Chapter 8

Éowyn let out a quiet sigh and moved stiffly toward Faramir. Amrothos joined them after giving the stew-pot a look of longing. Unsurprisingly, he was the first to speak.

"I say we shouldn't tell them anything."

Even in the seriousness of the moment, Faramir had to struggle rather hard to stifle a laugh. Éowyn remained solemn with a little less effort, and touched Amrothos' bound hands gently with hers.

"That's very brave of you, but it's not just for your stomach that I think we should tell them a little of what we know."

Faramir nodded.

"I agree. If we tell them, they might help us—or at least take care of us."

"And who knows?" Éowyn added with a slight smile. "They might know better than us how to find the way to the surface—and then everything will be fine. I'm sure Uncle's going to be simply irate," she added under her breath.

Amrothos, who had brightened considerably after hearing that Éowyn was still in favor of telling them something despite the fact that he was willing to be brave and starve, furrowed his brow.

"But how do we know they won't kill us after they get the answers to their questions? What if they're assassins—and if they're paid to kill people like us. We know they're after that Gollum-thing. Why not semi-royalty, too?"

"Ro's got a point," Faramir said, shifting his weight and glancing at the men gathered by the fire. "We shouldn't tell them who we are—just some stable-boys for the royal stable, and you, Éowyn, can be a kitchen servant. If they ask us that sort of thing at all."

Éowyn nodded her agreement, though she did mutter, "We have stable-girls too, you know."

"So, do we let on that we're in Rohan?" Amrothos continued. His stomach croaked, and he squirmed either from embarrassment or hunger. "And what about Gollum?"

"Faramir," Éowyn said quietly, "you tell as much as you think is safe about our position. I'll decide what to tell about Gollum."

"What about me?" Amrothos whispered.

Grum was approaching from behind. Faramir grinned at his cousin and shook his head.

"You stay quiet and play along."

And then Grum was there, frowning and grim. "Time's up," he said gruffly. "Faro wants some answers."

The three exchanged a somewhat nervous look, and turned to face the proverbial music. Farothul's face was dark and thoughtful as he watched them approach.

"I'd warn ye against tellin' lies, but I've no intention of maligning yer honor. Ye, boy." He jerked his head toward Faramir. "Where are we?"

Staring straight into the man's eyes, Faramir hesitated, and then replied.

"When we found our way down into this blackness, we were in the land of Rohan."

Djem cursed loudly and kicked at a rock. Éowyn winced (for the rock, not the curse). Farothul abruptly snapped, "Stow it, man," and turned back to watch the three youths. "Rohan, eh? So we've crossed the mountains altogether and come up in the horse country. Next ye'll be tellin' me you're Prince Theodred 'imself, and ye," he gestured at Éowyn and Amrothos with a snort, "his cousins."

Éowyn opened her mouth, but Faramir spoke up before she could.

"Very funny. But we're just as lost as you are down here—fell through a hole and couldn't find a way back up. Do you know these tunnels well?"

"Do we?" scoffed Djem. "Why, we've been over ever' inch of 'em lookin' for...for…"

"Gollum," Éowyn said quietly. "And yes, we saw him. He grabbed my wrist and tried to drag me away—afraid of the light, I think."

The three men exchanged a glance and Farothul nodded slowly.

"Sounds like 'im alright. Nasty little beasty, 'e is." He stood staring at them for a moment more, thinking, and then gestured at the fire.

"All right, Grum. Spoon 'em some stew."

Amrothos let out a quiet yelp of joy. When the man called Grum handed him what looked like a tortoise-shell filled with stew, it was all he could do to drink it without spilling it down his shirt-front. Éowyn dove into hers with equal fervor, but Faramir, though just as hungry as the two others, began on his more slowly. As Farothul and the others had eaten, the fat man noticed Faramir's gaze.

"There's more in the bowl, cub," he grunted scratching his nose and leaning back against the rock wall of the cave.

Faramir set his tortoise shell down.

"I've had my fill, thank you. I wonder if I might venture a question?"

At a nod from the man, he continued, "Will you help us find our way to the top again?"

Djem snorted in amusement.

"Wouldn't we like to, though. Only problem is we never expected to come up in Rohan."

With a sort of growl, Farothul rose and began pacing back and forth, hands clasped behind his back.

"We might 'ave guessed it, though. Spending so much time underground—so much time traveling. Why a man can cross the mountains twice over with the time we've spent down 'ere." He sighed and shook his head, sinking to his seat again. "There's nothin' for it. Our provisions are running low, and we need new torches and such like. We've got to find the surface—and we may as well take the cubs with us. They may know their way to a village or city where we can trade or purchase what we need."

He turned to Faramir, Éowyn, and Amrothos. "'ow about it, cubs? If ye'll promise not to run off—which would do you more 'arm than good anyhow—we'll let you walk free, and even pay ye for yer services once we're atop."

The three exchanged a quick glance; each saw nothing but eagerness in the others' eyes.

"Done," said Faramir, nodding.

"When can we start?" Éowyn added.

Farothul looked down at the glowing embers of the fire and said, "We'll spend the night 'ere and start tomorrow."

And that was that.

They all slept relatively near to the campfire because of the chill of the cave—and because of the idea that Gollum might be lurking around in the darkness somewhere (although none of them would've admitted it). Despite the wearying day's events, however, Éowyn was not sleepy. Amrothos was snoring several feet to her right and Faramir lay still several feet to her left. The three Gollum-hunters had bedded down on the other side of the fire.

Éowyn stared at the glowing coals steadily, willing herself not to blink. Her eyes ached, as did her head. She wanted to sleep, but her thoughts would not settle down. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine she was in her bed in Edoras. It didn't work. Farothul had given each of them a blanket, and while that was very kind of him, the thin wool did little to cushion her against the lumpy floor. She rolled onto her side, and then her back, and then her other side and stomach again, but couldn't get comfortable.

I wonder what Éomer is doing right now, Éowyn thought. It made her grin to think that he was probably going crazy trying to find her, especially, she thought, since he was so rotten to hide my sword and not tell me where it was.

She did feel a pang of regret to think that her uncle and cousin were also most likely very worried. And Faramir's uncle and brother as well. Éowyn started to sigh, but found, instead, that she was choking back a sob. How strange. She wasn't sad or...or frightened. She wasn't, couldn't be, never ever would be.

"Éowyn."

With a gasp she turned halfway and saw that Faramir was watching her with an odd look on his face.

"Are you all right?"

He shifted his arm slightly, and Éowyn felt a twinge of conscience. Her all right? And him with a broken arm? Silly boy.

"Of course I am. How is your arm?"

Faramir smiled slightly. "It'll heal. Can't you get to sleep?"

She shook her head and sighed again. "I can't help but wonder what…what the others are doing right now."

"Worrying about us, you mean?" Faramir finished the unspoken with a wince. "I was thinking about that too."

Amrothos let out a rather loud snore, and they both snickered quietly.

"He's not going to be tired tomorrow," Éowyn grumbled with a small smile, turning on her stomach again. She yawned. "I only hope I can sleep as soundly."

Faramir nodded and yawned as well. "Aye. We should sleep well after what's happened today."

He was, of course, wrong. They did not sleep well at all, because a mere two hours after Faramir finally drifted off to sleep, he jerked awake again to the feel of sharp steel at the back of his neck.


The stars were like glittering pinpricks in the velvety canvas of the sky. Some formed shapes—the Hunter, the Dragon, the Lyre. Some were brighter than others. Some were clustered closely about each other in an army of white glimmerings.

Yet they were all useless to Boromir, for they could not tell him whence his brother had gone.

His gait, as he marched up the Edoras road to the great hall, was weary and defeated. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, a mannerism that betrayed his frustration, because he had never felt this helpless in all his years.

Standing on the stone staircase leading to the hall Boromir saw another man—his uncle. Imrahil leaned against a stone wall with one hand; his other rested on the pommel of his sword. The grim look of determination and worry on his face gave the torch-lit courtyard a feeling of haste, of danger. Of fear.

Boromir reached his uncle and stood beside him in silence, waiting for the elder to speak. At last Imrahil sighed and put his hand to his eyes.

"The guard has searched the entire city. On the morrow, Théodred will lead some men to the villages nearby. This the king has promised."

"We'll find them, Uncle," Boromir said quietly. "Of that I have no doubt."

Imrahil looked at his nephew for the first time that evening, and Boromir saw anger and fear intermixed in the man's red-rimmed eyes.

"I should never have brought Amrothos with me. I should've known he'd find his way into some trouble—and drag your brother into it along with him."

"Faramir needs no help in getting into trouble," Boromir insisted with a slight smile. "Don't blame Amrothos before we know the facts."

"I don't need not know the facts to know that it was his fault," Imrahil replied. His jaw was clenched in silent anger. "Nevertheless, we will find them. We must find them."

"We will, Uncle," Boromir said. "We will."

When his uncle did not reply, Boromir turned and walked to the stables. He'd so casually told Faramir to go check the horses—Faramir had smiled; he knew that Boromir knew that he didn't like being around too many people. There had been no farewell—no hint of uneasiness.

So why did he feel so guilty?

He froze in the doorway. The inside of the stable was lit only by lanterns that were hung in places that were sure not to catch on fire, and he could only just make out a man standing by the haystacks in the corner. The man turned halfway, and Boromir relaxed as he recognized Théoden's nephew, Éomer.

"I wondered if I would find you here," he said quietly, walking toward the young horseman. "Do you think that they were here?"

That was the strange thing. Faramir and Amrothos had not been the only ones to disappear—the girl, Éowyn, had gone missing too. Had they met here, Boromir wondered, glancing around and trying to imagine what might've happened. Had something happened that made them leave?

Éomer did not answer. He was holding something in his hands—reverently. Boromir approached and saw, to his surprise, that it was a sword—a short sword, very different from the kind that he and his uncle wore. On the guard was the gilded head of a horse, and the blade was covered with curling designs.

"It's beautiful," he said quietly, sincerely.

Éomer looked up in surprise, as though he'd not heard him approach, and then looked down at the sword again.

"It is Éowyn's. It belonged to my mother—before she died. Éowyn never went anywhere without it."

His voice cracked at the end of the sentence, and Boromir saw the muscles in the other man's jaw working, as if he was struggling to contain his emotion.

"Theodred is leading a search party on the morrow," Boromir said after a moment or so. "I'll be riding with him."

Éomer looked up and met his gaze as if answering a challenge.

"Hang the morrow! I'd ride out tonight if I could, but…" his words trailed off as he glared down at the sword. "Argh…bother Éowyn. When we find her, I'm going to lock her in her room and…and…and I'll never let her hunt with us again. And I'll keep this—," he made as if to throw the sword down, but changed his mind at the last moment and merely set it down on the straw, violently, "until she learns not to get into so much trouble!"

Boromir grinned slightly.

"Sounds like what my uncle's got in mind for Amrothos."

A stable hand passed them. He had a pitchfork and wheelbarrow, and was headed for the stalls. Éomer watched him pass, and then turned back to Boromir.

"What about your brother? Aren't you worried about him?"

Boromir shrugged and touched his sword hilt for only the briefest of seconds. Words came to his mind, and although they did not speak what was in his heart, he spoke them anyway.

"Faramir's old enough to take care of himself now." After a beat, he added, reassuringly, "Surely we will find them before they can get into too much trouble."

"I hope so," Éomer replied with a sigh, fingering the sword again tenderly. "I only wish I was as certain as you."

"So do I," Boromir muttered under his breath, fingering the hilt of his sword. "So do I."

TBC...