Hi everyone! Here's the next chapter…bit more suspense I think. Just want to let you know that I won't be here to update as often. I'm very busy and things are coming on top of my end-of-school-year schedule, so I will update if I can, but it won't be very often. In the meantime, please read, enjoy, and review!

Chapter 15

Boromir tiptoed across the streets, ducking whenever he felt eyes watching him. Beregond stealthily followed.

"Milord," Beregond cautiously petitioned, "are you sure it was a good idea to leave the horses and Paradon there, where we left them?"

"Some farmer will see them sooner or later. I wouldn't worry. There's the building. Let's go!"

They dashed to the front door and entered, not heeding any guards.

Boromir scanned the place. "I don't think anyone's here on the first floor. They must be torturing Faramir upstairs!" Without a moment's wait, Boromir raced up the stairs.

"Milord!" Beregond growled, warning.

"I'll be careful!" Boromir hissed back as he placed his ear against the door, though he didn't care for his patience at this moment..

Nothing. Quiet as death.

"Could be a trap," he murmured.

Beregond unsheathed his sword, ready. "At your command, Captain."

Boromir nodded. Beregond kicked the door down, and entered the room. Both couldn't believe their eyes.

"Where's Faramir!" Boromir demanded, speechless.

Beregond whirled his head around the room, keeping his eyes sharp. "They must've moved him. They moved you!"

"He can't be out of Osgiliath!" Boromir reasoned, heart racing, breathing fast. He rapidly said, "He still has to be here! Anywhere! The jail, the stocks, an attic, anywhere! We need to search!"

"Boromir!" Beregond snapped.

"What?"

"Hastiness won't save your brother. Breathe."

Boromir breathed deeply and refocused.

"Good. Now, we will search, but take it slowly."

Boromir shook his head. "While he sits in a room not knowing if I'm alive or coming for him? While he wonders if Father has counted one thousand coins? While Ceredon taunts him night and day? While he has a knife to his fingers? At his neck?"

Beregond grasped his shoulders. "Boromir! Devising the worst out of this situation won't keep you any saner or return Faramir to you. Faramir will be alright if we do this swiftly and quietly."

Boromir leaned back against the wall. "I'm sorry. I just...I need to know he's alright. I need to see him again!" He started to tear up, but he regained himself.

Beregond nodded. "I told you that I would be here to comfort you. Believe me, there hasn't been a moment when I haven't understood. I have a brother as well."

Boromir nodded. "Let's go find Faramir."

They sauntered down the stairs. Boromir listened for activity outside the door and when he heard none, he opened it. And he opened it to the face of Mithrandir, Denethor, Ceredon, and three other officers.

"Boromir!" Denethor cried joyously.

But Boromir could not focus on his father. His eye was on the man he hated the most.

Ceredon saw the danger. He unsheathed his dagger, swung around and soon held Boromir's neck in his elbow, the knife a finger width away from his face. "Don't move or you're dead," he ordered Boromir, who was shocked by the rapidness of the maneuver. He couldn't think. The one thing he thought was of Faramir…where was he?

Seeing his lord in danger, Beregond armed his sword, the five soldiers following him. Gandalf tiptoed quietly away from the scene, no one sensing his disappearance. Denethor's eyes fumed a death sentence at Ceredon.

"If you want both of your sons back, these are my demands," Ceredon coolly slithered, slowly backing up, dragging Boromir with him. "Ten gold bars in front of me. I take them and leave. As I leave on Shadowfax, the fastest horse, I'll tell you where Faramir is, and the pretty little heir here will be alright. Move now or both of them die."

"Orders, Lord Denethor?" Beregond asked, his sword aimed directly at his captain. He or any of the men couldn't attack with Boromir in the way. Beregond cursed that they were in an abandoned street.

Denethor was about to answer when he saw a strange pointy blue object make its way behind the hostage and captor. A staff was raised.

Boromir hissed, "No one's paying anything you stupid…" He lifted his foot and bucked Ceredon in the groin. He wrenched the dagger away from his face. Gandalf moved quickly. He belted the man on the head with his staff. Ceredon's hold on his feet loosened, and he fell to the ground, moaning in pain.

Boromir flew to the ground, grabbed Ceredon's neck, and held the dagger high. Denethor rushed past his men and stopped him just in time. "Boromir, please not now. You there, take the captain inside with Mithrandir, begin questioning."

Beregond, knowing that Denethor was addressing him, took his captain by the wrists and pushed him into the building. Mithrandir followed, humming thoughtfully in his usual way.

Once the door was closed, the three soldiers left. Denethor embraced Boromir. Boromir couldn't help but to hug him back.

"Are you hurt?" Denethor asked, worried.

Boromir pulled himself away. "No, but he still has Faramir! I-I don't know where, they tried to move me to Ithilien but Beregond helped me get away! We need to find Faramir!"

"I know that, son, but this is very important. Was Ceredon involved?"

"Involved?" Boromir nearly laughed. "He led the kidnapping! He tortured Faramir..."

"Tortured?" Denethor instantly paled.

Boromir's lip quivered. He tried to control it. "If you'd seen him...he was so scared...Father, we need to find him."

Denethor clutched his son again. "I know. We will."

Faramir jumped at the sound of the door opening. He tried to glimpse outside, to see where he was, but Garapen closed the door too early. Garapen held a torch bursting orange flocks of light, and a frying pan.

Faramir refused to look at him. Garapen had more than one bruise, deep purple bruises, on his face. Faramir didn't want to imagine what his back, the one Faramir whipped most, looked like. His leg was in a splint. Did he have broken bones? The sight was too guilt-giving to look at. He caused it. Faramir caused Garapen's pain. Why was he sorry?

He heard Garapen snicker. "Too ashamed to look at me? Or perhaps too frightened? I can never read the expression in your eyes."

Faramir resisted the urge to kill the man with his stare. More than shame and fright was in Faramir's feelings for this man. Hate reigned.

Faramir saw the lights of the torch come towards him. Garapen was coming. Still, Faramir kept his eyes on his tied legs.

"What's the matter, boy? Too scared to face your enemy? What a soldier you'd make!"

He kicked Faramir in the ribs. Faramir howled, but quickly silenced it, biting on the leather strap gag.

"Fight back, Faramir!" the soldier heartlessly mocked. "Come on, throw a fist!"

A fist hit Farmair's jaw. It stung.

Garapen set the torch in an unstable hold against the wall. "Come on! Fight back, you maggot!"

Garapen kept kicking, hitting, and taunting. Faramir closed his eyes. He felt the marks on his body appear; welts took shape, and his terror grew.

"Why do you think that it's nearly been three days since we took you? Your father hates you!" Garapen unleashed his knife. Faramir's eyes widened.

"Oh, would I kill you?" Garapen mocked. He inserted the tip slightly into Faramir's forehead. "Would I kill you? Let me think it over."

Faramir's breathing quickened. He hated the sound of his muffled whimpers as he tried to back away. He was afraid. Deathly afraid.

"Maybe I would," Garapen slithered. He placed the blade underneath Faramir's chin, pretending to slit the throat.

Sheathing his knife, Garapen then took the frying pan and held it above the torch. It heated. Faramir stared at it with wide, fearful eyes.

Garapen eyed Faramir with hate. "No one beats me and gets away with it." The hot pan moved slowly to Faramir.

Faramir wriggled in the binds, trying to get away. Garapen just laughed.

The pan hit Faramir's chest. It tore through his clothes.

Faramir screamed in agony. He tore away from it. But that only made the burn worse.

Garapen finally lifted it up. Faramir sweated like a pig. Then Garapen stuck the pan in his abdomen. Faramir screamed, cursing the gag and why no one noticed the boy suffering.

The torturing continued. Faramir pleaded for Garapen to stop. But the helpless, gagged cries of the teenager only encouraged Garapen. He threw the frying pan away and continued hitting Faramir.

Faramir's body ached.

Garapen grabbed Faramir's hair and lifted his head upward. "No one beats me."

Faramir could've cried. He whimpered. He wanted to be held. He wanted his big brother's arms.

"Garapen!" a voice called from outside. Faramir didn't recognize it.

"What is it?"

"The captain's in trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

Silence was all that was heard for a few moments.

Then the soldier admitted, "You better hurry before they kill him."

Garapen fled, closing the door behind him.

Faramir leaned back against the beam, his body aching. He breathed, calming himself. The wounds stung unceasingly. He let himself cry. The tears soaked his cheeks and rolled down to his legs. He longed to see his brother and feel the protective arms around him.

Faramir opened his eyes to an unusual noise. The torch that Garapen left was swaying. Its hold was unstable.

Faramir panicked.

He wriggled around in his binds, trying hopelessly to flee from the danger that was coming.

The torch fell. The fire spread.

And Faramir leaned back, hopeless and defeated.

Denethor marched into the house where they were questioning Ceredon. He had sent Boromir to search the city. It was the only way to keep his son calm while Faramir was still missing.

Mithrandir sat on a stool, smoking a pipe. Beregond stepped back when he saw his lord. Ceredon was the only one to look Denethor in the eye.

Denethor crossed his arms. "You will tell me where Faramir is and I will consider your punishment outside of execution."

Ceredon mirrored Denethor's posture. "I know where he is. He's safe. But I want my ten gold bars before I give you the location."

"That is not possible. You're caught. Now I want the names of all who were involved."

Beregond interrupted, "Beg your pardon, milord. We left Paradon in a field, tied up."

"Under whose order?"

"Lord Boromir's."

Denethor nearly smiled at his son's craftiness, but kept his stern face for Ceredon's sake. "Tell me."

Ceredon smiled. "Do you really think I'd do that while I still have the upper hand?"

"If you do not tell me where my son is, you will have no hands." Denethor drew his sword and held it in front of Ceredon's face. "Now, where's Faramir?"

Faramir wrestled in his binds. The fire was spreading. The flames were crawling closer to him. The walls were starting to become alight. Smoke filled the room.

Faramir coughed. He knew he had little time left. Hopefully, someone would see the fire. He didn't care it if it was Garapen, Ceredon, or any other criminal. He just wanted to live. He screamed, though he knew he wouldn't likely be heard.

Now, he wished for his father. He wished…

He wished he could see him. He wanted to hug his father.

But he also wanted his father to hug him.

Denethor just stopped himself from cutting Ceredon. He marched outside, Mithrandir following him.

"He will talk," Gandalf consoled. "I brought along the ransom if you desire to create a hoax for the men."

"That won't be necessary, wizard. Boromir will find him. And then my sons will give the names of the men they saw. This will all be over before noon."

"I do hope so, indeed." Gandalf lamented.

Denethor left the wizard there, in front of the building. He walked the streets, earning the respect of soldiers that he passed in the streets. These soldiers respected him, served him, and obeyed him. He knew that Ceredon was a minority in his service, but Denethor couldn't help but wonder what he could've done differently to avoid the whole ordeal that threatened his sons. Could he have given more pay? No. Many of the soldiers knew that their pay was the greatest in Minas Tirith and accepted the food that they had on the table. But Denethor couldn't help but wonder why Ceredon didn't just come after him. Did his sons have to suffer the anger that was against him? It wasn't right.

Suddenly, Denethor stopped. He had wandered to the very edge of the city. A small, well-built yet abandoned shack lay on the very edge of the gate. Smoke seethed out of the crack of the door.

Fire. Denethor thought. He shouted, "Fire!"