A/N: *backs up in fear* WAIT! Before you throw things at me for not updating in a timely fashion, please understand that I am most profoundly sorry.

...oh. You mean you didn't even realize I hadn't updated? *lightbulb moment* Oh. Well, then. I might as well let you know that now we're switching to an update every Monday and Friday because once every two days is simply too much for me. Also, I'm going on vacation (*slaps on some sunscreen and mosquito spray*) and might be a little slow in updating. Or I might not update at all. I shall try to post a few chapters between now and next Thursday (when I'm leaving), but if I come not again for a week or two, think not ill of me, for I am doubtless either exploring to my heart's content or residing in the stomach of some large mammalian creature. Anyway, enjoy these updates while you can! The story is drawing to its climax, and then...(*dramatic drumroll*) the end.

Enjoy.


Chapter 9

A sharp point pressed into the back of his neck. For a moment, Faramir did nothing but breathe, waiting as his stomach clenched and churned in a terrible panic because he had no idea whatsoever about what was going on. It occurred to him that they might have been fooled by this Farothul after all, and that the hunter and his men were going to just kill them all in their sleep. He had just decided upon that theory when a voice whispered a few inches away from his ear.

"Sit up, boy. Slowly. And keep your hands away from your weapon."

It was not the voice of Farothul, or Djem, or Grum. In fact, it was the voice of a complete stranger, low and fierce sounding, like one of the glowing coals that were all that remained of the fire. Faramir obeyed, and felt a hand jerk his sword away from his belt.

"How many are with you?"

Faramir hesitated, felt the edge of what he took to be a dagger press against his throat, and answered, "Five others. No more."

There was a whisper in the darkness and someone with cold hands grabbed his arms and bound them in front of him. The mysterious strangers didn't seem to know about his broken arm, however, for his captor wasn't especially gentle. He bit back a cry of pain as the—man?—jerked the knot tight. He went lightheaded with panic and pain. Something hit him in the head, and he fell back toward the fire with a shout of surprise.

His shout roused the others, and there was a brief scuffle in the bad light. Faramir heard Amrothos and Djem cursing and Éowyn shout in surprise. At last, there was silence. Someone grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to his feet. Faramir swayed—his head suddenly ached terribly, probably from the sudden movement and the blow he had received—but someone grabbed onto him before he fell.

"Steady," came a whisper from Amrothos. "You all right?"

There was a sound of something striking something else, and Amrothos let out a grunt.

"Silence," came a hiss from the blackness. "Don't speak until you're told."

And so they marched on in the dark, guided by captors they could not see. Amrothos stayed at Faramir's elbow and supported him despite his bound hands. Every now and again, they could hear an annoyed grunt or frustrated cry from Éowyn. There was no noise from Farothul, Grum, or Djem.

The ground was rough, and both Faramir and Amrothos stumbled several times. There seemed to be more loose rocks underfoot the further and further they traveled. At last, however, just when Faramir was beginning to be sure he was never going to see anything else again, a light appeared—just a flicker in the darkness, but a light all the same. And then the flicker grew larger and brighter, until he could recognize the flicker for what it was—a torch. A dark figure was holding it, a figure that, as they drew nearer, Faramir took to be a man. A hand took hold of his shoulder and gripped it tightly.

"Who goes there?" said the man who was holding the torch. "Password?"

"Hawk's breath, Jerrard, it's me. Can't you see in that light?" asked Faramir's captor. "We've found the intruders. Where is Mordeth?"

The man with the torch—Jerrard—shifted uneasily.

"Where do you think? In the map room. Password?"

There came an irritated sigh from behind Faramir that sounded as though it came from a man not much older than himself.

"In front of the prisoners, man, are you mad?"

Jerrard rolled his eyes. "I have my orders. 's not as if they'll find any use for it."

"Very well," grumbled the voice from behind Faramir. "The hunter's folly lies beneath the owl's moon. Are you satisfied?"

As he stepped aside, Jerrard grunted an affirmation.

"Just following my orders. You know how Mordeth dislikes indiscipline."

As his captor gave him a light shove forward, Faramir glanced back to see what the man was like. The glimpse he caught in the torchlight surprised him—their captor was a young man, with glossy black hair that hung to just below his ears and shining eyes under a pair of symmetrical brows. His skin, Faramir thought, was a tawny tan, though it was hard to really tell in the bad light.

"Walk on," the young man hissed at him. "And don't be foolish enough to try any tricks."

Faramir had no intention of doing any such thing. He was fascinated by the flurry of activity surrounding them. Men rushed past them—some carrying weapons, others leading horses—horses! Underground! He heard a cry from Éowyn and twisted back to see what was happening.

Éowyn was staring at the horse as if it was a ghost. Her lips moved as she mouthed a word—a name?—but then Faramir's captor shoved him forward and clouted him on the side of the head.

"Face forward and move along."

After a minute or so more of walking, they reached an overhang of rock, and underneath it a sort of cave-inside-the-cave. The man pushed Faramir through the opening. Inside, the light was much better, for there were real lanterns hung from the ceiling, and candles on the table in the center of the room.

Faramir guessed at once that this was the map room the sentry had spoken of, for the table looked like a sea of records and parchment. He craned his neck and saw that some of these parchments were maps of what appeared to be the cave and tunnel system itself. If only he could get his hands on one.

The man standing behind the table, staring down at the maps, was tall and lean. He had a schemer's eyes, dark and menacing, and short-cropped black hair. His skin had the same dark hue as the man who had captured Faramir—a darkish tan. He wore a dark red cloak, but when he looked up to stare at the newcomers, Faramir saw mail and armor underneath.

"What is this, Tornin? Why are you here?"

The young man shoved past Faramir and brought his right arm to his left shoulder in salute to the man behind the desk.

"My lord, these are the intruders we heard yesterday in the caves. There are six of them—three men, two youths, and a girl."

The man behind the desk watched them with a gleam in his eyes that made Faramir reach for a sword that no longer hung by his side—nor would be of any use if it did. The man caught the look with his sharp gaze and grinned wolfishly.

"Warriors. This one is, at least. And the others." He moved across the room toward them, looking first at Amrothos, then at Farothul, Grum, and Djem. "A motley crew. But this." He stopped in front of Éowyn. She was staring at her feet, and the man reached out his hand and drew her chin up so that the torchlight shone on her face. "This, my friend, is something of value."

There was a flash of fear in the girl's eyes, but she held the man's gaze, stubbornly refusing to look away. Farothul cleared his throat nervously, and the man turned to look at him.

"Do you know who I am?"

His voice was suddenly very soft, yet it filled the room. Farothul shifted his weight nervously and shook his head in denial.

"Then know this: I am no one to be trifled with, and you will answer my questions with haste and truth. Do you understand?"

Farothul jerked his head in a nod, as did Djem and Grum. The man began to pace before them.

"What are you three? Bounty hunters?"

Surprisingly, Farothul did not look astonished at the man's guess. He shrugged and nodded.

"In a manner o' speaking, sir. I'm Farothul, and these are Djem and Grum, my men."

"What is your errand below the surface of the earth?" the man asked without a moment's hesitation.

Farothul answered just as quickly. "We hunt the creature Gollum, my lord."

"Gollum." The man stroked his chin thoughtfully and continued his pacing. "Yes. I thought as much." He faced Farothul again. "What was the name of the man who hired you?"

"Rizka, sir," Farothul replied, beady eyes wide with bewilderment. "Met 'im in the Bear and the Boar."

"Rizka. Of course." The man turned and stared at Éowyn for a long moment. "How came you to join company with these youths? Are they also part of your expedition?"

There was a note in his voice that warned against lying, but Farothul licked his lips and replied, "Yes, m'lord. The gel is my sister's daughter, and a fine one to have at your back in a fight. The lads…well, we needed someone to carry the supplies."

"What supplies?"

Djem cursed under his breath, but Farothul's expression remained neutral.

"The ones we had three months ago. Before we got lost in the darkness."

The man stopped pacing at last and turned to stare at the bounty hunter. He stared for so long that even the unperturbed Farothul began to look uneasy.

"You lie," the tall man said quietly. Faramir felt his muscles tense in preparation for what was to come. "This girl is no niece of yours."

Faramir looked to Éowyn, who had clenched her jaw and looked frightened enough to faint and mad enough to spit.

"Did you know," the man continued, "just who exactly you ran into in the darkness and managed to capture, Hunter of Gollum? Did you know, exactly, what riches you could gain by asking ransom for the Princess of Rohan?"

Djem cursed. Éowyn drew in a sharp breath and flashed a frightened glance at Faramir. Amrothos nudged him and gave him a look as if to say "The game's up now. Should we run for it?" But Faramir shook his head.

Farothul grunted in surprise. For him, that was equivalent to a full out shout.

"The princess, eh? Ye don't say so. Well, if that doesn't beat everything." He turned, looked her over, and then sent a glance Faramir and Amrothos' way. "And what about them? They the lass's brother and cousin after all? The Crown Prince and the king's nephew?"

The man whirled and walked over to study them carefully. Faramir made certain to meet the man's gaze, but not look threatening or afraid. Amrothos kept his eyes down.

"No." The man's voice echoed through the room with a ring of bemusement to it. "I know these faces not." He looked at them a moment longer, but then shrugged and turned away. "Nevertheless, the girl may be of some use to me. As it is, my good Farothul, I have no need to hold you and your men prisoner. It seems we serve the same master."

Tornin came forward and cut the bounty hunters' bonds with a dagger he produced from his sleeve. Farothul looked at the severed ropes in surprise, but then nodded slowly.

"Indeed, my lord. We are free to go, then?"

The man nodded slightly.

"To go wherever you please. May you have good fortune on your hunt, Hunter of Gollum. Farewell."

Two men escorted Farothul, Grum, and Djem away. They did not look back.

The tall man watched them leave, and then turned back to look at the three remaining captives. He gazed at Éowyn for a long moment, and then turned to Faramir and Amrothos.

"You are not from Rohan." It was a statement, not a question. Faramir did not reply. "You are strangers—perhaps even the villagers that the hunter claimed you were. Then again," the man glanced at Éowyn and back, and grinned. "Perhaps not."

The young man called Tornin stepped forward and said, "My lord, shall we not let them go free as well? They know nothing, and are of no use to us."

The tall man gave Tornin a look of disgust.

"Yet they found their way below and were doubtless accompanying Lady Éowyn on whatever adventure led her down to our realm of darkness."

"They were not," Éowyn snapped suddenly. She had a sullen look on her face, and Faramir had to look twice before realizing it was for show. "I do my adventuring alone. I never saw them before in my life. They were with those other men when I met them."

"But is it not strange, little maiden," said the man, coolly turning to her, "that the hunter made no protest when I did not release them to his care?"

This left Éowyn in silence, musing. She still managed to glare at the man, however, and that sparked Faramir's courage.

"Please, sir," he said quietly. "My father is a merchant—of Gondor. My brother and I found a cave as we were travelling and got lost, which is how we came to join company with Farothul."

"That's right," Amrothos added. "He promised to help us find our way to the surface again. He lied," he added under his breath murderously.

The tall man watched with something akin to amusement in his dark eyes.

"I see." He paused, and then turned to Tornin swiftly. "Take them to the holding chambers. All of them. They are to be given food and water and as much comfort as can be offered them."

His glittering eyes turned to Faramir once more, and the man smiled charmingly.

"Naturally I would love to hear what other lies these young men can tell, but I fear I have more important things to do at the moment. I will visit them tonight—and if they do not have a better story by then," he paused again, and his charming smile vanished in a look of danger and threatening malice, "we shall have to find another way to the truth."

To be continued...