Chapter 14

Denethor rode with all speed to Osgiliath. It had passed the middle of the night. Beregond was doing his best to rescue Denethor's sons, but the distressed father didn't care. When he spoke with the soldier who demanded ransom, he had realized the full extent of the threat to his sons. He finally let himself believe that these were not careless criminals doing something daring for money. The leader of the kidnapping, whoever he was, knew what he was doing.

And Denethor would kill the scum when he found him.

Faramir cuddled the dangling chain close to his chest. He winced every time it clanked and he let his heart beat again when he wasn't caught.

He tiptoed to the stables, praying every second that no one found him. No guards were on duty. He took advantage of roll call and raced inside. He picked what looked to be the fastest horse and slid a saddle from its shelf. He placed it on the steed's back and buckled it, all the while whispering to it.

"I know you're scared of me. But I'm scared too. We will make it out of here. I need to get back to...to..."

That was when Faramir discovered that he didn't have a plan. His immediate thought was to run to Minas Tirith, but the image of his father and the conversation they would have haunted him.

"You mean to tell me that you left your brother in the hands of those vermin?"

"I didn't know where they took him! Staying there would've just placed us in more danger."

"You abandoned your brother. You betrayed him. You left him to die."

"No!"

"You let your brother die!"

Faramir bit his lip and shook the image away, thankful that when he opened his eyes, he saw the horse's white neck.

"Let's go, boy," Faramir instructed.

He leapt onto the back.

Hands dragged him down again.

"No!" Faramir cried. A hand slapped across his mouth and an arm trapped his abdomen, like when he was robbed from his home.

"Now, Faramir, don't struggle," the villainous voice of Ceredon slithered. "We can do this easily, or you can make things extremely difficult for yourself."

Faramir licked Ceredon's hand and bit it. The captain growled in pain. Faramir shot out of the hold and grabbed the nearest weapon he saw, not thinking of the chain. He gripped the iron bar and poised for attack, like Boromir had secretly taught him.

When Ceredon saw Faramir , he stroked his black beard, chuckling. "Do you really think that you will be able to fight me?"

Faramir shook his head of doubts. "You'll give me the key to the shackles, you'll tell me where my brother is, get him to me, and then you'll let us go!"

Ceredon looked at him mockingly. "You think that you'll kill me if I don't? You didn't kill Garapen. How did you think that I found you?"

Faramir brought the bar higher. "Do it now!"

"Are you still trying to win? I thought two days of being helpless would show you just how pathetic you are! No wonder your father hasn't paid the ransom yet. He doesn't care for you."

Faramir bit his lip and shook his head. "That's a lie! Shut up pig! Tell me where my brother is, get me out of these chains and let us go!"

Ceredon smiled mockingly. He pulled out a knife. "I'll tell you where your brother is, but I don't think that you want to join him."

Blood was on the dagger.

Faramir snapped. No, no, no, no! He's lying! He's…no…

Faramir swung.

He missed by an inch. The captain ducked.

Ceredon ripped the bar from Faramir`s grasp. It slipped through the teenager`s fingers like butter. Ceredon hit Faramir`s head.

He fell to the ground, hitting the dirt with a thud. He cried out in pain and brought his hands to his forehead, soothing the pain.

He felt more than saw Ceredon kneel down to him.

"You just made things very difficult for yourself."

Faramir blinked himself away into unconsciousness.

"Tighter! I don't want the maggot getting away!"

Faramir awoke to that order. His eyes fluttered open. And he couldn't move. He panicked.

The room was different and darker. There were no windows. A torch rocked slowly, placed in the extremely loose iron holder. Faramir could tell he was in a different building entirely. He was tied to a wooden beam. And Ceredon's order was true. The ropes were tighter. He had almost no movement. His hands were tied behind the beam, his legs were tied, his ankles, and chest. He was gagged. Ceredon had shown his true cruelty.

"I said his hands tighter! He gets his hands free, he's gone!" Ceredon snapped, eventually moving to scratch the thick rope into Faramir's wrists himself.

When Faramir had been secured, Ceredon laughed wickedly. Faramir tugged at the ropes, mentally cursing Ceredon.

"I'd tell you to stop, but I don't think you'll be going anywhere anytime soon." Ceredon left, Garapen, bloody and bruised, limping behind him.

Faramir was silent and he heard the murmurs, "No one's going to look here; no one's going to hear him. Don't bother guarding him."

"Yes sir."

Faramir was again left alone. He struggled, trying to get free, to leave, to flee, and to just be safe.

It wasn't more terrifying than the first time he was left alone. He would never forget the moment that he had been forced to be quiet, regardless of the gag, when Boromir called his name, wanting to find him. He couldn't stop his brother from being taken, but his brother had done so much to save him. And now that same brother…the one he loved…he was…

The knife. The blood.

He felt tears roll down his cheeks. He didn't care about the pain in his arms, the cramping in his legs. He didn't care if he couldn't speak or if he never saw his father, Minas Tirith, the White Tree, or anything familiar again.

His brother was dead. His dependable, strong, brave, big brother was dead.

Dead.

Denethor stopped his horse in Osgiliath. He earned a few surprised glances and hurried, worried gasps, but he was looking for a loyal soldier and two sons. Nothing else mattered to him.

"Captain Ceredon!" Denethor called into the city. "Where is your captain?" He dismounted the horse.

A soldier in his mid-fifties marched up to his Steward, instructing two squires to lead the horse away. "Milord Denethor, the Captain ordered us not to bother him. Are we to assume, Lord Denethor that you're to lead us in the battle we expect from the Orcs?"

"What battle?"

"Milord!" a man hastily walked up in the light of the dawn. It was Captain Ceredon. "You ordered Beregond's battalion to Osgiliath."

Denethor boiled at the sight of the suspected kidnapping leader, as Beregond had informed him, but kept his head. The attack from Mordor must've been the story Beregond concocted. Very clever.

"Yes, but we are also focusing on finding the missing lords."

"I'm sorry, milord?" Ceredon asked.

Denethor tensed. He bellowed into the city. "Anyone who knows where my sons are, speak now!"

Silence. Denethor glared at the few who dared give him looks of surprise, judgment, and mockery.

"Does anyone know where my sons are being held?" Denethor shouted. "He who knows and doesn't answer will have his inners spilled out for everyone to see. You will die a horrid death. Where are you?"

A soldier, young, Boromir's age, just sworn in, maneuvered discretely through the crowd.

But Denethor caught him.

"You there!"

The soldier punched guards in his way, and bolted out of Osgiliath.

Denethor noticed that Ceredon didn't move an inch. Denethor snapped, "Captain! After him!"

Ceredon bolted after the fugitive, barking orders at his men. Soon, a panting, distressed, frightened, guilty soldier knelt before Denethor. Denethor snatched his hair, pulling his face up, making his eyes stare directly into his.

"Let's go." Denethor made the soldier stand up and he dragged him into the dungeon a long walk away.

Outside of the door, Denethor turned to Ceredon. "The door will be locked while we are in there. No one is to disturb us."

"Milord..."

"Stay outside!" Denethor yelled. He threw the soldier into the room, bolted the door shut and hit him.

Denethor hoarsely whispered, "You are going to tell me now! Is Captain Ceredon behind the kidnapping of my sons?"

The soldier stared at his lord, ready to belt him out of revenge, but he didn't have the bravery.

"I'm going to ask you again!" Denethor snarled. "Is Captain Ceredon behind the kidnapping of my sons?! Your life depends on answering this question!"

The soldier's knees buckled. He collapsed to the ground. "I will say this: Boromir is being brought to Ithilien. Faramir is still in the city."

"Where in the city?"

"I don't know."

Denethor took off his cloak. His armor was strapped to him. He unsheathed his sword. "Where in the city is Faramir?"

"I swear to you, you pig, I don't know!"

"Who is leading this?"

The sword rested on the soldier's neck, and he panicked. "Captain Ceredon! Captain Ceredon! Now, you worthless pig, let me live!"

Denethor ignored the comment. He unlocked the door. Instead of turning to Ceredon, he turned to the second in command, one whom he trusted; he never had trusted Ceredon, ever since his oath. "Arrest this man for the kidnapping of the lord's sons." When the commander left, Denethor glared at Ceredon with a stare colder than ice. "Let's take a walk."

"It's Mithrandir!" many voices shouted.

Indeed, when Denethor turned his head, he saw the Grey Man riding on a magnificent white stallion into the courtyard of Osgiliath.

Gandalf leapt off of the horse and into the presence of Captain and Steward.

"Ceredon," Gandalf immediately spoke, "I must speak with the Steward. Leave us now. And see that Shadowfax is properly housed."

Ceredon nearly objected, but the look Gandalf the Grey shot at him forced him to walk away and do as he was told.

Denethor icily stared at the Grey Fool. "Must you barge in whenever you please and order around my servants!"

Gandalf guided the Steward out of ears' reach. "I feel that it is a beneficial thing that I arrived when I did. You were about to do something incredibly foolish."

"How do you know what I was to do?"

Gandalf eyed Denethor. "Do not insult me, milord; many men have been in your place before. I've seen an event that will change our fortunes in this ordeal."

"You always do," Denethor offhandedly commented, not at all pleased with anything.

Gandalf inhaled, humming as he lit his pipe. "Your eldest son was sneaking through the city wall, with Beregond at his side."

Denethor's face lit up. "Boromir! Then he is free?"

"Yes."

"I must go to him!"

"Not so fast, milord. Things hang by but a thread. If the thread snaps, all is lost."

"You will not take my son from me!"

"I have no intention of doing that. But if you charge into seeing your eldest, things may look bleak for the youngest."

"Faramir was not with Boromir?"

"Not that I could see."

Denethor was angry. He punched the wall with the side of his fist, releasing as much anger as he could, which wasn't very much. "Then Ceredon still has the upper hand."

"It would appear that way."