I

A/N: This is slightly A/U! Frodo and the gang did not sail across the ocean. I nearly cried when that happened...

Faramir felt his head roll to one side. There was only rock behind him. Cruel, unmoving rock that dug into his wounds and created more where there were none before. He felt his eyes lull but refused to give into the shadows that threatened to claim him once more. He was struggling, it was true, but he would struggle.

It had been routine. Nothing out of the ordinary and nothing to fear. He and several Rangers from Ithilien had gone to inspect a bit of an uprising that had been rumored. It had seemed like little, and they had prepared as such. Never before had Faramir felt so ill informed on what they were to be facing and how he regretted it!

"Do you wish to speak now?" a voice hissed at him in the dark.

He'd been beaten mercilessly for a stretch of time he could not identify. He had not called out, and for that he was thankful. He would not give them the satisfaction of even that, much less the information they sought. "May hell take you," he rasped, his voice raw from holding back the screams of pain.

The creature – for that is all he knew of it – chuckled and its eyes glowed fiercely in the darkness of the cave. "You shall come around or you shall die," it said, its voice low and menacing. "Never to see the White City again, eh, Steward of Gondor?"

Any hopes that they thought he was simply a Ranger flew from his mind. It had been a distant hope, but there nevertheless. How he wished to see his city! He'd be due back within the next two days. It would be within the next week that people might start questioning the Rangers' and Steward's whereabouts. Even longer, perhaps, before anyone might go in search for him. He knew by then he'd be long dead if he could find no means of escape.

Faramir heard the creature move away and he was left alone in the darkness. Left to think of what he had left behind. A fiancé awaiting his return to marry. Eowyn… She would be worried, he was sure. To cause her duress was the last thing he wished. Though not only would she be waiting, but the Fellowship had returned to Minas Tirith to enjoy the company of their King and friends from their long journey.

One Week Earlier
His departure had been delayed for a day when long missed friends appeared at the gates of the White City. Two Hobbits per horse – Merry and Pippin on one with Frodo and Sam on the other – Legolas and Gimli riding on another, and Gandalf on his own came into the city with smiles brimming their faces and they were warmly greeted. Faramir couldn't help but smile as Pippin dismounted in far too much of a hurry and tumbled over himself, a grin still plastered on his features.

"You look to be on your way out, young Steward," Gandalf observed.

"We were," Faramir responded. "But I do believe we might delay one more day."

Gandalf had smiled in his way and moved on around, speaking in low tones with the King of Gondor. Faramir watched them carefully and turned his eyes to Legolas, who shrugged his slim shoulders in a way that might only be elegant for an Elf. "I fear I do not know," was all he said as he dismounted.

"Gandalf has been up to something, to be sure," Gimli added in. "Don't know what yet."

"Best to trust the White Wizard to do what is best," Faramir said quietly as they returned to the castle.

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They had eaten together as they should. Aragorn listened to the tails Merry and Pippin happily told and smile brightly when Frodo piped up about Sam's engagement.

"Engaged?" the King asked, laughing outloud when the poor Hobbit blushed crimson. "Yes… That is good. Things are returning to normal then…"

"As well as they might," Frodo murmured. "So much has changed…" His eyes locked suddenly with Faramir's and he turned them down.

"Very much, that's true, Master Baggins," Faramir responded quietly. "But we move on."

Silence filled the room and nearly smothered the Fellowship and their friends until Arwen cleared her throat and stood. "Perhaps it would be best to clear everything away so as Faramir might prepare for his journey tomorrow?" she offered a word into the stillness.

"Journey?" Pippin repeated. "But we just got here! You're not leavin', are you?"

Faramir chuckled at this. "I'm afraid I am, Pippin. I shan't be gone long. A week and a half, maybe? That should be it."

"Are we staying that long?" Pippin asked, turning to Merry.

"Yes…" Merry said with an exaggerated sigh. "We've been over this, Pip. We're here for a month! It's too far to travel to not stay long!"

"I was supposed to pack for a month!"

The fearful stillness had successfully been lifted from the air as everyone laughed with and at young Pippin Took. The Hobbit sat for a moment, wondering what was so funny, then joined in it, never really grasping what everyone was laughing about.

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Faramir had left the next day, despite Pippin's protests. He had a mission assigned, he explained, and it was his duty to fulfill it. They'd ridden and been attacked. It came so suddenly that the horses didn't even have time to sense the danger. It was a peaceful, easy gallop one moment and an ambush the next.

"Take cover!" had been the Captain and Steward's command. What else was there to do? They were outnumbered and caught unawares. His horse stumbled from one wound too many at the same time he felt a stray arrow rip into his side and both beast and master fell, though the latter was pinned under the first. The world spun around him as he struggled to get from under his fallen horse.

"Looky here," a voice sneered above him.

"I think we've caught ourselves a prize in this one," another answered.

"I'd say so. Trapped there, good sir?" a third asked with a frightening laugh.

Faramir struggled harder to free himself, but to no avail. All he saw was the boot of the creature nearest to him, as the sun directly above them blurred out its face.

"Don't struggle, your lordship," the creature hissed as it placed its rough boot on the Steward's chest to keep him down. "You'll just wear yourself out…"

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The next several days were a blur of pain. His wounds had not been treated and he was sure that it was infected as he felt as if his skin were on fire. He dreamt of the day his father had mistaken him for dead. He dreamt of the flames and the screams and woke in shear terror.

He was sure that his men were all dead. They hadn't been needed and only he was in this small cave. They'd left him there, chained at first, and they took them off when he became too weak to run. So there he lay: wounded, weakened, and without hope in a dark cave with creatures he did not know. He felt utterly miserable. He longed for Minas Tirith…