"Hedregon," Boromir said, "Hedregon . . . by Valar, what did those
monsters do to you?"
Hedregon tried to answer, "I fell, or was pushed . . . when I woke up everyone was angry . . . didn't know why . . ."
"Shh. Just rest for now."
"Sircyn and Bevolen!" Faramir exclaimed.
"What?" Boromir said.
"Those men who've been following him around lately; I'll bet they set this up!"
"Why didn't you say anything about it to me? To him?"
"It wasn't your business. As for Hedregon, he knew."
"What?"
"He knew them. He was talking to them all of the time."
"Since when?"
"I don't know; lay off the third degree!"
"Hedregon will never be able to set foot in Minas Tirith again! He's supposed to be dead! How can you tell me to lay off?"
"I have no idea why he was set up like that, okay? Let's just ask him when he wakes up."
"I'm perfectly awake," Hedregon mumbled, feeling much happier now that he knew he wasn't going to be executed.
Boromir looked torn; he wanted more than anything to know for sure who had framed his brother so that he could tear them to pieces, but Hedregon looked horrible. Should he not rest? His worse half took over,
"Do you know who set you up?"
"Well, I cannot say that I do. It couldn't possibly be Sircyn and Bevolen. They're so terribly kind to me . . . wait." Hedregon suddenly had a memory flashback of when he woke up two days ago. He remembered a searing pain in his head piercing into his dream, then opening his eyes and seeing too many people to count . . . they were all surrounding him, all furious.
Someone, yes it was Bevolen, began to shout at him, soon the others were doing the same. They came at him . . . with the clubs . . . the fists . . . the feet and rods. Hedregon fell, over and over again, until he bothered to wonder why he kept tripping. Looking down at his feet, Hedregon saw the ground, dirt as usual, but littered with dead bodies, all carcasses. He saw Sircyn, and called to him for aid, but Sircyn only struck him once more.
"Yes," said Hedregon in astonishment and despair, "it was they."
Boromir nodded and made to leave, but Hedregon called him back, "Please, Boromir, leave them be. There must be some excuse, some logical answer to all of this."
"Am I the only one out of the both of you who sees the seriousness of the situation? Hedregon, being the sweet angeneou cannot win back your respect this time. Nearly everyone in Minas Tirith was affected by the massacre somehow, and unless anyone can prove that you didn't slaughter those thirty-some people -"
"Thirty-three." Hedregon offered.
"No," Faramir interrupted, "One more died in the Houses of Healing."
"Fine!" Boromir yelled, getting very impatient, "What I'm saying is that every man, woman and child in Minas Tirith believe you to be some murderer who could easily throttle them in their sleep. You cannot go back. Ever. Are you getting this, Hedregon?"
Hedregon opened his mouth but without sound. After some time, he formed one question, "Denethor?"
"Denethor knows you are innocent. He sent us to help you escape." Faramir answered, seeing as Boromir had already vanished into the woods; Hedregon guessed he was in search of Sircyn and Bevolen.
"Why?"
"My brother, need you ask? Denethor is no fool; he is saving you. Beyond any doubt had he set you free and claimed you innocent you actually would be dead. Stoned, stabbed, Boromir was right. The people of Minas Tirith are still grumbling because they weren't granted the delight of watching you burn at the stake." Hedregon was beginning to come back into the real horror which his life was becoming. He could never return. His old house, his room,
"My books!" Hedregon cried, attempting to get up but then cringing at the pain it caused him simply to tense his muscles. Faramir smiled.
"I brought them for you. These three and the one you hid under your floorboards."
"Amazing. Bless you, brother." Hedregon fingered the leather binding of one of his precious notebooks, and hugged it tightly as he lay back and closed his eyes.
"I put together an entire pack, you see. It includes food, blankets, water, pens, ink, and a new blank book; Boromir suggested I add that. I also packed a map. We want to know where you decide to go so that we may come and visit you, and I'm working on building a secret entrance to the city and the palace so that you may visit us. Just promise me that you won't tell Boromir about it; he'd go into a fit of nerves at the thought of you sneaking back here."
"Will he not find out if I suddenly appear in the palace? Besides, what do you mean where will I go? Why can I not simply stay here?"
"Don't be a fool, Hedregon! Come out of your imagination and wake up in reality. We're no more than twenty minutes from the city, and if anyone, anyone saw you . . . Denethor couldn't save you a second time." Faramir sighed, "Come, we will decide where you will go tomorrow." He left Hedregon's side and began to build a fire. Hedregon unfolded the map and looked it over. He loved maps, he found them fascinating, but never before had he seen one of all of Middle Earth.
Hedregon assumed that he would not be able to live anywhere at all in Gondor, so he put that out of his mind and looked elsewhere. Rohan was the only other land of free men, but men were dull and if Hedregon was going to be in exile, he might as well choose someplace romantic. Elves and Dwarves were out of the question, they both had their noses so high in the air that one could look up, or in a Dwarf's case, down them. Hedregon actually had never seen a real Elf or Dwarf before, only read about them in the books in his father's library. His eyes wandered to another section of the map, the Shire. Was that not where the perian dwelt? These had always seemed especially interesting to Hedregon, and he decided that he must go there as soon as he saw it. They were a peace-loving folk, very tranquil and calm. The Shire itself was also beautiful, every spring was said to be more stunning than the one before it. Yes, this was where Hedregon must go.
Chapter 2
The next morning Hedregon informed his brothers of his plan. They both agreed to it, although Faramir wistfully, for the Shire was terribly far from Minas Tirith. Boromir and Faramir marked on the map the route which Hedregon must take,
"Travel up the Anduin and into Lothlórien. Then take the Red Horn pass through the mountains and follow the East Road into the Shire." Boromir explained. "Do you know where you wish to go when you get to the Shire?"
"Yes; I have decided to settle in the area the perian call 'Buckland.' It is close to the outside of the Shire and is supposed to have a vast supply of trees."
"It's settled then. I will miss you Hedregon; I do not think it possible to visit you enough. You leave tonight."
"Tonight?" Hedregon exclaimed. "Why so soon?"
"You have to get out of here. I, uh, well . . . Sircyn and Bevolen dug up your tomb. Minas Tirith knows you're alive."
"What?!"
"They've sent out the alarm. Searches for you start tomorrow evening and Faramir and I think it would be best if you were long gone by then."
"I cannot travel like . . . like this!"
"You will be in a boat. Your arms are much better." Hedregon glared at his brother's optimism. His arms were folly. They were bruised in more places than not and covered with knife marks. "You will be able to be fully healed in Lothlórien. Elves are said to be great healers, you know."
"If I'm not much mistaken, I am your elder brother. And I say that this is crazy."
"Say what you will, but get packed. We need to reach the Anduin by nightfall." Hedregon was very annoyed with Boromir, but did realize what danger he was in so gathered his things and put them in his bag. "You have your sword?"
"How, pray tell, will I be able to lift it? I hate the thing, anyways, is now not an ideal time to discard it?" Boromir did not answer, Hedregon knew it was because he was complaining and Boromir did not feel like explaining to him that a sword is used for protection, which could therefore come in handy. Hedregon had never been a soldier, although he worked for his father as one and his sword oft felt like his enemy. He'd prefer a pen.
They finally settled on Hedregon bringing his sword in his bag, so as not to weigh him down but still prove usable if needed. Faramir was back by nightfall and in the darkness the three traveled [enter cardinal direction here] until they reached the river Anduin. Faramir threw Hedregon's pack into the small boat he had prepared for him and helped him in. Before pushing the boat into the water, each of Hedregon's younger brothers gave him their blessing.
"You only have to row to Lórien, remember that. And send word for us as soon as you reach the Shire! Farewell now, brother, best wishes for a new life." Faramir said. Then Boromir spoke,
"Hedregon," he said, "Please keep your head on straight. Tell no one of your reasons for fleeing, or even where you came from; it is far too dangerous to trust fate, after the hand she has dealt you. I will come visit you as soon as I am able; perhaps the confusing dream trick will work again." He sighed, and then continued, "I suppose I must look after Denethor now in your place. Good luck to you."
Hedregon didn't look at his brothers as they pushed his boat into the river, for after all he was the captain of them and it would never do for them to see him crying. Wincing at the pain in his shoulder, Hedregon picked up a paddle and commenced in rowing upriver.
Hedregon tried to answer, "I fell, or was pushed . . . when I woke up everyone was angry . . . didn't know why . . ."
"Shh. Just rest for now."
"Sircyn and Bevolen!" Faramir exclaimed.
"What?" Boromir said.
"Those men who've been following him around lately; I'll bet they set this up!"
"Why didn't you say anything about it to me? To him?"
"It wasn't your business. As for Hedregon, he knew."
"What?"
"He knew them. He was talking to them all of the time."
"Since when?"
"I don't know; lay off the third degree!"
"Hedregon will never be able to set foot in Minas Tirith again! He's supposed to be dead! How can you tell me to lay off?"
"I have no idea why he was set up like that, okay? Let's just ask him when he wakes up."
"I'm perfectly awake," Hedregon mumbled, feeling much happier now that he knew he wasn't going to be executed.
Boromir looked torn; he wanted more than anything to know for sure who had framed his brother so that he could tear them to pieces, but Hedregon looked horrible. Should he not rest? His worse half took over,
"Do you know who set you up?"
"Well, I cannot say that I do. It couldn't possibly be Sircyn and Bevolen. They're so terribly kind to me . . . wait." Hedregon suddenly had a memory flashback of when he woke up two days ago. He remembered a searing pain in his head piercing into his dream, then opening his eyes and seeing too many people to count . . . they were all surrounding him, all furious.
Someone, yes it was Bevolen, began to shout at him, soon the others were doing the same. They came at him . . . with the clubs . . . the fists . . . the feet and rods. Hedregon fell, over and over again, until he bothered to wonder why he kept tripping. Looking down at his feet, Hedregon saw the ground, dirt as usual, but littered with dead bodies, all carcasses. He saw Sircyn, and called to him for aid, but Sircyn only struck him once more.
"Yes," said Hedregon in astonishment and despair, "it was they."
Boromir nodded and made to leave, but Hedregon called him back, "Please, Boromir, leave them be. There must be some excuse, some logical answer to all of this."
"Am I the only one out of the both of you who sees the seriousness of the situation? Hedregon, being the sweet angeneou cannot win back your respect this time. Nearly everyone in Minas Tirith was affected by the massacre somehow, and unless anyone can prove that you didn't slaughter those thirty-some people -"
"Thirty-three." Hedregon offered.
"No," Faramir interrupted, "One more died in the Houses of Healing."
"Fine!" Boromir yelled, getting very impatient, "What I'm saying is that every man, woman and child in Minas Tirith believe you to be some murderer who could easily throttle them in their sleep. You cannot go back. Ever. Are you getting this, Hedregon?"
Hedregon opened his mouth but without sound. After some time, he formed one question, "Denethor?"
"Denethor knows you are innocent. He sent us to help you escape." Faramir answered, seeing as Boromir had already vanished into the woods; Hedregon guessed he was in search of Sircyn and Bevolen.
"Why?"
"My brother, need you ask? Denethor is no fool; he is saving you. Beyond any doubt had he set you free and claimed you innocent you actually would be dead. Stoned, stabbed, Boromir was right. The people of Minas Tirith are still grumbling because they weren't granted the delight of watching you burn at the stake." Hedregon was beginning to come back into the real horror which his life was becoming. He could never return. His old house, his room,
"My books!" Hedregon cried, attempting to get up but then cringing at the pain it caused him simply to tense his muscles. Faramir smiled.
"I brought them for you. These three and the one you hid under your floorboards."
"Amazing. Bless you, brother." Hedregon fingered the leather binding of one of his precious notebooks, and hugged it tightly as he lay back and closed his eyes.
"I put together an entire pack, you see. It includes food, blankets, water, pens, ink, and a new blank book; Boromir suggested I add that. I also packed a map. We want to know where you decide to go so that we may come and visit you, and I'm working on building a secret entrance to the city and the palace so that you may visit us. Just promise me that you won't tell Boromir about it; he'd go into a fit of nerves at the thought of you sneaking back here."
"Will he not find out if I suddenly appear in the palace? Besides, what do you mean where will I go? Why can I not simply stay here?"
"Don't be a fool, Hedregon! Come out of your imagination and wake up in reality. We're no more than twenty minutes from the city, and if anyone, anyone saw you . . . Denethor couldn't save you a second time." Faramir sighed, "Come, we will decide where you will go tomorrow." He left Hedregon's side and began to build a fire. Hedregon unfolded the map and looked it over. He loved maps, he found them fascinating, but never before had he seen one of all of Middle Earth.
Hedregon assumed that he would not be able to live anywhere at all in Gondor, so he put that out of his mind and looked elsewhere. Rohan was the only other land of free men, but men were dull and if Hedregon was going to be in exile, he might as well choose someplace romantic. Elves and Dwarves were out of the question, they both had their noses so high in the air that one could look up, or in a Dwarf's case, down them. Hedregon actually had never seen a real Elf or Dwarf before, only read about them in the books in his father's library. His eyes wandered to another section of the map, the Shire. Was that not where the perian dwelt? These had always seemed especially interesting to Hedregon, and he decided that he must go there as soon as he saw it. They were a peace-loving folk, very tranquil and calm. The Shire itself was also beautiful, every spring was said to be more stunning than the one before it. Yes, this was where Hedregon must go.
Chapter 2
The next morning Hedregon informed his brothers of his plan. They both agreed to it, although Faramir wistfully, for the Shire was terribly far from Minas Tirith. Boromir and Faramir marked on the map the route which Hedregon must take,
"Travel up the Anduin and into Lothlórien. Then take the Red Horn pass through the mountains and follow the East Road into the Shire." Boromir explained. "Do you know where you wish to go when you get to the Shire?"
"Yes; I have decided to settle in the area the perian call 'Buckland.' It is close to the outside of the Shire and is supposed to have a vast supply of trees."
"It's settled then. I will miss you Hedregon; I do not think it possible to visit you enough. You leave tonight."
"Tonight?" Hedregon exclaimed. "Why so soon?"
"You have to get out of here. I, uh, well . . . Sircyn and Bevolen dug up your tomb. Minas Tirith knows you're alive."
"What?!"
"They've sent out the alarm. Searches for you start tomorrow evening and Faramir and I think it would be best if you were long gone by then."
"I cannot travel like . . . like this!"
"You will be in a boat. Your arms are much better." Hedregon glared at his brother's optimism. His arms were folly. They were bruised in more places than not and covered with knife marks. "You will be able to be fully healed in Lothlórien. Elves are said to be great healers, you know."
"If I'm not much mistaken, I am your elder brother. And I say that this is crazy."
"Say what you will, but get packed. We need to reach the Anduin by nightfall." Hedregon was very annoyed with Boromir, but did realize what danger he was in so gathered his things and put them in his bag. "You have your sword?"
"How, pray tell, will I be able to lift it? I hate the thing, anyways, is now not an ideal time to discard it?" Boromir did not answer, Hedregon knew it was because he was complaining and Boromir did not feel like explaining to him that a sword is used for protection, which could therefore come in handy. Hedregon had never been a soldier, although he worked for his father as one and his sword oft felt like his enemy. He'd prefer a pen.
They finally settled on Hedregon bringing his sword in his bag, so as not to weigh him down but still prove usable if needed. Faramir was back by nightfall and in the darkness the three traveled [enter cardinal direction here] until they reached the river Anduin. Faramir threw Hedregon's pack into the small boat he had prepared for him and helped him in. Before pushing the boat into the water, each of Hedregon's younger brothers gave him their blessing.
"You only have to row to Lórien, remember that. And send word for us as soon as you reach the Shire! Farewell now, brother, best wishes for a new life." Faramir said. Then Boromir spoke,
"Hedregon," he said, "Please keep your head on straight. Tell no one of your reasons for fleeing, or even where you came from; it is far too dangerous to trust fate, after the hand she has dealt you. I will come visit you as soon as I am able; perhaps the confusing dream trick will work again." He sighed, and then continued, "I suppose I must look after Denethor now in your place. Good luck to you."
Hedregon didn't look at his brothers as they pushed his boat into the river, for after all he was the captain of them and it would never do for them to see him crying. Wincing at the pain in his shoulder, Hedregon picked up a paddle and commenced in rowing upriver.
