, he might notice. She needed to give him a chance to clear the matter up once and for all.

"Does King Théoden have any special powers?" she asked casually.

"Special powers? What do you mean by that?"

"I just mean…well, you're eighty-seven, like you said."

"He is not one of my people. The Dúnedain are descended from elves."

"Right, I recall you mentioning that," Hermione mumbled; talking about elves still reminded her of Boromir. "But anyway…well…in my world some people have magic and others don't. It's all very random. I was born with Muggle parents—non-magical parents—but I still have magical powers. And different people can do different things…Harry's godfather Sirius can turn into a dog. And Harry can talk to snakes."

Hermione studied Aragorn's expression; he continued to stare ahead.

When it was clear she had finished speaking, Aragorn commented, "There are people of that sort in this world as well."

"Of what sort?"

"The Beornings can transform themselves into bears. And wizards are known for their ability to speak to different creatures. It is said that Radagast the Brown could converse with or become any animal he chose."

"That's interesting," Hermione said. "But most humans don't have any abilities?"

"The Istari are hardly human, and the Beornings cannot be truly considered such either."

"So are you human?"

Aragorn smiled slightly. "That is an interesting question…but you said that you can use magic. So are you human?"

He was being evasive; of that Hermione was certain now. All she could do was pretend not to notice it to remove suspicion.

She decided to laugh. "Well, I would certainly think so. I'm just a very gifted human, that's all. Maybe that's what you are."

"Maybe."

Aragorn seemed to have a darker aspect about him; Hermione feared that bringing up snakes had been too daring a move. It was stupid of her to have done this while alone with him!

She would have to be a lot closer to him if she didn't want him to realize how terrified she was. But could she do it?

Hermione closed her eyes, concentrating for a moment, and then looked sad. "Well…I know what I'm not."

"Excuse me?"

"I may not be exactly human, but I'm definitely not an elf."

"You certainly used to dress like one."

"Their clothing is very comfortable. And Arwen was so…"

Aragorn flinched and Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh, I'm sorry I brought her up, I…" her voice trailed off and suddenly she blushed. "Oh my God, I never realized before…"

"What?"

"It's just…" her blush deepened. "I was wearing her clothes all this time. Did that…upset you?"

Aragon looked away and cleared his throat; Hermione guessed that he might be blushing too. Even though she was genuinely embarrassed, she was glad at the turn this had taken. His mind would definitely be off her previous questions now.

"I have gone much longer without seeing her," Aragorn said.

"The length of time doesn't matter. I could go a whole summer without Harry and Ron, but ever since we left them a few days ago I've felt…empty."

Aragorn slowly nodded. "The feelings suddenly come upon you, all at once, and for no reason."

Now Aragorn was looking at her. Hermione felt extremely uncomfortable, especially considering that by her analysis she had all but proven he was an evil spy. But she had to persevere.

"I noticed you were looking at her necklace earlier."

"Yes, I…" Aragorn sighed. "I was praying I would never see her again."

"Because you want her to sail away with the rest of the elves."

"Yes."

"That must be very difficult for you."

Aragorn didn't answer.

"There's something I want to tell you," Hermione said quietly.

"Yes?"

"During the battle…when Boromir was in trouble…" Hermione's throat choked up; she disciplined herself to focus. She had to stay in control in front of Aragorn. "I tried to use elf magic," she said finally.

Aragorn actually stopped in his tracks. "What? How?"

"I invoked some words…I heard Legolas do it when he was shooting at that flying thing."

"What happened?"

Aragorn's eyes were wide and full of concern. He had just spoken about something very personal to her; she could do the same to him. She could tell him, like she had told no one else…

Of course I can't tell him! Even if he wasn't a Parselmouth he would still hate me forever for what I did to Boromir.

"Nothing happened," she said finally. "Except…I felt drained, horribly drained…and…" her voice shook as she allowed a glimpse of the real truth. "And because I was so weak, that's why I failed. I failed to protect him, and I couldn't even defend myself when that orc came at me."

Aragorn put a hand on her cheek. "Boromir was slain by an evil beast while fighting to protect his friends. He died gloriously, the way he wanted to die. There was nothing you could have done."

There was something I couldn't have done. "Yes…you're right, of course…"

Aragorn smiled down at her, and Hermione swallowed. This was beyond awkward. For the first time she was finally growing close—very close—to this strange man, and it was after she was certain he was a liar.

"We must continue on, a bit faster now," Aragorn said, removing his hand from her face. "Let us see if we can find ourselves some horses and reach the orcs before Legolas and Gimli."

Hermione smiled. "All right."

Could she have been mistaken? She was certain she had seen him speaking Parseltongue to the snake, definitely hissing and sputtering like Harry had done. But could she have hallucinated the whole thing? How could this man be evil?

She suddenly remembered Lothlórien and how Aragorn had seemed so upset there. Galadriel had spoken to every single member of the Fellowship, even Neville, but not him. Hermione hadn't thought much of it at the time; she had considered him lucky, even, for not having to put up with the cruel woman. Galadriel had scorned her for her false elvish-ness, and she had hated the elf for it. But Galadriel had been right, and if she was willing to yell at Hermione and kindly warn several others Hermione wondered why she couldn't think of anything to say to Aragorn. Maybe Galadriel knew of his dark side and didn't want to reveal it…or maybe she herself was afraid of him.

Of course Aragorn had been speaking Parseltongue, and of course he had evaded her questions. His recent display of kindness was either an act of complacency or he knew she was onto him and he wanted her to like him more and doubt herself. Hermione looked upon him coldly again, again suspicious of what his real intentions might be, and as she continued along behind him she forgot the swell of affection she had felt for him with the warmth of his hand on her cheek.

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

"This way, this way! Ahead they call these the Dead Marshes…dead things there, no living things, no orcses…there are roads and hard ground for orcses, but we must not go to those, they would see us there. Sméagol can take you this way."

"Very good, Sméagol," Frodo said, and Gollum grinned at the praise.

Draco slouched a little as he followed Frodo and Sam, a good ways ahead of Harry and Ron. He himself didn't trust Gollum—he didn't believe for one moment that Gollum had actually "escaped" Sauron's grasp—and he thought it ridiculous that the party seemed to trust Gollum more than him.

Draco was extremely frustrated by the fact that Weasley hated him for something he had never done and Potter liked him for something he had lied about. He desperately wanted to tell them the truth—that he had killed his own father to protect Ginny—but once he revealed that he had lied about Voldemort killing his father they would never believe him again. Besides, Potter seemed to idolize his own dead father. The very idea of patricide would probably send the hero into a self-righteous fit…or shatter the naïve little boy's fragile heart.

When Malfoy had come to them, Harry and Ron had seen him as a dark stranger much older than the bully they remembered; to Draco, Potter and Weasley were still children. They had seen terrible things, certainly, but they hadn't experienced the darkness of pure evil the way Draco had in Mordor.

The most innocent-looking among the group was the one Draco was most drawn to on that level—Frodo. Frodo alone of the company seemed to share that darkness, and Draco wondered how that was possible. Finally, he decided to simply ask the hobbit, while Gollum bounded ahead of them in the dim, fading light.

When Draco approached Frodo he walked close to him and spoke in low tones, making it clear to Sam that their conversation was private. Frodo's friend took the opportunity to get ahead of them and watch Gollum more closely; Harry and Ron still lingered behind, out of earshot.

"I noticed your guide keeps complaining about the sunlight," Draco said.

"Oh…yes, he has been doing that," Frodo said with a sigh.

"He's wrong, you know. We wouldn't be spotted. The orcs don't like sunlight."

Frodo looked curiously at Draco. "So we have been told many times…but we were attacked on the shores of the Anduin before we came here. A large host of orcs had traveled a great distance and fought savagely even in the daylight."

Draco considered this for a moment. "Oh…those must have been Saruman's special orcs. In Mordor the orcs fear the light, and the land is kept forever dark."

"I cannot imagine what it must have been like to live there," Frodo said with a shudder.

"I think you can," Draco said quietly.

Frodo glanced away, alarmed. "I do not know what you mean."

"Potter said you are spying on Mordor to get information for Gondor. But what kind of surveillance are you getting, exactly? If you wanted to observe troop movements into the land you wouldn't be going this way, since your guide claims the orcs don't use it…and I don't think your superiors would like the idea of sending an army trudging through these marshes up ahead, where we'll probably be in single file."

Frodo continued to look away. "You have come from Mordor and your own intentions cannot be proven. You should not question mine."

"But it isn't just that," Draco continued, undeterred. "There's something else about you…something that you're hiding. If you weren't so obsessed with this guide of yours I'd guess you had been to Mordor yourself. You've got the feel of the place."

Frodo turned away; Draco grabbed his arm.

"Let go of me," Frodo said angrily.

"Listen to me," Draco whispered, glancing around; no one was watching them. "There is darkness in you. I can feel it. You think I'm one who's not to be trusted? I think maybe Potter and I would be better off without you."

Frodo hesitated, then said, "All right…it was foolish of me to think I could hide it from you."

He reached into his shirt and pulled out the chain which held the Ring.

Even though they hadn't heard his statement, now suddenly everyone looked at him.

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam cried, rushing over; Gollum was at his heels, his eyes wide and focused on the Ring.

"It's all right, everyone," Frodo said quickly. "I have decided to show Malfoy what I was hiding. We should all trust one another here." He looked back at Draco. "Do you…"

Frodo stopped. Draco was staring at the Ring with a look of total disbelief; then, suddenly, he broke into laughter.

"What is so amusing?" Frodo asked.

"That! That…it's Sauron's, isn't it?"

The hand which grasped the chain shook, and Frodo whispered, "Do not speak that name again."

Draco blinked. He, too, had felt a shiver at the utterance of the name; apparently it really did hold power, unlike Voldemort's.

"I'm sorry," Draco said, shaking his head in amazement. "I just…" He couldn't help but smile. "There it is. The Ring S…the Ring he's so obsessed with. And you've just got it around your neck, like it's nothing."

"It is hardly nothing," Frodo said, placing it again under his shirt.

"You're right, I was able to sense its power…" Draco frowned. "Why are you bringing it to Mordor? You're not thinking of…handing it over, are you?"

"No, of course not," Frodo said quickly. "We are going to destroy it."

"Ah…" Draco smiled. "He won't be expecting that."

"What will he be expecting?"

"Well…I was told by his most trusted servant that the Ring was being brought to Gondor, to be used as a weapon by the Men."

"That was a suggestion, but I rejected it."

"You. You rejected it. You're…you're much more powerful than you seem, aren't you?"

Frodo thought for a moment, then said, "No, not powerful at all. I am merely a hobbit."

He walked away to speak with Sam, who had been eying the two ever since Frodo had pulled out the Ring.

"He's a tricky one, isn't he, Mr. Frodo?" Sam said.

"We should never have waited for them," Frodo said, with a pained look.

"For Master Harry and Ron? But Mr. Frodo, Dumbledore was gone and they were all alone…"

"I don't care," Frodo said, rather harshly. "We didn't think this through at all."

"Think what through?"

"When we destroy the Ring, we destroy Barad-Dur. We destroy Ginny."

Sam's eyes widened. "That's bad…" Then he thought for a moment. "Well, we'll just have to destroy it after they rescue her, won't we?"

"After they rescue her?!" Frodo cried, then lowered his voice. "Oh, Sam…the Enemy will find out that we are going to destroy the Ring, and He will have every orc in Mordor surrounding the volcano."

"Harry and Ron would never tell…"

"They will be captured and they will be tortured," Frodo said sharply. "And He will know everything, and He will stop us."

"Don't say such things, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, knitting his brow. "If Mr. Malfoy really was working for the Enemy…why, he could have snatched the Ring from you just a minute ago, couldn't he? He really wants to help Ginny, he says, and he knows things about that tower. He can help Master Harry and Ron, there and back again."

"Of course, Sam," Frodo said quietly and unconvincingly. "You are right. I simply…I simply have not felt confidence in our mission since Gandalf died."

"I think this Malfoy fellow will turn out to be a blessing," Sam said, neglecting to mention Gollum.

"Yes…well…we should continue to follow Gollum closely. I have a feeling that the closer we get to this bog the closer together we must walk."

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

"Merry! Do you hear that?"

Merry groaned and opened his eyes drowsily. "Wha…"

"There's horses! Someone is coming…"

"Horses? Orcs don't ride horses, Pip."

"I know! It must be someone else…"

Pippin couldn't turn his neck around far enough to see, and he was strapped to the back of an Uruk-Hai bent on moving forward. He did, however, notice Neville might be in a position to help.

Neville, deemed too large to carry on anyone's back, was tied by the wrists and dragged along behind the orcs. This meant that his experience as a prisoner was much more miserable than the two hobbits', although the semi-conscious Merry and oblivious Pippin didn't really notice his struggle to continue moving his now stick-thin legs in pace with the powerful orcs.

"Neville, what do you see?" Pippin asked, and there was so much shouting among the orcs that no one noticed the prisoners conversing.

Neville turned around, still walking straight. "They're…" he squinted his eyes. "Ah, I'm not really sure…"

Suddenly the orc band halted. The prisoners were thrown to the ground and guarded by five large orcs with swords pointed at them; the rest of the orcs gathered in front of them, shielding them from the view of the oncoming horsemen but not entirely blocking the prisoners' views of the other.

As one of the horsemen dismounted and came closer, the three could see him very clearly.

"Whoa," Neville said, raising his eyebrows.

"What is that?" Pippin asked. "It's not an orc…"

"Of course not, he's a human," Neville said.

"Like enough to an orc," Merry mumbled.

"How can you say that?!" Neville whispered back angrily. "We don't know if he's good or evil."

Merry and Pippin glanced at one another, obviously assuming Neville had gone quite insane.

Meanwhile, Zendar glanced about at the orcs. "Your leader?" he demanded in the Black Speech of Mordor.

Several of the orcs hesitated; then one of the darker-skinned ones said, in Westron, "He asks for the leader."

"I am leader," a larger lighter orc declared in Westron, "and I do not speak the tongue of the Mordor filth."

There was much hissing and jostling from the orc crowd at this statement.

"My name is Uglúk," the orc leader continued. "What are you? You seem neither man nor orc."

"It is a man," the Mordor orc said, and he stepped in front of Uglúk. "I am Grishnákh," he continued in Black Speech. "And what brings a man of Harad to these parts? Has the Great Eye sent you to watch over these incompetent Isengarders?"

"What do you say to him?!" Uglúk demanded in Westron.

"We will speak more later," Zendar said to Grishnákh, and then he looked to Uglúk once more. "I am Zendar of the Haradrim. My people come to this land sore for sport, and Whiteskins are best sport."

Uglúk laughed heartily. "That they are. Well, there are plenty enough villages to burn!"

Zendar smiled. "Yes, we might burn villages, friend, but you not burning villages? What are you doing?"

Uglúk hesitated. "Well…we are delivering some prisoners to Lord Saruman, if you must know."

"Prisoners? Who prisoners?"

"That is Lord Saruman's business."

"Whiteskins are everywhere. You need help. I have men."

Uglúk stomped forward and narrowed his eyes at the fearsomely-clad man. "Just to be clear, the prisoners are to go directly to Lord Saruman. None of your men can touch them, not even get close, or they'll be gutted. And no thoughts of taking them to your master down south. You try any double-crossing and you'll have a wizard to deal with."

Zendar clapped a hand to Uglúk's spiky shoulder. "We are friends now. I do not hurt orcs or prisoners. I will tell my men."

Uglúk grunted and Zendar departed, leaving a few Haradrim behind watching the orcs curiously.

"Are these Men to be trusted?" a goblin hissed warily.

"The Dark Lord trusts them," Grishnákh said. "He spoke the Black Speech. He is one of us."

A few feet away Merry and Pippin were looking smugly at Neville.

"Okay, I guess you're right," Neville resigned with a sigh.

"Our captors have made a new friend," Merry said darkly.

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

"Anything from the report?"

"There was no report today. And with sunset now there is unlikely to be one until tomorrow."

"Ah. That's too bad."

"Yes, it is certainly a pity."

Tonks cleared her throat and picked at her plate, very conscious of the fact that Faramir was staring at her. He did that often. Zendar, too, had stared at her when they would dine together, although when he did it it was with a look of wonder; Faramir seemed more to be carefully studying her.

Tonks was convinced that it was only because she was this strange foreigner that Faramir was so curious. She refused to believe that this complete stranger had any feelings for her…even though over the past few days he seemed to have been making small efforts to be less of a stranger.

Stranger or no, she wouldn't stop being a prisoner to him unless Faramir received word from his superiors that it was all right to release her and Dahrik. Even though Faramir was confident his appeal for their freedom would be granted, Tonks was much more skeptical. Faramir alone among his men seemed to possess a genuine acceptance of all human beings, and she felt that she herself was only tolerated by the others because she was a woman. After all, while she was dining with the handsome Captain, Dahrik was locked in a cage. Tonks feared that even if orders came for her release, Dahrik might still be held, or even worse.

But Faramir was a kind man. If his orders were to execute Dahrik, she was confident he would refuse, or at least fight with his superiors long enough to give them time to escape.

Tonks had convinced Dahrik to wait until Faramir's orders came back before they would make an attempt at escape. This didn't mean he hadn't come up with a plan; Dahrik would use his special relationship with Madril to get out of the cage, and Tonks would impersonate the sycophantic young Mablung. All they needed to do was get out of the cavern and make a run for it; Faramir wouldn't be willing to send his men chasing after them for very long, especially since they were going toward Mordor.

But there was no point in thinking about it right now. The orders hadn't come in yet.

Still, maybe it was better than thinking about him staring at her.

"Do you…" Tonks started, when she was interrupted by Mablung.

"Captain Faramir," Mablung said, looking very tired, "there is a messenger here, from Osgiliath…"

"Send him in immediately."

Mablung nodded. An even more exhausted soldier entered, carrying a large pack and looking very curiously at Tonks. The first time a messenger had seen her he had been shocked and affronted; news must have traveled quickly. Tonks was surprised that the messengers would be the gossiping sort.

"Speak, soldier," Faramir ordered, trying to get his attention off of Tonks.

"Y…yes sir," the soldier said slowly. "But sir…I think perhaps I should give you this information alone."

"Is it confidential?"

"Well…not exactly…"

"Then why should she be sent away?"

"But sir…"

"This woman is…"

"Sir," the messenger interrupted harshly, "with all due respect to the lady, you will want to hear this alone."

Faramir blinked. "I see…Lady Nymphadora, please wait outside with Mablung."

Tonks went outside the section of the cavern that was Faramir's "room," behind the curtain with Mablung.

Mablung was edging at the doorway as though trying to listen in, so Tonks attempted to divert his attention. "What is Osgiliath?"

"Hm?" Mablung said, blinking. "Oh…Osgiliath? You…you have not heard of it?"

She shook her head.

"Well…" he hesitated. "It is good you did not ask the Captain this. It is rather more of a curse for him."

"A curse? I thought it was a place."

"It is a place," Mablung said quickly. "It's a very strategically-located city. The Captain has had little luck holding it…but it is no fault of his own! He is a brilliant commander. It is simply physically impossible to keep the city well-defended with the numbers of orcs that have been pouring out of the Black Land."

"Ah."

After a pause, Mablung started edging toward the curtain again, but the sounds of voices from inside had stopped and the messenger exited, looking grim.

Mablung hurriedly attended to him; Tonks stood confusedly, wondering what to do. Faramir hadn't called her back in. Maybe he just assumed she would walk in herself.

She hesitantly opened the curtain a little. "Captain Faramir?"

His face was ashen, and he was holding something—a letter, she supposed—under the table. "Oh, yes…of course, you must finish your dinner," he said quietly.

"Captain…if you want to be alone, I perfectly underst…"

"No, no, come in."

Tonks reluctantly entered and resumed her seat. She took a few bites of her dinner before asking, "Are you going to eat yours?"

"I have no will to eat at this moment."

She put her utensil down and looked concernedly at him. "I know you can't talk about it, but…"

"I do not see it as a great military secret," Faramir said quietly, and he placed on top of the table what he had been holding. It wasn't a letter; it was a strange object.

"I…don't know what that is," Tonks said, frowning.

"It is a fragment," Faramir said, and his eyes had welled up with tears. "A fragment of the Horn of Gondor…which was carried by my brother."

Tonks bit her lip. She wasn't exactly sure how to take this; was this a confirmation of his brother's death? A bad omen? Was he upset with his idiot brother for breaking a special horn? Did it have some sort of magical properties?

"I'm sorry," was all she could say.

Faramir nodded, clearing his throat and blinking his eyes, but the tears still fell. "I saw him," he said quietly. "In a vision. I told everyone it was only a dream. I knew they would think I had gone mad. But I saw him. I knew he was slain. I knew it deep in my heart…but I refused to believe…and now this washes up on shore…"

Faramir turned his face away from her, then stood and walked to the other side of the room, facing away. Tonks rose as well and walked over to him; she reached out her hand and took his, looking up into his face. "Hey…this is a…it's a terrible thing. I really am sorry. If you want, I could leave you…or I could stay here, and you could…you could tell me more about your brother, or…"

Faramir looked at her; then he let go of her hand. He touched her face, then suddenly kissed her.

…Or you could do that.

Tonks wished she could feel total empathy for the man. She wished she could burst into tears at the sight of his pain, maybe even genuinely and earnestly kiss him back to comfort him. But in truth she was just completely uncomfortable.

Dahrik had provided her with an escape from the drama at the Haradrim camp, and as much as she wanted to complete their mission she knew half the reason she had gone was to get away from Zendar and Lupin. She liked Captain Faramir—she really did—and she had hoped so desperately that they could just be friends and it wouldn't be awkward.

"Gods, I am sorry! I beg your pardon…please, that was…so impulsive of me, I…I cannot imagine why I…"

"It's okay," Tonks said hurriedly; the sight of him stammering an apology brought on some empathy. "Really…you just received some very disturbing news, and it was bound to make you somewhat irrational…"

"No, no, you do not understand, I am not…I would never…"

Faramir was backing away from her; Tonks realized he didn't need a pardon from her, he needed one from himself.

"Faramir," she said, calling him by name, "I forgive you. Completely. Please, just take my hand."

She held out her hand; he stared at it as though afraid it would try to strangle him.

"Please," Tonks insisted.

Faramir hesitantly placed his hand in hers.

"You've had a very frightening shock. You need to sit down."

Faramir nodded absently, and she led him to his fairly soft sleeping mat.

Tonks sat next to him, still holding his hand. "Just breathe slowly and try to relax."

"My father…my father always said that I…was weak," Faramir said, and although he seemed a little calmer fresh tears were still flowing. "Boromir would play-fight, and I would sit with my books…and he…he said…he said I was his sister. He would call me that…'Little Sister.' I was…he was merely jesting, of course, but I…how I would cry at night, when I thought of that name…I suppose that did not help prove my virtue."

"Boromir…was that your brother's name?"

"Yes."

This seemed strangely familiar to Tonks, but she assumed it was just because of its similarity to Faramir's own name. "What was he like?"

Faramir smiled through his tears. "He was…great, and brave…a true warrior…and though he fought well with sword and shield, right alongside the men, he was…a brilliant strategist. The Battle of Osgiliath…my brother could do for that city what no man before or since will ever do."

"Did he look like you?"

"Look…yes, he did. Except that…he was always bigger and stronger. He took after our father more. In appearance and manner. And he…"

"Oh my God!" Tonks suddenly exclaimed.

Faramir was rudely awakened from his calm nostalgia trip. "What?! What…what is it?"

"I…I'm sorry, I just…I think I may have met him."

"You…that is certainly impossible."

"No, no…this man…he was traveling…he said he had lost his guide, he was…yes, he looked rather like you…I study people's faces, I'm usually very good at remembering faces. And he was on some kind of secret mission, he wanted directions to…somewhere, I can't remember where. But I remember…he was dressed very well, and he had this gigantic shield…"

"Gods," Faramir whispered. "Where was this?"

"It was…near Isengard."

"Isengard?"

"Yes…yes, it was…"

Faramir suddenly let go of her hand. All signs of grief were gone from his face; now he looked horrified.

"What?" Tonks asked, frowning.

"What were you doing there?"

Tonks froze. Of course. She had made a grave mistake. Isengard was far west of here; Harad and Mordor were east. She could no longer pretend that she and Dahrik had been caught in Ithilien simply wandering a bit far from home.

"I…" Tonks swallowed. "I don't know what to say. I told you that I…couldn't tell you our mission."

"Have you had dealings with Saruman? Or…or with Rohan?"

"I haven't…"

"How did you come to meet my brother?" Faramir asked, standing up and looking down at her aggressively.

"I told you, he needed directions…"

"So he asked a Haradrim woman where the western Elves lived?!"

"I…had never heard of the place he was looking for…"

"He would not have told you the place he was looking for! He would not have spoken to you at all! He would be more likely to murder you than ask you for directions, a Haradrim warrior woman traveling through the Gap of Rohan!"

"I wish I could explain…"

"You arrived here just after my vision of his death! Did you aid those who killed him?!"

Tonks shot up. "No! I didn't! I swear to you, I had nothing to do with him…"

"You knew all along who I was…you came here knowing who I was, you and your friend, both of you speaking such excellent Westron…"

"Fa…"

"What was your plan? Were you going to seduce my men into giving you information before your partner killed them?"

"No…"

"Is that what you did to my brother?!"

Tonks bolted for the curtain; Faramir lunged at her and grabbed one arm, but she grasped the curtain with the other and tore it from the wall. "Help me, please!" she cried out.

While her scream would surely echo throughout the rest of the cavern, the nearest soldier was Anborn, the disgraced ex-Ranger who had been taken off of patrol because of Dahrik's false accusation against him.

He was certainly confused by the spectacle of his benevolent captain assaulting a seemingly defenseless woman, but he wasn't about to jump to her rescue after what had happened to him. He hesitated.

Tonks was about to cry out again when Faramir suddenly shoved her outside in Anborn's direction. "Lock her up! The same as the other!"

"Yes sir," Anborn said, pulling out a dagger.

"You're making a terrible mistake," Tonks sobbed to Faramir, but the captain's back was turned to her as he went deeper into his chamber.

"So, what did you do?" Anborn hissed into Tonks' ear as he led her toward the makeshift dungeon, passing other shocked and confused Rangers. "Did you try to bewitch the Captain?"

"He is mad with grief…"

"He is finally wising up to you people, like I should have. I cannot believe I ever defended you. Madril was wrong, though. You are not animals. You are not like those filthy orcs. You are evil in a seductive package…but you cannot fool anyone, really, because the Blackness shows through."

Tonks glared menacingly at him but found no reason to say more. It would be difficult, but not impossible, to escape, and at least she knew that was the only option now.

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

"Ay! Look at this!"

"Whatcha gabbing about?"

Sirius continued forward, seemingly unfazed, ignoring the two men. He was, however, watching them out of the corner of his eye, and he was ready to run at any moment.

"Oy! It's a pooch!"

"Ain't seen one like that for a while, eh?"

"Big and black…"

"Yeah, big and black."

"You don't think…"

There was a pause.

"Well, he's a cute one," the first man said, with a light change in tone. "Oy! Pup! Come here!"

He clapped his hands several times; Sirius looked up at him.

"Come here!" the haggard-looking man said, motioning for him to come forward.

Sirius cautiously approached; the man scratched his head. "Looks about right, eh?"

"I'd say so."

Suddenly they both raised spears at Sirius.

"Come on, pooch," one man said. "You're coming with us."

Sirius growled when one man poked his side with the tip of his spear, but he went along where they led him, trying not to behave in any way unlike a regular dog. He had no idea where they were taking him, and he didn't have the mental energy to formulate an explanation.

His trip to the Black Hills had hardly gone as planned. They were much farther away than they had seemed on a map, and as he journeyed Sirius needed food and water; these he begged for from friendly townsfolk. In a much smaller village he had stolen a horse, and this had made the going much easier.

Now he had reached his destination. The place was hardly what he had been expecting; there was a fortress under construction, and various wild-looking men were at work building walls at the foot of a series of hills. On these hills were settlements that also appeared to have been constructed very recently. Sirius was faced with a miniature, poor-quality copy of Edoras.

He was very intrigued by this, and he had transformed into a dog for a closer look. That was when two of the "wild" men, apparently assuming the role of wardens for the as-yet nonexistent gate, had discovered him and decided to herd him with their spears.

And so he was being led along, up a road toward the top of the hill. It was a fairly steep climb, and difficult due to the lack of a decent road. Sirius longed for an escape opportunity but none presented itself; the spears poked at him even when he went the right way, so they were a hair's breadth from piercing the skin if he made a sudden move. He might have had a chance lunging at one of the men if they had been using swords, but the spears were far too long.

As he got closer to the top, he realized that the structure they were approaching did look vaguely like the palace at Edoras from the outside, but once he was in it he saw nothing resembling the familiar halls of Meduseld. It seemed that the designers of this cheap copy had never even been inside the real place.

By far the strangest thing about the place was the fact that a young teenage boy was seated casually on a throne that did look like it was made out of valuable materials. The boy seemed strange not only because of his age but also his appearance; while the two men escorting him (as well as the workers outside) were rough-looking men with long dark hair and beards, the boy was decidedly Rohirric, with golden hair and bright blue eyes as well as a much finer outfit.

"What an interesting creature," he said, cocking his head to one side as the two men approached, still prodding Sirius forward.

"We were told to bring 'em in, Lord Teromer," one of his captors said.

"Told to…why yes, of course." He jumped from the throne and walked over to Sirius, scrutinizing him. "Yes, there does seem to be an intelligence there."

Sirius looked away and licked his paw, trying to appear as unintelligent as possible. He didn't know what these men wanted with him and he hoped they would just let him go…at least long enough for him to transform so he could meet these strange people in person.

"Grarg, could you get Lord Peter please?" Teromer asked one of Sirius' guards.

"Aye," Grarg said, and he hurried off.

Lord Peter? Sirius thought warily.

Grarg returned…with none other than Peter Pettigrew.

"That's him!" Wormtail cried immediately. "Don't let him…"

But Sirius was already on his way out. He found it blocked, however, by three "palace" guards with long spears pointed at him. He immediately spun around, growling and baring his teeth; Grarg and the other guard were advancing with spears, but Teromer and Wormtail were weaponless.

"Don't hurt him!" Wormtail cried to the guards, and then he looked at Sirius. "Please, don't make this difficult…I don't want to fight you!"

Sirius barked threateningly, grateful that his present form wouldn't allow for unnecessary conversation.

"Lord?" Grarg said nervously, still holding his spear firmly. "If that beast attacks…"

"He is not a beast," Teromer said, and he slowly approached Sirius. "And he has my word that there shall be no violence in these halls."

Sirius was about to bare his teeth as a response to that pathetic attempt when he realized it would probably be smarter to pretend to go along with them; that way he could catch them off guard by suddenly transforming and then either attacking or running away.

Therefore, Sirius relaxed.

"Padfoot, it's okay," Wormtail said. "You can transform in front of them. I already have. We need to talk."

Sirius consented to transforming, but only with the intent to somehow get his human hands around Wormtail's throat.

"Gods!" several of the men cried, making signs; Teromer looked very entertained. "Bravo," he said. "Men, please, lower your weapons!"

They did so.

"Now I can introduce myself properly…I am Lord Teromer of the White Hills."

"Sirius Black," Sirius said, focusing all his attention on Teromer and ignoring Wormtail. "I thought I was in the Black Hills. Did I make a wrong turn somewhere?"

"We found the term denigrating."

"Ah."

"Peter here told our guards to keep an eye out for an animal matching your description…as well as your human appearance, of course."

"What can I offer you in exchange?"

"Excuse me?"

"Wormtail and I have some unfinished business. He killed my friends and I need to kill him. But the two of you seem to be friends, so…I'm assuming he offered you something. Maybe I can do better."

Sirius didn't see Wormtail's expression, but he imagined the rat was horrified. Teromer looked highly amused. "And they called us uncivilized."

"I'm not asking for much. In fact, all I ask is that you leave me alone with him for a few seconds. That should take care of it."

"Padfoot, please," Wormtail said, although Sirius still didn't look at him. "I want to atone for what happened…I'm trying to do good here, with these people! Teromer, tell him! Tell him all the good things I did!"

"Peter here was sent by Saruman to make sure we had loyalties to the wizard," Teromer said, "but instead he told us of Saruman's corruption and has begged us to declare ourselves allies of Rohan. It is not easy for my people to support our greatest enemy, but…if every man, woman, and child in Rohan is going to be slaughtered the way Peter describes then we cannot sit idly by."

This boy leader was more than he seemed; he talked like a diplomat, and Sirius wouldn't get anywhere trying to pry Wormtail off of him. He might have a chance attacking Wormtail if there weren't so many guards around. If he could get Wormtail close to him, with fewer guards, he might have a chance to snap the traitor's neck before he himself was killed. Sirius was determined to kill Wormtail even if it meant he wouldn't live through it himself.

He now looked at Wormtail. "We need to talk. Alone."

"I…I'm afraid, you said you wanted to kill me…"

"You can keep these two here guarding me," Sirius said, gesturing toward Grarg and the other man whose name he did not know. "They got me all the way up to the palace."

Wormtail hesitated, then said, "All right, follow me then."

Sirius followed, closely guarded by Grarg and the other man. They went down a hallway and into a room that was about where Éowyn's chambers had been in Edoras. Sirius quickly banished any thoughts of the woman he had left behind; he needed to stay focused.

Once they were inside what were apparently Wormtail's private chambers, he said, "Well, Padfoot…here we are."

"You're calling yourself Peter now," Sirius said quietly, knowing that he needed to keep Wormtail distracted so he wouldn't be expecting an attack. "I don't think anyone ever called you that."

"My mother called me that," he said with a slight smile. "And…I wish that the name 'Wormtail' reminded me of my friends…but when I hear that name in my head it's always Voldemort or Saruman saying it, commanding me."

"Last time we met you said Saruman was your friend, and you were his equal."

"He was manipulating me."

"Ah."

"Sirius…I want you to understand, I…I've changed. I want to do good, to make up for what I've destroyed."

Like you could ever just 'make up for' James! "Remus believed you could redeem yourself."

"Remus…yes…have you seen him? Since that night?"

"No."

Wormtail bowed his head. "I…am sorry for how that…almost went. It's a blessing the full moon came and stopped me from killing you."

Not a blessing for you. "He and Tonks may both be dead. I don't know. Wormtongue made it sound like he knew something about them, but I could never get him to tell me."

"Wormtongue? Wait…you were in contact with him?"

"I was in Edoras with him. For a long time."

"He never told me that."

"He said he didn't like you very much," Sirius lied, enjoying the discomfort on Wormtail's face.

"Well…he was a cruel man, anyway. Always fantasizing about that girl he had a thing for…what was her name?"

Sirius flinched, and Wormtail saw it. "What's wrong?"

"Her name was Éowyn."

"Right…" he paused. "Sirius?"

"Yes?"

"Did you know this woman?"

"I…she was a friend."

Wormtail raised his eyebrows. To Sirius' extreme annoyance, the two idiotic guards also exchanged looks and smirks. Change of plan. I have to kill all three.

"I'm not trying to make fun of you," Wormtail said quickly. "I…respected her, in a way, from Wormtongue's stories, because it sounded like she always rejected him."

"She…was in love with another man."

"Not you?"

This conversation was becoming increasingly ridiculous…and yet, maybe that's exactly what he needed. "Well," Sirius said, averting Wormtail's inquiring gaze.

Wormtail took a step closer…Yes, keep coming closer you little bastard. "Sirius? Really? You and that princess?"

"It was complicated," Sirius mumbled, trying to calculate how he would attack.

"I can't…" Wormtail paused. "Look at us, talking about girls like we're back at Hogwarts."

Like I ever talked about girls with you when we were at Hogwarts. "It…is a little strange."

"Sirius…I know we'll never be friends like we were. I can accept that. But…" Wormtail hesitated, then focused on Sirius' eyes and said, slowly, "but I need you to trust me. And…short of that…just try to help me. Help me undo some of my wrongs."

Sirius' eyes met Wormtail's and something strange happened; his body, tense in preparation to strike, relaxed, and for a moment he thought, Wouldn't it just be easier to help him?

But then he remembered the first time he had ever seen Éowyn. She was helping him escape, but Wormtongue interfered, telling her to leave it to him, and she was transfixed…

Hypnotized.

Of course. Saruman or Wormtongue had been teaching him some tricks.

Sirius was prepared to leap at that moment when he suddenly realized something.

My God. It's so obvious.

"You're not the only one who has things to atone for," Sirius said quietly. "And I have to admit…I didn't come here looking to save anyone. I came here because I was running away."

"From what?"

"From people I had hurt…and killed."

Sirius' eyes stung and he realized he was actually tearing up. He had forced himself not to think about Éowyn and Théodred for so long, and that hadn't resolved his pain.

"I…see," Wormtail said quietly. "Then…all the more reason for us to work together. You and me. We can save Rohan from Saruman…we can find your friends, too. The girl, and Remus."

Sirius almost lost his composure at the mention of Remus, but he calmed himself. "Yes," he said finally. "All right. As you said…I don't completely trust you, but…I'll help you."

He extended his hand.

Wormtail hesitated for a few seconds. Obviously if Sirius were intending to fight him at any point it would be now. But then he reached out and took Sirius' hand.

Wormtail looked straight into Sirius' eyes, still holding his hand. "Go," he said suddenly to the two guards.

"Sir?" the one who wasn't Grarg said.

"Go."

They exited. Sirius and Wormtail were alone, still grasping hands.

"If you want to kill me, do it," Wormtail said. "If you think my fate should be to die here, by your hand, rather than to redeem myself by preventing further destruction, then do it."

Sirius stared long and hard at him, and then said, "It isn't my place to determine your fate."

"Two years ago your godson decided to spare me…and it must have seemed such a terrible mistake. But ever since that moment…I have had doubts. And now, finally, I know what I want to do. I served Saruman for so long, and he and Voldemort's armies are going to crush these innocent people. Someone has to help defend them."

"And I…hurt these people, for selfish reasons…so I, too, need to make up for it."

Wormtail smiled, squeezing Sirius' hand and then letting it go. "Together, then, my old friend."

Sirius nodded.

"I will tell Teromer."

Wormtail left.

Sirius stood in the empty room. Then he smiled.

It is not your fate to be a martyr, my old friend. It is not your fate to die at the hands of your enemy, killed because he decided your self-righteousness didn't suit him. If you had any true sense of right you would kill yourself.

You've proven you still have no dignity. You've proven that your motives are the same as ever. You pick the winners. You flip sides when it's convenient for you. You must know something about Saruman. You think he's going to lose, so you're hopping the fence.

But it's not enough for you to switch sides. You're not Snivellus. You need constant praise and approval from those around you. And so you decide to be my 'friend.' You go so far as to attempt to hypnotize me so that you can hear me say that I will help you, despite everything.

And I will help you. I will help you destroy Saruman, and I will be your friend. I will treat you with more kindness and appreciation than I ever did at Hogwarts. And then, when Rohan is saved, I will murder you. I will spit in your face and slit your throat.

I spent all these years thinking that the only suitable end for you would be to die at the hands of the enemies you made, but that was foolish. No, Peter…the only end for you is to die at the hands of your dearest friends.