Chapter 12

Author's notes: Bet y'all are tired of these by now! *LOL* Anyway, many many thanks to all my reviewers! I haven't been up to doing much on the computer lately, so I haven't been able to answer them as I should. Back now, and delighted to see all these nice reviews! Keep them coming!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that belongs to Tolkien. I don't even own the AU this story is part of, although it is used with Evendim's permission. All original characters are mine and I would like to be asked before they are used in other fics.

Dedications: To Evendim, who helped me get this idea from my head onto the screen and has graciously allowed the use of her AU. And to my beloved AJ, who gives me courage enough to post these chapters. *mwah*

Twelve

Boromir ground his teeth as Hawk and Arthond circled. Even had he wished to interfere, he wouldn't have been able to. He was restrained on both sides by Arthond's men. Then the battle was joined in earnest and he lost all interest in being thwarted.

Hawk and Arthond were slicing at each other mercilessly. Hawk scored first blood, but her advantage was quickly stolen from her and Arthond had her on the ropes. No quarter was asked, and none was given. Each was feinting and slicing so quickly it was hard for the eye to follow until Hawk's sword went spinning across the deck and she went down hard. Arthond pressed his blade to her throat and she swallowed hard. "It's time you went your own way, Hawk," he snarled as he raised his sword for the final stroke.

His captors had relaxed the grip enough that Boromir was able to break free. He was there when the stroke fell, Astalder in hand, and blocked the blow. "Let me see if I have this straight," he growled. "You won your challenge, so now you're the captain. And the captain has to hold his position against all comers." Boromir shifted his grip slightly and disarmed Arthond. "Consider this a challenge," he purred, his voice a muted roar.

Arthond grabbed up his weapon and took after Boromir, his face contorted with rage. "You think you could hold this ship?" he stormed as he rained blow upon blow on Boromir, hoping to get through his defenses. "With one arm? I think not! This ship is mine!"

Boromir used all the skill that Thranduil had taught him to parry and thrust on his own, slowly winning the advantage back from Arthond. He had kept his right arm at his side, giving the appearance of weakness. But the work he had been doing with the Haradrim healer, Dalos, had given him some limited use of it. He intended to take advantage of that at the proper time.

Thrust, feint, parry, became the rhythm and Boromir allowed himself to become more confident with his strokes, trying to put Arthond off-guard. Then, with a lightning move, he got past Arthond's guard and laid open his sword arm from wrist to elbow. He stepped back, grinning in a very not nice way. "First blood to me, pirate," he growled. "Yield?"

The only response was a wordless gargle of fury and Arthond leaped forward to renew his attack, sword now gripped in the other hand, pressing Boromir hard to keep his feet under the speed of the onslaught. Speed, not finesse. That was the opening Boromir needed.

He lunged forward, bringing himself nose to nose with the other man, and their crossed swords were the only things separating them. Then Boromir played his trump.

Arthond went white when he felt the dagger against his belly. "That's not possible!" he whispered in shock. "Your hand, your arm! They were lamed!"

"Things change, Arthond," Boromir purred back, allowing the dagger to press just a bit more firmly into flesh. "Yield, or I will kill you. The choice is yours."

TBC...