Hedregon wanted to feel nostalgic; he wanted to wander the streets of Minas
Tirith and look through the windows of strangers' houses in hopes of
experiencing glimpses of his former life, the one before the massacre. He
had never missed it before; he had spent most of his life in Minas Tirith
sinking into the Dreamworld with which his other reality disappeared. Now
he saw the walls on which he had leaned, and held onto their memory. He
brushed his finger against the bricks, over and over until it was numb, and
let his weight fall against the wall trying to remember how he felt the
last time he was there. It brought butterflies to his stomach and a
lightness to his head, but he didn't remember the view.
Hedregon's eyes welled up with tears at the realization of this, but he wasn't given much time to be sentimental. A middle-aged woman with a chubby toddler on her hip was talking rapidly to a small boy inside one of the houses across the muddy street. The boy looked at Hedregon, nodded, and left the window. Hedregon heard a door slam and the boy's feet racing off in the direction of the palace. It took Hedregon a minute to realize what was happening, and when he did, he bolted as well. He hadn't told Faramir or Boromir where he was going; even Faramir would have objected if he'd found out that Hedregon was venturing outside the palace's walls. He didn't make it very far, though. Having had run towards the palace, the soldiers on guard ran from it. A burly soldier caught Hedregon roughly around the arm and threw him to the ground.
"So it's true," another one said, "the bastard really is alive."
The first soldier pulled Hedregon up by his collar, then hit him in the jaw so that he fell down again. "You killed my father," he said, kicking Hedregon in the face with all of his might.
"Let's go," a third soldier said, as two more pulled Hedregon's arms behind his back and started to drag him away. Hedregon's head fell and his body slumped over.
"I think he's knocked out," a soldier said.
"Good," another responded, "for all he's done, he deserves to bleed." A fist shifted the placement of Hedregon's nose, followed by another hit, which landed underneath his ribs and knocked the wind out of him. Hedregon son of Denethor blacked out before they reached the first gate.
He woke up that evening on a cold stone floor. Immediately surveying any damage, Hedregon found that he was actually quite well. His nose was broken as was his jaw, but other than that he was perfectly fine. He was in the same cell as he had been a year ago, the very end one.
Rathien! He had to get out, no matter what it took. She must have heard; she must be terrified. Thoughts of what was happening and what needed to happen rushed through Hedregon's head as if it were a wind tunnel. He jumped up and inspected the lock. He'd never break it; it was cast iron. The only window was a small opening at the top of the door. Hedregon began to pace, then realized that in every good fantasy story there were secret passageways. There must be one in the cell; he just had to find it. Hedregon began running his fingers over each stone in the wall, every crack and fissure. All of his pushing, pulling and looking did nothing, however. Still Hedregon did not realize that his life was not a fantasy story.
He ran from side to side of the dungeon cell, slamming his body into the opposite wall and the door. There was always a way. Never had Hedregon read a story in which the hero did not escape. He had to find the way, because there had to be one. For the next five minutes, he continued to bruise his shoulders and back from forcing his weight against the door and walls. They didn't even budge.
Confused and slightly bashed that what was supposed to happen wasn't, Hedregon sank into a corner and thought. Perhaps if he had some form of tinder, then he could start a fire and burn away his bindings, but there was nothing. Then it came to him . . . he could yell! Someone was bound to hear him and then they would hear his story, understand, and assist him in his escape! Perhaps even another prisoner, one who knew how to escape.
Filled with romantic ecstasy, he began to wildly jump up and down, shouting "help" at the top of his lungs. It would be any moment now, that someone would come to his rescue.
Hedregon's imagination was not entirely wrong, nor was it correct. Within seconds of him yelling for help did his younger brother barrel into him, pinning him against the wall and pushing his hand against Hedregon's mouth so hard that his head hit the stone behind him and he temporarily lost his vision.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Faramir demanded furiously.
Hedregon said nothing; how could he with Faramir keeping his hand over half of Hedregon's face?
"You're a bloody imbecile! Go, go! Hurry!" Faramir hissed through his rage. He practically shoved Hedregon through the now open cell door and into another wall. At least, Hedregon thought that it was a wall at first. He supposed that it used to be a wall, but apparently Faramir's underground tunnel led to more than one place. As soon as they reached the other side of the hidden door, Faramir sealed it shut once more and released Hedregon from his angry grasp.
"Incredible!" Hedregon exclaimed, ignoring his brother's fury. "You never mentioned this, but it's amazing. At this point, he was half-jesting, still ensnared by the romance of his story-like escape. Laughing, he said, "I bow to my rescuer."
Faramir spun around and slapped Hedregon in the face. His expression was set, silent but powerful rage. By the look in his eyes, Hedregon thought that his brother could have murdered him right there, but Faramir just continued to stare at Hedregon, who was still in shock from being slapped by his younger brother.
"Faramir, why -" He started, but Faramir cut him off.
"Wake up, Hedregon! This is not one of your stories. Your romantic idiocy is going to kill you if you keep it up. Come down to earth. I just saved your bloody life for the second time; you're lucky as hell that worked. We're all sick of this . . . this dread every time you do this that it'll be your last!"
That was when Hedregon realized that Faramir was crying. Tears were streaming down his face as he yelled at Hedregon and it reminded Hedregon of Rathien when she forsook her immortality for his love. It had never been difficult for Hedregon to love people as it seemed to be for Rathien and Faramir, or was it just that Hedregon was not an easy person to love? Startled by this, Hedregon put his hand on Faramir's shoulder and whispered, "I'm sorry."
Faramir shook his head. "That's not important now," he said, "Let's go. Boromir has your things, and we need to get you back upriver as soon as possible."
"And Rathien - er, Lisiael?"
"Ah, the Elf. I found her and told her to meet you at the river."
Hedregon closed his eyes and pretended that he could see Rathien right then. She would throw her arms around him and would be able to feel her weight once more upon his chest. Before long, he had his possessions and had greeted Rathien; his imagination having been right. Boromir had had a few colorful, choice words for Hedregon's "stunt," but Hedregon looked forward to the tranquility of the boat ride back to Lórien.
Hedregon's eyes welled up with tears at the realization of this, but he wasn't given much time to be sentimental. A middle-aged woman with a chubby toddler on her hip was talking rapidly to a small boy inside one of the houses across the muddy street. The boy looked at Hedregon, nodded, and left the window. Hedregon heard a door slam and the boy's feet racing off in the direction of the palace. It took Hedregon a minute to realize what was happening, and when he did, he bolted as well. He hadn't told Faramir or Boromir where he was going; even Faramir would have objected if he'd found out that Hedregon was venturing outside the palace's walls. He didn't make it very far, though. Having had run towards the palace, the soldiers on guard ran from it. A burly soldier caught Hedregon roughly around the arm and threw him to the ground.
"So it's true," another one said, "the bastard really is alive."
The first soldier pulled Hedregon up by his collar, then hit him in the jaw so that he fell down again. "You killed my father," he said, kicking Hedregon in the face with all of his might.
"Let's go," a third soldier said, as two more pulled Hedregon's arms behind his back and started to drag him away. Hedregon's head fell and his body slumped over.
"I think he's knocked out," a soldier said.
"Good," another responded, "for all he's done, he deserves to bleed." A fist shifted the placement of Hedregon's nose, followed by another hit, which landed underneath his ribs and knocked the wind out of him. Hedregon son of Denethor blacked out before they reached the first gate.
He woke up that evening on a cold stone floor. Immediately surveying any damage, Hedregon found that he was actually quite well. His nose was broken as was his jaw, but other than that he was perfectly fine. He was in the same cell as he had been a year ago, the very end one.
Rathien! He had to get out, no matter what it took. She must have heard; she must be terrified. Thoughts of what was happening and what needed to happen rushed through Hedregon's head as if it were a wind tunnel. He jumped up and inspected the lock. He'd never break it; it was cast iron. The only window was a small opening at the top of the door. Hedregon began to pace, then realized that in every good fantasy story there were secret passageways. There must be one in the cell; he just had to find it. Hedregon began running his fingers over each stone in the wall, every crack and fissure. All of his pushing, pulling and looking did nothing, however. Still Hedregon did not realize that his life was not a fantasy story.
He ran from side to side of the dungeon cell, slamming his body into the opposite wall and the door. There was always a way. Never had Hedregon read a story in which the hero did not escape. He had to find the way, because there had to be one. For the next five minutes, he continued to bruise his shoulders and back from forcing his weight against the door and walls. They didn't even budge.
Confused and slightly bashed that what was supposed to happen wasn't, Hedregon sank into a corner and thought. Perhaps if he had some form of tinder, then he could start a fire and burn away his bindings, but there was nothing. Then it came to him . . . he could yell! Someone was bound to hear him and then they would hear his story, understand, and assist him in his escape! Perhaps even another prisoner, one who knew how to escape.
Filled with romantic ecstasy, he began to wildly jump up and down, shouting "help" at the top of his lungs. It would be any moment now, that someone would come to his rescue.
Hedregon's imagination was not entirely wrong, nor was it correct. Within seconds of him yelling for help did his younger brother barrel into him, pinning him against the wall and pushing his hand against Hedregon's mouth so hard that his head hit the stone behind him and he temporarily lost his vision.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Faramir demanded furiously.
Hedregon said nothing; how could he with Faramir keeping his hand over half of Hedregon's face?
"You're a bloody imbecile! Go, go! Hurry!" Faramir hissed through his rage. He practically shoved Hedregon through the now open cell door and into another wall. At least, Hedregon thought that it was a wall at first. He supposed that it used to be a wall, but apparently Faramir's underground tunnel led to more than one place. As soon as they reached the other side of the hidden door, Faramir sealed it shut once more and released Hedregon from his angry grasp.
"Incredible!" Hedregon exclaimed, ignoring his brother's fury. "You never mentioned this, but it's amazing. At this point, he was half-jesting, still ensnared by the romance of his story-like escape. Laughing, he said, "I bow to my rescuer."
Faramir spun around and slapped Hedregon in the face. His expression was set, silent but powerful rage. By the look in his eyes, Hedregon thought that his brother could have murdered him right there, but Faramir just continued to stare at Hedregon, who was still in shock from being slapped by his younger brother.
"Faramir, why -" He started, but Faramir cut him off.
"Wake up, Hedregon! This is not one of your stories. Your romantic idiocy is going to kill you if you keep it up. Come down to earth. I just saved your bloody life for the second time; you're lucky as hell that worked. We're all sick of this . . . this dread every time you do this that it'll be your last!"
That was when Hedregon realized that Faramir was crying. Tears were streaming down his face as he yelled at Hedregon and it reminded Hedregon of Rathien when she forsook her immortality for his love. It had never been difficult for Hedregon to love people as it seemed to be for Rathien and Faramir, or was it just that Hedregon was not an easy person to love? Startled by this, Hedregon put his hand on Faramir's shoulder and whispered, "I'm sorry."
Faramir shook his head. "That's not important now," he said, "Let's go. Boromir has your things, and we need to get you back upriver as soon as possible."
"And Rathien - er, Lisiael?"
"Ah, the Elf. I found her and told her to meet you at the river."
Hedregon closed his eyes and pretended that he could see Rathien right then. She would throw her arms around him and would be able to feel her weight once more upon his chest. Before long, he had his possessions and had greeted Rathien; his imagination having been right. Boromir had had a few colorful, choice words for Hedregon's "stunt," but Hedregon looked forward to the tranquility of the boat ride back to Lórien.
