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My Sword Sings - Book One - 'My Sword' Series  by Agape4Gondor

Boromir heard sobbing through the ringing in his head.  It sounded like Faramir.  He tried to open his eyes, but could not; the pain, every time he tried, was unbearable.  He shifted and a hand touched his.  He drew his own back in alarm. 

"Boromir, 'tis I, Théodred.  I thought you were dead.  It is pitch black.  I could not see if you were breathing or not.  I could feel nothing.  My hands and feet are bound."

"I am alive," Boromir smiled, but pain shot through his head as he answered and he gasped.

"You are hurt!" Théodred cried. 

"Nay.  I do not think badly, at any rate. My head throbs.  It seems I was hit with something very hard.  Faramir?" he questioned Théodred.  His friend did not reply.  "Are we alone?"  He did not want to ask the question, but he had to know where his brother was.

"Aye.  I am sorry.  Faramir is not with us.  I have been sitting here for hours, hoping you were alive, that you would wake.  We are in some dark cavern or some such.  There is no one here but us."

"Was that you crying?"


"Are you injured?"


"Your Adar will not believe you dead, Théodred.  What is a stranger's body shown to him?  He knows yours.  Wait," a thought came to him, "do you have an old scar, or perhaps a birthmark of some kind?"

"I do."  Théodred sounded hopeful.  "I have a scar on my ankle.  A foal kicked me last year.  He will know it is not me." 

Boromir heard fresh sobs.

"He will know it is not me," Théodred repeated in joy.

"Aye.  And if he knows that the body shown him is not yours, he will know the rest of the tale told him is false, too.  We are saved by your ankle, Théodred."  He laughed aloud; then moaned.  He tried to put his hand to his head, but he could not. "Théodred, am I bleeding?"

"Nay.  I tried to discern your injuries when first we were thrown here.  You have a horrid bump on the back of your head, but I found no other injury."

Screeching, the cell door opened.  Boromir and Théodred huddled together.  Faint light shone through and Boromir knew where they were - the dungeons of the Citadel!  Something was thrown inside; something that groaned.  The door protested again as it closed with a clang.

Boromir and Théodred held their breaths.  Who could have been thrown in?  Boromir, trying to shake the pain from his head, rolled over and over towards where the sound had ended.  He could feel something in front of him.  He reached out and touched it.  "Oh!  It is a body, Théodred," he shuddered and moved back. 

"Is he warm?"

"Aye."  Boromir moved forward again.  Haltingly, he touched the body again.  It was warm and alive, whoever it was.  "Do we have any water?  He is alive."

"Nay.  Nothing."

Tenderly, he pushed the hair back, hoping it was one of their company.  As he did, he felt a great lump on the back of the person's neck and congealed blood.  Again, he pulled his hand back. 

"He is hurt.  I do not know what to do," he lamented.  There was only one thing to do.  He touched the head again, gently stroking the hair and murmuring, "You are safe now.  You are safe."  He was rewarded by a moan.  Still, he knew not who lay before him.

"Perhaps if you call a name?" Théodred suggested.

Boromir thought for a moment.  It was the body of a man, that was definite.  Hard muscle lay under the clothing.  "Éomund?" he asked, hopefully.  "Éomund."  There was no answer.  He tried again, "Éomund."  This time another moan escaped the man's lips. 

"Éomund, it is I, Boromir.  You are safe now." 

A gasp answered him.  "Boromir!  Is it you?"

Boromir sobbed at the sound of the beloved voice.  "It is I and Théodred is with me!"  He moved closer to the man, tears streaming down his face.  "We thought you were dead." He sobbed uncontrollably, all the fear and terror of the last hours overwhelming him.


"Come here, boy."   A huge man in a chair motioned the boy forward, but he refused to move.  Another man, this one behind Faramir, picked him up by the collar and threw him forward.  He landed at the feet of the man in the chair.  "You will obey me if you ever want to see your brother again.  Do you understand?" 

The smile on the large man's face sent shivers down the boy's back.  He started shaking violently. 

"Where is he?" Faramir cried. "What have you done to him?"  He stood up and started hitting the man on the chest.  The man slapped him and the force of it flung him backwards.  He cried out in pain and fear.

"You have not been taught manners, son of a cur," the man sneered.  "When I ask you a question, you will bow, and say, 'Yes, my Lord,' and then you will answer me.  Am I making myself clear?"

The boy burst into tears.  "Yes, my Lord," he sobbed.

"That is better.  If you do these simple things, you will be treated well.  Do you believe me?"

The boy thought for a moment; his hesitation earned him a box of his ears by the other man.  He whimpered, "Yes, my Lord."

"Good.  Now, come and pour me some wine while I consider what to do with you."  The other man laughed aloud.  The huge man scowled up at him.  "Keep quiet."  The other man frowned. 

"Yes, my Lord Steward," he spat out the words.

Faramir looked in astonishment.  Forgetting himself, he shouted, "Boromir is Steward!"  The man again struck him, and the child, flung across the floor by the force of the blow, dropped the flagon of wine.

"Now look at what you have done!" the large man shouted.  Faramir tried to raise himself, but his ankle hurt terribly.  He screamed.  He could not put weight on it.  The other man came over and pulled him up by the arm; Faramir shrieked.  Pain shot through his shoulder.  Sobbing, he fell to the floor.

"He is worthless, my Lord Steward.  Perhaps you should exchange boys?  The other one might have more intelligence, know how to treat his elders."

Through a fog, Faramir realized Boromir still lived.  He cried out in joy and was quickly struck again.  This time, the fog took him.


Indis paced in a tight circle.  Never, in all her wildest imaginings, had she thought they would be treated in this manner.  She shivered.  These men that had ambushed them were none that she knew.  They acted like animals.  She had been slapped about and taunted mercilessly.  One had even tried…  She shuddered.  He would not be able to walk without pain for a day or two!  She would have smiled, but the actions of the beast had brought to mind her sister's foul death at the hands of the Haradrim.  One expected such behavior from the men of the South, not so from men of Gondor. 

She rubbed her bruised shoulder.  Were the others dead?  She had seen naught of them since she had been dragged behind the house and…  Again, she put those thoughts out of her mind.  She must concentrate on where the children were, what she could do about it, and consider the fate of the others.  Had they managed to escape?  Nay, it was not possible.  If they had escaped, she would not be here.  The cell was dark, but she knew where she was, had known almost immediately.  Morwen, Listöwel, and she had spent many an hour in a chamber just like this, but it had been with their mentor, Eledhwen, the Shieldmaiden, training with swords to become warriors.  She slumped to the floor and wept.  Warriors indeed.  For all her planning, everything had gone wrong. 

Her head shot up as the door grudgingly opened. 

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