The knife rushed downwards towards his brother's beautiful grey eyes. Faramir shut his own . . .

They were forced open again when a cry echoed around the cave. It was not Boromir. The Orc with the knife was growling now, holding his hand as though protecting it from further assault. The knife lay on the floor some metres away and another, larger Orc stood above the first. The blind Orc at once began groping around in the dirt, searching for his lost weapon. But without his vision, he found it an impossible task.

"What did you that for, Lurbak, you great fool?" It moaned, abandoning its search and rising before the newcomer. "It's my right to have vengeance for what he did to me!"

"Shut up, Gorburg, You'll get what you want," Lurbak said, shoving the blind Orc, now identified as Gorburg, away and reaching for something out of Faramir's sight.

"It seems our little warrior has brought with him a pretty prize!" Faramir was not left long in doubt and when he saw what Lurbak held. His heart plummeted and for a moment hope was lost to him. The large Orc held it high, laughing insanely at his discovery.

"Tell me what this is," Lurbak smiled, kicking Boromir's side to bring him out of delirium.

Boromir did not answer, which was what the Orc seemed to expect. "I'll tell you what we've found," he raised his voice to the other Orcs, "the Horn of the Stewards! Made from the wild ox of the East, my informer tells me, passed on to each eldest son." He let this sink in, the other Orcs seeming to be confused by this revelation.

Faramir lowered his eyes from the silver horn, its bright characters glowing faintly red the torchlight. It seemed ironic to Faramir then, that the Horn, said to be the bringer of help for those who blew it within Gondor's ancient borders, would also betray their identity to the enemy and destroy any hope of an easy escape. Faramir knew not how Lurbak had come upon the knowledge of their family's Horn, but he suspected a traitor within Minas Tirith who could have given the Orcs information about the city's defence and rulers in exchange for a reward.

It was hard to imagine any man having the guile, and though he hated to think it, the courage to deal and trade with Orcs. It was a terrible betrayal to any man of Gondor's upbringing and heritage to consort with the vile creatures.

"So lads," Lurbak's voice rose, dragging out the suspense. "we've got ourselves Denethor's royal brats!" Faramir closed his eyes against the shouts and cheers of the Orcs, not showing anyone, least of all his brother, the fear that was racing through his mind. The Orcs holding him against the wall jostled and prodded him, trying to get a rise out of the young man, but Faramir kept his cool, glaring at them with dangerously controlled anger.

"The future King," Lurbak continued, nudging Boromir with his foot, "and the runt of the family." His sadistic gaze looked Faramir over in amusement then spoke, "Sorry children, but the adults need some time alone." Faramir felt the hands holding him pull him away from the wall. His feet were kicked from beneath him and he fell roughly to his knees. His wide eyes met those of his brother for a frightening moment of uncertainty before the butt of a sword smashed into the back of his neck and his vision of his brother disappeared into blackness.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

His face was streaked with blood and dirt, his wrists scraped and bleeding from the ropes that had cut them, but he stood straight-backed before his father.

"You left him there?" Denethor asked in a dangerously quiet tone. Faramir began backing away from his the anger he knew would vent itself shortly.

"Boromir told me to," he protested weakly, "he said . . ." Faramir's head was pounding and he could not form the words he needed to say. Something was wrong, he could not remember how he had come here. He had blacked out in the Orc cave and then . . . then . . .

"You are no better than the Orcs themselves!" Denethor thundered and Faramir was surprised by the vehemence in his tone. "You are my son no longer!"

"Father, no!" Faramir pleaded, taking another step back but finding himself blocked by two tall figures.

"Take him away, I do not wish to see him again," his father said with a cold finality that scared Faramir. Panic washed over him as the guards seized his arms and dragged him backwards . . .

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The dream world faded as it had come, with a rush of confusion and forgetfulness. He was suddenly cold and the aches in his head and arms came upon him in a rush. He was lying on his side, his arms still bound painfully behind him and his feet in a similar state. He did not dare move, not wanting to attract the attention of the Orcs who were making a loud racket some distance away. Instead he looked around him, studying the walls and searching for any hope of escape.

The stone work was rough, chiselled and hacked with none of the care used in Minas Tirith. There were supports made from thick wood propped at uneven intervals along the walls, a safe guard in case of a cave in. The roof had similar planks of wood for extra support but nothing the Orcs could do would make this cave look safe. Only one of the walls seemed strong, the one they had originally fallen from. The others were crumbling and unsteady. Faramir wondered why the Orcs stayed in this cave when surely others in the tunnels would be safer.

Faramir's blurry eyes shifted slightly, focusing on what was closer to him. A dark shape was before him and he realised at once that it was Boromir. He saw with shock that the Orcs had done nothing about Boromir's wound. It was still bleeding profusely and although his brother was conscious, he must have been suffering from the loss of blood.

"You must get away," Boromir whispered urgently, as he had the last time they had spoken. It seemed the only hope Boromir was clinging onto now was Faramir bringing back help. Faramir's dream of his father came back to him at once and he knew leaving his brother was the last thing he would do.

"Not without you," Faramir said earnestly and his brother's eyes grew concerned, "we will escape together."

"I cannot walk," Boromir said, wincing at the slight movement.

"Gather your strength," Faramir said, "do not give the Orcs any reason to make things worse. They can ill afford to risk losing Denethor's favoured son." Faramir saw his brother was about to protest but he cut him off. "They know much about us, our family. I know not how. But I WILL stay with you until you are able to move. We will escape, we will!"

Boromir's eyes did not change with Faramir's encouragement, in fact he was sure they grew darker. "Do you not see?" his voice was touched with desperation now and Faramir thought perhaps the pain was becoming too much. "They can only hurt me by hurting you!"

Faramir did not have time to take in the meaning of this for their movement had attracted the Orcs' attention.

Faramir felt their foul stench before feeling their rough hands on his back. He was pulled away from his brother and dumped near the wall, neglected for the moment.

Lurbak approached Boromir, and Faramir saw at once how brave his brother was. He showed no fear, only anger and hatred. Lurbak found this amusing and, as he seemed to have appointed himself the leader, basing his claim upon finding and identifying the Horn, he shouted orders to the other Orcs.

Lurbak knelt by Boromir while the others fetched the things he asked for. "You won't seem so brave soon, future king. Something has to be done about that leg." Lurbak smiled as he peeled away the material that had stuck to the wound. The spear was still deeply lodged in the flesh and Lurbak tugged upon the end of it, causing Boromir to suck in a sharp breath and close his eyes against the pain. Faramir clenched his hands into fists behind his back and wished for the hundredth time it was all a dream.

"It's no use," Lurbak told one of the others, "we can't risk losing him, we'll have to break off the shaft and leave the head in there. He'll survive for as long as he's useful."

Boromir paled as Lurbak steadied both of his strong hands on the long, wooden shaft. Faramir closed his eyes; he could not bear to watch. But there was nothing he could do to block out the sound of the wood cracking and splintering, nor the terrible pain in his brother's voice as the shaft broke.

He opened his eyes slightly to the repulsive scene. Boromir lay on his back, the discarded spear shaft cast away. Surprisingly, his brother was still conscious, his eyes clouded with pain, and the other Orcs that were crowding around him seemed to revel in the despair he was feeling.

"We could have killed you and your brother, destroyed forever the line of the Stewards." Lurbak was speaking quietly to Boromir, whose eyes were blank with either defiance or incomprehension. Faramir thought then how lucky he was not to be the eldest son. However much he envied the love and admiration Boromir received from their father, he could never say that he desired to be the one to take over the Stewardship when their father passed on. It would have been a duty to him, rather than a pleasure. Boromir, on the other hand, possessed all the qualities valued at this time in Gondor; bravery, loyalty, power. And with it, a strong ambition to guard and rule his people in war. But with a burden such as future power, came an event like this where Boromir would be punished because of his position.

"Your father will not produce another son, we could end it all here and Denethor would die knowing his control over Gondor would pass out of his family. But we want to SEE him suffer for the thousands of Orcs he had destroyed in these lands. He'll have to watch when we kill you, then he'll see our kind will not be murdered without paying a high price."

Lurbak bent closer to him, his eyes blazing, "Perhaps you, as one who will make many decisions when you are King, will agree to my proposal. Do not be unwise in this, future king, for both you and your brother will pay dearly for your mistakes. It would be wise to think of the consequences, wisdom can only be judged by looking to the future."

Boromir had paled slightly at the mention of his brother but his face remained blank at the threat. He smiled, his lip twisting as though he knew a sick joke, "an Orc telling me the meaning of wisdom. My father will find this an entertaining story."

Lurbak's body tensed, he had not been expecting this. "I am offering you a chance. Think now of your brother. Refuse to answer my questions and things will no go well for either of you. Tell me now, are you willing to tell me all you know of your father? The defence of the city? His future attack plans for the Orc bands like ourselves? Answer wisely for Gorbug here claims vengeance upon your brother for the loss of his eyes, would you risk an unwise answer now?"

~"Do you not see? They can only hurt me by hurting you!"~

Faramir now understood the meaning of Boromir's words. He had known this would happen. His face was completely white. The threat hung on the air and despite his fear for himself, Faramir felt dreadful for his brother. He doubted Boromir even knew the things the Orcs asked, but the Orcs would never believe that. He could lie, but neither of them knew how much information Lurbak had received from his contact in Gondor.

To Faramir's surprise, Boromir's eyes came to rest on him and he knew exactly what the gaze meant. It was the same look he had received that morning when Boromir had come to cheer him up after he lost the fight. It spoke of apologetic regret, as usual, but this time he was not regretting the past, he was fearing the future. It lasted long moments, terrible seconds in which Boromir was trying to find a way out of answering the question without placing the consequences upon his brother.

Boromir's face remained grave and worried and the small fragment of hope, Faramir had not realised he still had, died. There was no way out. Gorburg would kill him and Boromir would be left with the guilt.

Lubak was watching them with cruel satisfaction. He knew the deadly choice he had given the elder and he enjoyed watching how it tortured him.

But, Faramir thought, they would not kill Boromir if he himself were dead, there would be only one link to Denethor then, and they could not do anything to harm him. Boromir could perhaps escape, and then Faramir's sacrifice would not have been in vain. He lowered his head to Boromir, showing his brother that the thing must be done, that the blame would not lie on him.

He saw Boromir swallow and drag his eyes away. Lurbak smiled down at him, "what have you decided, future King?"

There was a moment of pause before Boromir met the Orc's gaze. "My father is not the King," he said. Lurbak's eyes blazed at Boromir's complete defiance to even answer the question.

"You have given me no choice, son of Gondor." Lubak said angrily. Boromir met his burning gaze for a moment before the Orc turned his back, crossing the room and shouting orders in a language Faramir could not understand. He caught the name Gorburg amongst the run of foul syllables and sure enough the blind Orc came stumbling over.

"You have decided?" Lurbak asked, staring meaningful at the blind Orc, "you could always wait?"

"I WILL wait," Gorburg said smiling, then broke into another run of words in that black language. Lurbak smiled too, his lip curling maliciously. "Very well."

More black speech surrounded Faramir as several of the Orcs approached and pulled him to his knees. He was afraid now that he knew it was actually happening. Despite this, he was a man of Gondor and the son of the Steward. If death were what awaited him, he would face it with honour. He felt more pity for his brother than he did for himself, for him it would be over in a painful second, but Boromir would have to watch, knowing that it was his decision that brought them to this end. He wondered whether his brother blamed himself for this, if he did, he did not show it on his face.

Faramir swallowed with difficultly when an Orc approached him. He managed to suppress the trembling in his body so the ones holding him would not sense his fear. But he could not hide the dread in his eyes. He closed them tightly, shutting out Gorburg's horrible smile of anticipation and hoping that not being able to see would lessen the horror of the event. It did not. If anything it made it worse.

His hearing became acute, the heavy breathing of the surrounding Orcs, the crunch of an iron shod foot as it moved nearer to him on the sandy floor.

Time dragged out, the moment lasting hours. Faramir heard his own breath draw in slowly, squeezing his eyes more tightly shut and treasuring it as the last breath he would ever take . .

The sound was loud, splitting the anticipating silence with a sharp crack. He flinched, realising he was alive to do so. His eyes flew open with a start. Realisation dawned and with it came a burning pain down the side of his face. A drop of blood fell and landed softly on the dusty floor beneath him, starkly red in the grim and dark surroundings.

He raised his eyes quickly. His left eye was burning, stinging savagely with a fierceness that brought tears to it. With his good eye, he saw the thin whip descend a second time and just managed to close both eyes before it drew a stinging red line across his right eye this time, and slashed across his face to meet the other. It took a moment for Faramir to feel it but soon he was struggling violently in a vain attempt to escape the extreme burning sensation in his eyes. He kept them tightly shut, not wanting to move for fear of the pain it would occasion.

"Aren't you going to thank me for my Mercy?" It was Gorburg's voice, thick with pleasure and satisfaction. Faramir's breath caught in his throat with the wave of horror that swept over him. Had Gorburg's revenge been to take from Faramir what he had taken from the Orc?

Was he blind?