Chapter 5: Help

He doesn't look too dangerous. Of all things I have seen thus far, this man certainly doesn't look like a blood-thirsty Haradrim warrior. Though his complexion is like of theirs, there is something different about him. thought Faramir as he watched the prisoner in meditating, it seemed in his cell from a dark corner.

The man was robed in white and had a cloth of white swathed around his head, a turban. He was startled as dark, smoky, blue eyes opened and glanced around the hairs on the back of Faramir's neck prickled as the pupil-less gaze slide over him and throughout the rest of the cell…he wasn't seen, yet. Gracefully the man stood, his robes rustling as he paced restlessly in his cell. He wasn't like most prisoners of war, most of them would be glaring stubbornly through the bars and shouting curses to Gondor in their native tongue, or some men deprived of hope sitting broken in their cells until death so took them and brought them their ultimate release.

"If I am a man to be stared at like a caged animal, so be it, but I would like to see who this visitor is." said the man, his voice glazed with a dry humor and heavily accented. His dark face turned back and gazed right where Faramir watched from his hiding place.

There was a moment of silence as Faramir thought over his options, unlike for this prisoner, he had many. He could ignore him completely and leave him to the biased judgment of the war-torn judges, or he could try to find out who this man was, and why he was here in Minas Tirith in the first place. The latter would certainly set his heart at ease and help his conscience lighten if this man was rightfully judged. But it would certainly displease his father quite a bit. "Though I should be the one asking you the question, let me answer you. My name is Faramir, one of the guards. I come down here to see why one would be accused of spying, attempted kidnapping of small children, and sabotage."

An amused and puzzled smile traced the edge of the prisoner's mouth, "If I am accused of all of these things then I am not surprised. This guard of yours, Caleb, certainly holds strong feelings against me, or people that I seem to look like. I trust that I am to be tried fairly on my charges?"

Faramir looked over the prisoner carefully, weighing the statement in his mind, looking for any barbed, hidden comments in the question, he found none. "You're trial shall be held, no doubt. The justice of Gondor and Minas Tirith is certainly not as crooked as you think."

The prisoner looked away, there was a look of amusement and doubtfulness that fleeted across his face for half a moment before the half-murmured words of, "We shall see." were heard as the man settled back into a meditative position.

A Haradrim spy, caught and detained in the dungeons. It seems that luck was finally with the city of Minas Tirith after its 'Faithful Jewel' had left. Denethor smiled as he tore another piece of bread from the loaf, and washed it down with a sip of wine.

He should look deeper into this. The far seeing palantir should be able to tell him more and no doubt reveal this spy's mission. For far too long he had done nothing against these peoples other than run them off of the lands of Ithilien and lands further south. More than one person could play this game they were doing. Now it would be his turn to find out the weaknesses of the Haradrim, and this spy will be a useful tool in all of this. But before all this happens, he had to see this man for himself and determine the measures to be taken against him.

He would not allow himself any more mistakes.

These are a strange people . . . suspicious they are of different races it seems. Such are the ways of Men. thought Shadi when the man left, Faramir of the Guard. It seemed, that the judge of fate was finally being tested himself. And this time, it is I that is fighting between life and death, not others. It is a different feeling. Shadi allowed himself a dry smile, how ironic the situation was though.

"It's so hot out here!" exclaimed Yugi, looking up into the sky once again and shielding his eyes from the sun with his arm. A small drop of sweat dripped off his forehead in into the sand beneath his feet.

Ahead, Rishid and Malik walked unfazed, as if unaffected by the sweltering weather. Of course they don't feel anything; this is probably just like Egypt: hot, sandy, and dry. Yes, Rishid was right; they should be very sparing with their water supply. It wasn't like there would be a water fountain out in the middle of some medieval time desert. But the sound of the water sloshing in his water skins was driving him nuts! It constantly reminded him of the heat and its promise of cool, refreshing, wetness.

"Perhaps if you didn't think about your thirst so much, it wouldn't be bothering you, wouldn't it, Yugi?" asked Malik, his voice interrupted his thoughts and Yugi could hear the slight sneer in it.

"Easy for you to say." muttered Yugi, in front of him he heard Malik chuckle. A hand rested gently on his shoulder.

"Don't worry Yugi, you're doing great. After all, this is our first time in a condition like this. Just think about how Malik would react if we were trapped in a snowstorm back in Japan?" said Ryou encouragingly, he gave Yugi a winning smile.

"Are you alright Ryou? You looked flushed." asked Yugi. It was true, the pale boy's face looked pink, and was warm to the touch. In some places, Yugi could see it begin to peel. Sweat dripped down the other boy's face and neck as well.

"I'm fine, just a bit hot, that's all." said Ryou, waving away Yugi's concerns.

"O-okay Ryou. If you say so." said Yugi turning back to his walking.

On they walked in the now-midday sun. Rishid had told the boys that they could stop as soon as he found some shade for them. Yugi grew more and more worried for Ryou as the day passed. They pale boy's breathing had become labored and was beginning to lag behind.

Suddenly, Yugi heard a dull thump in the sand. He turned around to see what it was, and there, lying in the baking sand was Ryou. His eyes were shut and his look seemed pained. "Malik! Rishid! Something's wrong with Ryou! He collapsed!" shouted Yugi, dropping to his knees beside his prostrate friend and pulling Ryou up by the shoulders.

The two Egyptians rushed over to their side. Rishid checked Ryou's pulse and temperature. A grim look came over his face. "He's not doing too well. The heat is too much for him. I'm afraid he had a heat stroke." said Rishid pushing back a sweat-soaked lock of white hair from Ryou's face.

"Will he be alright?" asked Yugi.

Rishid looked back down at him and looked away, "I'm not sure. It shall depend on how strong his spirit is. But I shall carry him for now." the manservant went silent and lifted Ryou off the sand as if he weighed no more than a rag doll, "We shall have to find shade as soon as possible, and maybe some water."

And with that, their pace fastened and they went on. Praying and hoping that Ryou would be alright.