Chapter Thirteen

A/N

Many thanks again for those incredibly beautifully composed reviews! Yes, these men have almost become real living beings to us, too, as if ME of our AU has come into reality! LOL. Seriously, we do try to write as if it's actually happening, which meant I wrote the 'torture' scene in one hit because Iwanted it over with fast! Eleanor rightly insisted I go back and rework it, but at least, I'd already 'freed' them, so to speak. Fitting in Faramir's scenes, timing -wise, was difficult figuring, but we got there. Also, I know you'll soon see how there was no way we could have rescued Bear unharmed and still had tense story full of more action.

Now, sit back and enjoy Eleanor's Boromir following his instincts and also the way the story title came about! Eleanor too, says to tell you Reveiwers, thanks much "it's nice to have reasoned comments. The enthusiasm is also appreciated, doubly so because it's so articulate and encouraging!"

Carolyn

PS Thank you Peersrogue, for a wonderful follow up story idea! Yes, the telling of Garad's rescuing Bear, and Faramir and Damrod them both, would indeed be a epic tale about a camp fire. And perfect for Battle Scars, a continuing series of stories I've been doing in which the Hobbits Merry and Pippin, ask Boromir, Faramir and Garad into a Battle Scars competition!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"What is it?" Theodred demanded, reigning in next to where Boromir stared into the black night ahead of him, far from the questionable safety of the road.

Boromir didn't answer him, just kept staring ahead, into the darkness of this damned cloudy night hiding the Moon's help from them. His horse moved uneasily under him, and Theodred patted his neck to calm him. He could feel Eomer's gaze burning into the back of his head, and could well imagine what his cousin was thinking about this latest peculiar behavior. The drumming of hooves on the ground behind him told him he would not have to wait long to hear for himself.

"Do we rest here, then?" Eomer demanded, pulling up beside Theodred. "It's past time for rest, for Men and horses!"

"Peace, Cousin," Theodred cautioned, raising a hand to quiet Eomer. Perhaps it was the oppressive quality of the night, or something about the set of Boromir's jaw, but Eomer kept his reply to a mute, seething glare that should have slain both he and Boromir where they sat.

"We go this way," Boromir finally said.

"No," Eomer stated flatly. "Not until daybreak. I won't take Men and horses across terrain they do know when they can't see it. This…." Eomer waved at the nothingness in front of them. "It would be murder!"

Boromir turned to look at him, and even in the dimness, Theodred could read the fear in his friend's eyes.

"You're right," Boromir agreed, his voice reluctant. "When morning comes, head North-east."

Then he was gone, streaking out across the unknown plain.

"Follow in the morning," Theodred commanded even as he set his heels to his horses flank, following Boromir before he was swallowed from his night by the grasping night."

"Fuck!" he heard Eomer swear behind him, not surprised when it was followed by the piercing cry of his rallying horn.

Grinning, Theodred tucked his head low between his horse's ears. The rolling drum-song of hooves on ground rose to the sky, singing in his blood as love took Man and beast on the kind of ride only Gods and heroes were allowed to survive. More horns answered Eomer, ringing in the night, daring the danger in the darkness. He was close to Boromir now, close enough to try and reach out for the reins and halter, to try and end this madness, but he did not. He reached instead for the horn that had once belonged to Eorl the Younger and let it sound with the others, joyful and defiant.

The melody of it seemed to please the fickle moon, for it showed its face at last, turning the dirt and the tussocks of grass to silver. The clouds swarmed to cover it, but somehow could not manage to douse its light. Theodred saw metal flash to his left, and a moment later heard the deep-throated, valiant cry of the Horn of Vorondil answer the fealty of Rohan. It seemed to call the Wind, swirling from the West to break the clouds apart, the swift magic of it shivering down Theodred's spine.

SCENE BREAK

"Easy. We have you both. It's all right, it's all right."

Garad heard Damrod's voice, felt Damrod's hands at his chest, trying to hold him down as he struggled and sobbed, seeking Beregond. The chain was no longer about his forearms; his wrists were no longer bound.

"Quiet now, quiet; they'll hear you."

"B-Bear…?"

"Right here. You saved him."

"No." Garad shook his head slowly, the vision stark and indelibly etched of strips of black and red flesh, agonized screams, fire….

"No." He heaved a great gasping breath, trying to stifle the sobs that shook him.

"Garad, listen to me."

Faramir, close by, bent over someone…. Beregond?

"Bear's alive. We have boats. We can get you both out fast. Hang in there."

"Boats?" he murmured.

"The barges," Damrod explained. "They're not far now."

"He did good work to start that fire," a strange Man's voice said. "Quick thinking."

"Garad's like that," he heard Faramir say tersely. "Help me lift him, hold his leg steady. Careful now!"

More pain brightened the darkness, then it softened to black velvet. Awareness returned a moment later.

"… them gently, now," Damrod was saying, his voice low and urgent.

"They are trying!" A woman's voice snapped. "The track is rough and we can barely see!"

"Elena…" Garad muttered. Fuck, he was going to be in so much trouble when he got home….

"Who's Elena?" the strange Man asked.

"His sweetheart, you idiot!" the Woman answered.

'Either brother and sisters, or lovers,' Garad thought to himself, marveling at his coherency.

He cracked his heavy eyes open but could see nothing but solid black. Was he blind? It couldn't still be night, so much had happened. Other shapes blotted the night at Garad's side, another make-shift stretcher. Reed matting pressed into Garad's back, the edges sharp and digging painfully, forcing him to shift a little….

"Bear! His back is burned!" he blurted out hoarsely.

"We know," Damrod answered in an urgent whisper from close behind. "We're taking care of him, don't worry."

"Where are we…?" Garad demanded, struggling to lift himself on one elbow. Firm hands pushed him back, with a familiar gentle strength.

"Stay down and stay still, Ranger," the Woman told him softly. "We haven't got your friend out of danger yet."

"We've got a bolthole," the Man explained. "We can hold them off in the front while we go out the back, out onto the river."

"If we can make it before their reinforcements arrive," the Woman said darkly. "And we'll stand a damn sight better chance of that if you stay quiet and do what you're told, like a good boy."

"Not far now," the Man said with a forced cheerfulness that told Garad he was lying. Then someone cursed and stumbled, rocking the stretcher, and blackness overtook him.

When Garad next opened his eyes, river-reed and fish-oil lamps dimly lit a muddy stone arch over his head.

'The bolthole,' he realized, turning his head immediately despite the pain the movement gave his leg, searching for Beregond.

He found him quickly, lying face-down only a little way away from him, his forehead pillowed on someone's bundled cloak on a stretcher close by. Damrod was bent over him but there was nothing he could do here for burns beyond keeping them clean and wet, and keeping Bear unconscious.

"The river must guard our backs," Faramir was saying from somewhere ahead where the light was brightest. "How many of your people managed to take weapons from the dead?"

"Most."

"How many usually come for the tar?" Faramir asked.

Fuck. The bastard's had managed to put the fire out too soon. They still had the lion's share of the wretched stuff.

"Fifty, easily. They switch out a third of their Men every load."

"Iorlas! Captain!" A breathless voice and more shadows as someone arrived from outside. "They're here! Coming from the other side of the river!"

"Damn!" the Man swore. "Something must have diverted them, they never come that way!"

"They'll see the trail we've left; we won't have time to get everyone into the boats!" Garad heard the Woman say, and he heard her Man swear.

"Not if they have something else to look at," Faramir replied. "Get my Men and your people out of here, and get word to Osgiliath as quickly as you may."

"Captain –" Damrod's shadow fell across Garad as he stood up, moving to block Faramir.

"You have the Square," Faramir commanded, his voice brisk, terrifyingly calm and business-like. "Do your duty, Sergeant."

Then he was gone, Garad's desperate grab for his feet as he ran past him missing badly. He almost passed out from the pain, then Damrod was there, putting him on his back, arranging his splinted leg quickly.

"Look after Bear," he said, squeezing his hand once. Then he was gone, too.