8 — HOSTAGES
The next morning dawned bright and dewy, and Tíniel woke with the sunrise. She lay still for a moment in the strange bed, listening to the birdsong that seemed so much sharper and nearer than in Minas Tirith. If she listened hard enough, she could hear the faint sound of the stream rushing down the hill. And… shuffling outside her door? Quietly, she got out of bed, pulled her tunic over her head, put on her boots, and buckled on her weapons. She padded silently to the door, pressed her ear to it to listen, then, without warning, jerked it open. As she suspected, a man had been leaning against it, and now he tumbled backwards onto the ground with a startled cry.
She looked down at him, lying spreadeagled on his back, her expression unimpressed. "You were sent to guard me?"
Hastily scrambling to his feet, the blond man nodded mutely.
"To guard Edoras from me, more likely," she said. "You may leave now."
"I have orders, lady —"
"My apologies. But I prefer my guards well rested. Go sleep."
"But —"
"Leave."
He scowled, but left without another word. Tíniel watched him march away before she scanned the shadows and found what she had suspected: Éomer.
"You seem to have a way with people," he said, stepping out of the gloom to stand before her.
"I call it my natural charm," she replied, masking her wariness with a smile. "Can I help you, Éomer of Rohan?"
"Your natural charm comes straight to the point," he grinned back. "I would like to take you to meet someone, if you would follow me."
He led her through a maze of corridors, silent and still as everybody slept, until they came out into an open courtyard just touched by the light of the dawn. In it was a practice ring, and in the ring, swinging her sword in a rhythmic pattern, was a woman; Éowyn, Éomer's sister. Her blonde hair was tied back loosely, and strands fell about her face as she whirled around in a practise exercise.
"Éowyn!" Éomer called. She froze mid-stroke and spun to face them, her expression tightening when she saw Tíniel.
"Brother," she said stiffly. "What are you doing here? I have told you a thousand times that you cannot convince me to stop training."
"Noted," Éomer replied drily. "I actually wanted to properly introduce you to my new friend, Lady Tíniel of Khand."
"We've met," Éowyn said coldly. "Éomer, what is going on?"
"I thought perhaps that you two could spar together. I have given up trying to reason with you, and Tíniel told me she has some experience fighting, so…"
Tíniel sighed. "You told me that you never wanted me to meet her," she said. "Repeatedly. This is a bad idea." Éowyn scowled at her, but nodded and turned back to Éomer.
"I reconsidered," he answered defensively. "Why is it so bad an idea? Éowyn has never had the opportunity to spar with a woman before, and I suppose you haven't either."
"Wrong," Tíniel said, her voice sharp. "I have trained and fought with hundreds of women. And here is my opinion: your sister dislikes me, and she is not advanced enough in experience or technique to keep this out of her fighting."
Éowyn began to protest angrily, but Éomer put a calming hand on her shoulder and turned back to Tíniel. "Then couldn't you train her, as you would one of your fighters?"
Tíniel considered for a moment, looked at his pleading face, then nodded reluctantly. "Lady Éowyn?"
"I don't need training from her!" Éowyn hissed at her brother, but stalked back into the ring and readied her sword. Tíniel followed her.
"Maybe," she said. "But right now you are angry, and this emotion is ruling your stance. You need to relax, you are too tense."
"Just draw your sword and fight me," Éowyn replied through gritted teeth.
Tíniel shrugged her shoulders. "I am giving you time. You will make the attack, but before you do, you must relax."
"Draw your sword!"
"Calm down!"
"Draw your sword.'
Tíniel sighed and looked at Éomer. "I cannot work with her."
With an infuriated cry, Éowyn rushed at Tíniel, her sword raised for the attack. Calmly, Tíniel waited until the last second, then swiftly drew her own sword, sidestepped Éowyn's charge, and flicked the sword from her grip. It fell to the ground with a clatter and Éowyn turned, disoriented and disarmed.
Tíniel bent and picked up the sword, examined it for a moment, then offered it back to the woman. "Calm down," she said quietly.
Grudgingly, Éowyn took it back and resumed her position, breathing deeply.
"Good," Tíniel said. "Now attack me again, with your head clear."
This time Éowyn stepped forward warily, and when she was close enough, began her attack. Tíniel let it continue for a few seconds, parrying easily, but then increased the rate of her blows until Éowyn fell back, panting.
"Do you see what is happening?' Tíniel asked. "You are trying to use strength and force to beat me. I am using speed. If you ever want to rival a man on the battlefield, so should you."
They began again, and Éomer watched with great interest until he sensed a presence beside him. He turned to see Boromir.
"Good morning, Lord Boromir," he said.
Boromir simply nodded in response, his eyes fixed on Tíniel. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" He asked.
Éomer laughed. "Absolutely not. But my sister needs guidance from someone whose tactic isn't to hack at the enemy until the head falls off. The lady Tíniel seemed a good candidate."
Boromir smiled. "I'm glad that she has taken to you so quickly, and you to her."
"I don't know that I had a choice in the matter," Éomer said. "She is so strange — here she is in a land where everybody mistrusts her, and yet as soon as she looks at you, you feel it is you who must prove yourself to her."
Boromir's smile widened. "She's always been like that, in the time that I have known her; she commands respect without even speaking. You know, where she is from, she is some kind of warrior princess."
Éomer raised his eyebrows. "How heroic. And somehow unsurprising."
They both laughed, but Boromir sobered quickly and spoke again, lowering his voice. "Éomer… there is something I would ask of you."
A burst of laughter from the women in the ring interrupted them momentarily, but Éomer was too intrigued by Boromir's statement to be surprised by Éowyn's sudden companionship with the strange woman. "What is it?" he asked.
"There is a reason I brought Tíniel here," Boromir said seriously. "Almost everyone in Gondor has warmed to her. My men are in awe of her, the servants favour her, the Healers love her, even the court respects her."
"And the rest of the people?"
"Are terrified of her, at the very least. But like I said, she commands respect."
"You said almost everyone."
"Correct. My father, the Steward, distrusts her. Dislikes her, even. And now… well, you have surely heard. War is coming."
"Yes."
"And Khand will be an enemy to all those who stand against Mordor. My father plans to hold Tíniel hostage and use her to bargain with Khand, since she was such an important person in her tribe. And I don't intend to allow this to happen."
"I see," Éomer said slowly, his mind reeling. "What is your plan?"
"I was hoping she could stay here," Boromir said slowly. "And now that she has an ally in you… perhaps with your protection?"
"I…" Éomer shook his head. "I do not know what I can say. It is not my decision to make."
"But perhaps you could help persuade your uncle."
"If it comes to it, then I will speak on her behalf. But have you told her of this plan, and why she was brought here?"
"Not yet," Boromir said.
Éomer laughed, visibly relaxing. "Then I daresay I won't need to make any decisions!'
Boromir grimaced. "We shall see," he said. "Wish me luck."
An hour later, the two women sheathed their swords. Tíniel clapped Éowyn on the back and smiled. "Well done," she said. "You improved. A small, small improvement, but it was certainly there."
Éowyn laughed, wiping sweat out of her eyes. "I am not so sure," she said. "But I'm sorry I misjudged you. I shouldn't have said all those things."
Tíniel shrugged. "All I did was teach you some technique. For all you know, I may still be a murderous savage from the South."
"But I didn't give you a chance," Éowyn replied seriously, "and you have given me two. So I am sorry."
"You are forgiven. I think I punished you enough today anyway," Tíniel said.
Éowyn laughed and grimaced at the same time. "True enough," she answered. "My shoulders feel like they were pounded by a club."
"We are here for another ten days. Will I meet you again tomorrow morning?"
Éowyn nodded. "I'd like that. But we need not part yet, I will take you to where we can eat."
"I will meet you there," Tíniel replied grimly. "First, I must speak with Boromir."
Ten minutes later, she cornered him. "Time to talk," she said.
Boromir sighed and turned to face her reluctantly. "Tíniel, I have to meet with —"
"I care very, very little about the rest of that sentence, so humour me and don't finish it. Why are you avoiding me?"
"I am not avoiding you —"
"Boromir."
"Yes?"
"Shut up. Why am I here?"
He sighed, avoiding her glare. "Because you've been following me around like a little lap-dog, apparently —"
"Boromir?"
"Yes?"
"Shut up." Menacingly, she moved closer until he couldn't look away. "Tell me the truth. You know I hate lies."
"Tíniel… listen, I am sorry…"
She gave a low laugh and shook her head. "The beginning of your explanation does not bode well for the rest."
He said it in a rush. "My father wants to hold you as a political hostage to blackmail the armies of Khand if it comes to war, so I took you away from Minas Tirith. And I want you to stay here."
Tíniel stepped back. So that was it; she should have known the Steward would turn on her sooner or later. But she wasn't afraid — only angry. Boromir's betrayal made her feel as though she'd been punched in the gut. "Is that how little you trust me?" she asked quietly. "My own freedom was at stake, and you didn't see fit to tell me?"
"Tíniel…"
"I will not stay here in Rohan. I trust none of these people. And the idea that I would be safer here, where the general population wants me dead, than in Minas Tirith? That is ridiculous."
"But you were becoming such good friends with Éomer, and even his sister," Boromir pleaded. "Can you not just consider it?"
"Becoming friends?" Tíniel repeated incredulously. "Do you think I am a child?"
"Well you're behaving like one now!" he shot back, his voice rising.
"I resent that you do not trust me! After everything!"
"I said nothing because I knew you would be like this!"
"Clever man, who wouldn't want to avoid a child's tantrum? No," she continued angrily before he could reply. "I will return to Minas Tirith, with or without you. Enjoy your meeting." With that, she turned and stalked away, her fist clenched around the hilt of her sword. Boromir watched her retreating back and as his temper faded, he felt like a fool.
"Curse the girl," he muttered, and stormed off the other way.
Tíniel pointedly avoided Boromir, instead spending time with Éomer and his sister. She couldn't help but imagine how well Éowyn would have fit in with the variagura back home. She also relished the familiarity of mentoring someone, and her new student was eager to learn. The women spent time with each other outside of the ring too, eating and talking. Éowyn showed Tíniel around the city, and taught her how to avoid Gríma, her father's shadow who had an unhealthy interest in Éowyn. Tíniel used the paths to avoid Boromir.
"Tell me what's wrong," Éowyn said bluntly on the afternoon before Tíniel and Boromir were to leave. They were on the grassy plain outside the walls of Edoras, riding in the yellow light of the dying day.
"Nothing is wrong," Tíniel replied, stroking her horse's mane gently. "Why do you give names to your horses?"
"Oh please," Éowyn snorted. "You are quite clearly upset about something."
Tíniel rolled her eyes. "I do not wish to speak about it."
"But you really ought to…"
"Ah, stop being such a vorukhi, Éowyn. I'm leaving tomorrow anyway, so you won't need to worry."
"I'm not going to ask what that word means, because I am a lady," Éowyn said haughtily, but then her voice softened. "But Tíniel, after the few days I've known you I consider you a friend. And there is very obviously a problem between you and Lord Boromir, which is upsetting you."
Tíniel sighed and reigned in her horse. "I suppose your brother told you the reason that Boromir brought me to Rohan?"
Éowyn nodded.
"Boromir only told me about it after we got here. I am angry because he thought I would be angry about it. Which I suppose I was…"
"But?"
"But what really hurt me was that he — the man I have grown closest to in Gondor — even he couldn't bring himself to trust me."
Éowyn was quiet for a moment, nodding. "I'm sorry," she said. "I imagine it is difficult for you, to feel so alone."
Tíniel smiled humourlessly. "Well, you can understand. Women are not supposed to be like us in the North. But I suppose it helps a little if you are white."
"But you must remember that Boromir was simply trying to save you from being imprisoned," Éowyn said. "Likely he has gone against his father's wishes to bring you here, and thus brought danger upon himself."
Tíniel huffed and urged the horse on. "Stop being so logical," she said.
Éowyn smiled and cantered after her, but suddenly her smile dropped. "Wait, Tíniel!" she called. "You don't name your horses in Khand?!"
That night, Tíniel packed her bag alone in her room. She hated not speaking to Boromir. It felt wrong, and she knew it was petty, but she felt hurt too. It all seemed so pointless; she had attempted to build another life in the North, but it had been for nothing. Not even Boromir trusted her. She was still the outsider, and in the moment she had considered herself more, she'd been made into a fool.
There came a knock at the door. She got to her feet to answer it, but she hesitated before opening it.
"Who is there?" she called.
"It is me," came Boromir's muffled voice. Her hand dropped from the door handle, and she left it closed.
"What do you want?" she said coldly.
"To talk," he answered, his voice wary.
"Talk then," she said. She heard him sigh, but then he spoke.
"I am sorry, Tíniel," he said. "You know I am. It was a mistake not to tell you of my father's plans." She didn't reply, so he continued. "It isn't an excuse, but I hope you know that I was protecting you. I was just a fool about how I did it. And…" he lowered his voice. "I'm not going to lose you over something like this."
She tried to maintain her silence, but she broke. "I know," she murmured back. "I know you just wanted to help. And perhaps, some day, in the very distant future, I will be grateful."
She heard him chuckle, and she smiled half-heartedly. "But it hurt, Boromir. Maybe I sound like a weakling or a coward, but it really did."
"You didn't let me finish," he said. "I need to say one more thing: I trust you, Tíniel, with every fibre of my being. I trust you with my life, and the lives of everyone I love. You must know that, and you cannot doubt it."
Tíniel leaned her forehead against the thick, wooden door. "Then do it. Trust me. You can tell me things, you know."
"You don't think I haven't? Tíniel, I love you. You are as a sister to me, and to Faramir."
She felt the hot burning behind her eyes again. "I am not your sister," she whispered back. "We share no blood."
"These things aren't about blood," he replied.
Tíniel broke the moment of silence. "I am sorry too," she murmured. "You have saved me, more than this once."
"Can I come in?" Boromir asked. Wordlessly, she opened the door, and he stepped in and pulled her into his arms. She hugged him back tightly, her face pressed against his shoulder. "Let's not fight again," he whispered.
"Then don't do stupid things again," Tíniel answered. He snorted and released her, stepping back to study her face.
"We shall see. But we have other problems at the moment. If you insist on coming back to Minas Tirith, how am I going to keep my father from taking you prisoner?"
"Easy," she answered. "I will explain to him that although I am the heir to my people, most of them would much prefer me dead and he would actually be doing them a favour."
Boromir opened his mouth, then shut it again, stunned. Swiftly, he reached back and shut the door. "What?" he said.
"I was accused unjustly of being a traitor and escaped execution."
He shook his head, the shock clear on his face. "You? Who in the world could believe you capable of betraying? You're worryingly obsessive about not betraying!"
"The fact is that they did," she said shortly, the all-too-familiar panic of the prophecy stirring deep in her stomach. "So, your father would really gain nothing by taking me prisoner."
Boromir folded his arms. "Tíniel, I am not trying to imply that I don't trust you, especially after the past week. But in truth, I know next to nothing of your past. I grow comfortable with who I think you are, and then I discover some little new thing that throws it all out again. Do I even know you?"
Tíniel barely registered the question as the panic rose in her gut, engulfing her chest in waves of sickening nausea. She breathed in and out slowly, and squeezed her eyes shut. Khaviga, an insidious voice whispered inside her head. Khaviga…
"Yes," she said quickly, her voice strangled. "Yes, you know me. You know who I am now. Maybe you shouldn't trust me, but who I am now is all I can give you."
He nodded slowly, then took her hand in his and squeezed it. "I understand," he said. Then he laughed. "No, I don't. But I do trust your judgement. Pack your bags, woman, and get some sleep; we leave early tomorrow, and you have an angry Steward to face down."
But Tíniel did not sleep that night, and the voice continued whispering for hours.
"Farewell, my friend," said Éowyn, grasping Tíniel's brown hand in her two white ones. "Or westu hal, as we say here. I shall practise all you have taught me faithfully, never fear."
"Then I expect a great improvement when we meet again!" Tíniel replied, smiling. "I am grateful to have met you here, Éowyn. And pay no mind to all these men around you. They are accustomed to women being strong only in womanly ways, so don't listen when they try to stop you from training."
"Do you know," Éowyn said quietly, "it feels as though I'm no longer all alone."
"Don't be a fool," Tíniel replied. "Your brother cares for you deeply, and he's accepted the fact that you want to be a shieldmaiden. You couldn't be alone if you wished to be. But I wish you luck with that worm Gríma!"
Éowyn winced. "Don't remind me," she muttered. "But you must go, the others are waiting to say goodbye."
"Then farewell," said Tíniel, "or khuma, as we say in my homeland. Go in peace."
Next was Éomer, who kissed her hand and then squeezed it. "I cannot thank you enough," he said earnestly. "You've been a real surprise, Tíniel of Gondor."
"And I thank you," Tíniel returned, "for looking beyond what you saw. I hope we meet again."
"I don't doubt that we will," said Éomer. "Keep an eye on those high-minded Stewards in Gondor."
"Always," she grinned. "I thank you, Éomer, and... Westu hal!"
He grinned at her pronunciation of the strange words, and she moved on to bow before Gríma, who sneered back, then Théodred, who returned the bow, and finally the King, who nodded.
"You are welcome in these halls, should you choose to return," he said, his eyes not kind, but no longer suspicious.
"I thank you, King," she said. "You have been generous. May your land be… prosperous." She glanced sidelong at Boromir, who was standing beside her and clearly trying not to laugh. "And may your horses… run fast."
With these niceties, they were at last free to go.
"Here is your chance," Boromir said as they rode away from the farewell party. "You have won them over, you have a safe place to stay."
"You know my decision," she replied.
He nodded, having expected her answer. "Minas Tirith is a dangerous place to be for you. But at least you ride knowingly into the lion's den."
"Boromir," Tíniel said, "did you really have the Steward's permission to bring me to Rohan?"
Boromir laughed shortly. "Of course not," he said. "I took a risk, and I suppose soon I shall discover the consequence."
She shook her head. "Truly, you are a good man," she said earnestly.
"Feel free to tell that to my father," he said darkly. "Even your opinion might help. But if it doesn't, all the horses of Edoras wouldn't be enough to escape my father's wrath."
When they arrived back in the city, Tíniel was immediately arrested by a party of apologetic guards.
"Really, Beregond?" she asked Anita's husband as he tied her hands in front of her. "Is this necessary?"
"Not if I had any say in it," Beregond muttered back. "None of us were very willing to do this. But our orders are explicit."
Tíniel sighed, grateful that at least the knots were loose. "You know as well as anyone that I'm hardly a danger to anyone," she said jokingly, "poor, weak woman that I am."
One of the guards behind her snorted, and Beregond grinned. "We know as well as everyone that you are highly dangerous. Come along now, criminal. Oh — Captain," he added, turning to Boromir. "We're not to arrest you, but perhaps a month in the dungeons would be easier to bear than what you have in store. The Lord Steward wishes to see you, immediately."
"Valar be merciful," Boromir muttered, then touched Tíniel on the shoulder. "I'll get you out of this. You have my word."
"Get yourself out of trouble first," she said quietly. He nodded, then turned and left.
Tíniel lost track of time in the dungeons, sitting in the damp darkness lit only by a flickering torch. But she didn't despair, trusting in Boromir's promise — and also in the fact that Denethor worshipped his eldest son. She imagined trying to talk her own father, the Khondyë, into freeing a prisoner, and smiled sardonically. He would have humoured Tcharum, certainly, but not her.
She closed her eyes for a moment, imagining herself back to Khand. She would have been married to Borund by now, perhaps even with child. Tíniel pressed her palm to her flat stomach and allowed herself to picture herself with a swollen belly. She imagined tiny fingers curled around hers, imagined Borund's beaming face as he cradled the little child, imagined her father's eyes softening and finally smiling at the baby, and looking up at her at last to say I am proud… Then, suddenly, it happened.
A picture, so much more real than the imagined scenes a moment before, flashed into her mind. It was her, cradling in her arms a baby boy. His skin was brown, but not as dark as hers. Tíniel watched in wonder as her dream self looked down lovingly at her son, and the child looked back with wide brown eyes…
And then it was gone. Quickly, Tíniel opened her eyes, breathing heavily. The vision had been so beautiful, so perfect. So why did she have the heaviness on her shoulders that seemed to signal the coming of the prophecy? It was another one of the dreams that weren't dreams, more like visions… one of the doom dreams. Clasping her hands together to stop them from shaking, she drew in a calming breath, pushing the feeling down. Tchakhura had once had a future as a mother; Tíniel was merely a warrior, and warriors had to stay prepared.
At that moment, she heard an iron door squeal on its hinges, and footsteps echoed down the corridor. She got to her feet and moved to her cell door, just in time to come face to face with the Steward.
"You," he spat, his voice filled with contempt. "The chief's daughter and heir."
"Exiled heir," she replied quietly.
"So you too claim that this is true. How convenient that when a threat of imprisonment arises, you are suddenly unwanted by your people."
"There is nothing sudden about it," she said. "Do you think I am lying?"
"Yes," the Steward replied, "yes, I do. And I think you have my sons wrapped around your manipulative fingers."
"Your sons are both good, reasonable men. Can you not trust their judgement? And as for myself: if I had not been driven out of my homeland, I would be there now. Do not fool yourself into thinking I wanted to come to Gondor."
"It is you who is the fool. I know very well of your intentions, Tchakhura of Khand!"
She winced at the name but kept her voice calm and quiet. "You had reason to mistrust me when I came, I cannot deny that. But surely I have proven myself since then."
Denethor slammed his fist against the iron bars of the cell door, and Tíniel suddenly saw the crazed glint in his eyes. She forced herself not to step back, but lifted her chin.
"I have seen what shall come to pass," he hissed at her, spittle flying from his lips, "in my palantír I have seen it. I will never, never trust you, you Southern swine!"
Without warning, Tíniel fell to her knees, feeling as though she'd been stabbed in the stomach. The dark prison around her had disappeared, and now all she saw was Boromir's white face cradled between her black hands, a ribbon of crimson blood trickling from the corner of his mouth…
She retched violently, and the doom dream disappeared, leaving her shaking, on all fours in the dungeon. Denethor had left. She was alone.
She moaned, collapsing onto the floor and curling up. It was too much, this was all too much. She couldn't bear the suspense anymore; she could never hope to find peace when the curse hung over her head, threatening every person she ever tried to love. She was alone, she had to be alone, she was doomed to be alone… she groaned again, trying to strangle her thoughts.
"Tíniel?" came a frantic voice, and suddenly aware of her show of weakness, she staggered to her feet.
"Boromir!" she gasped, clinging to the bars.
"What is wrong? By the heavens, what have they done to you?"
The fury in his voice made her take an unsteady breath, but she shook her head vehemently. "Nothing," she said. "Nothing, I am well. I swear I am."
Boromir looked at her carefully for a moment, clearly not believing her, but then seemed to remember why he was there. He took a key from his belt and unlocked her cell door. "Come then. I am taking you home."
Tíniel stepped back, uncertain. "Can you do this?" Her voice still shook.
"No, of course not. My father will be furious, but the truth is I no longer care. I'm going to protect you, Tíniel. You are not alone, alright?" He looked at her seriously. "You never will be, so long as I live. I swear it."
She stood there silent for a moment. How could he have known that those words were exactly what she'd needed to hear? Without warning, she closed the space between them and threw her arms around his neck. She smiled when he returned the embrace and swung her around.
"Stop being so serious all the time," he murmured. "You have a place here."
He was right. This was home.
I hope you're all enjoying the story so far! Shout out to my followers, favouriters and reviewers, you legends... and while we're there — please, leave me a review! It only takes thirty seconds to tell me what you think, and your opinions — good and bad — are the only things keeping me writing in this bloody heat wave! Keep an eye out, something special is up next...
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