"Why did you tell the king that all were murdered by the Orc?" the leech asked in frustration. "How am I to go back home?"

"Ah, a small detail I forgot," Amandil said, bowing slightly to the man before him. "We must do something about that, mustn't we?"

"Of course! I delivered them into your hands as I promised my master. Now, you must keep your end of the bargain and give me my reward and safe journey back to Edoras."

Amandil gestured to one of his men who stepped forward. "We must take care of the healer. Would you show him to his horse?" He turned and smiled at the Rohir. "I will write a letter to Théoden telling him I was told wrongly. He will welcome you with open arms."

The leech smiled back, holding out his hand. He grimaced as the sword went through his heart, and fell forward.

The soldier wiped his blade, smiling. "That should seal the bargain, my Lord Steward."

"Take him and bury him in the back of the Hallows. No one goes there." Amandil smiled and walked back to his supper. After a few glasses of wine, he asked, "How fares the brat?"

"The healers have him now, my Lord Steward. They think his collarbone is broken. His ankle is merely sprained. He will be able to walk again. There is a nasty cut to his forehead, but it has been stitched. The healer believes he will be better in two or three days." He ducked to avoid the glass thrown at him.

Amandil shrieked, "He must look well by tomorrow! He must be able to stand and smile and simper for his boffel-headed brother!"

The man bowed and ran for the door. "I will inform the healers," he said, dodging again to escape another projectile.

"Fools and idiots!" Amandil grumbled.

~*~

Indis woke to darkness. Her side was on fire. Slowly she tried to piece together what had happened. Then she started to shake. Tears fell; the pain was intense as sobs wracked through her. Every breath was an agony. 'At least one of my ribs must be broken,' she thought. She hung her head down, but the pressure only made her side hurt worse. If she didn't move, didn't cry, and tried to breathe as shallowly as possible, the pain lessoned. Her face, however, cried for attention. She felt her cheek. It was ablaze. She had been slapped hard; she remembered it now. If only she had some water to put on it. But wishes were for children.

'Faramir!' her heart cried. She bit her lip to keep from sobbing; the pain was near too terrible to endure when she sobbed. "Where are you?" she called out quietly, hoping that he was still in the cell with her. There was no response. 'He could still be here,' she thought, 'brought back while I was insensible, but he is unable to answer.' She moved slowly, grabbing her side as she did; she had to try to find him. Calling his name, she went around the entire cell; small though it was, by the time she finished her search, her breathing was strained. She felt light-headed. "I must find him," she sobbed and utter exhaustion took her.

~*~

Boromir stayed in his drug-induced sleep. Éomund was becoming concerned. It had been hours. Why would they keep him drugged for hours? He paced around their prison. 'How many days has it been?' he wondered. 'Where is Théoden King now? He must be doing something, must have some plan. If only I could get word to him, tell him where we are.' But that seemed an unlikely prospect. Only soldiers ever came to their cell; Éomund could tell they were not the soldiers of Gondor. Too sloppily dressed, too undisciplined. Denethor would never have let any of these men serve under him. Their only hope was Théoden King.

"When do you suppose my father will rescue us?" Théodred inquired softly. "It has been at least two days, maybe more. Did not you think he was already in Minas Tirith long before we arrived?"

"Aye. And I still hold that true. What your father is about, at this moment, I am unable to fathom. Yet, I believe he has some plan and is executing it right now. We must be patient, try to stay together, and hearten each other. That, my young liege lord, is what soldiering is about." He went on to recount tales of soldering to keep the lad's mind from dwelling on their own dire straits. And he succeeded for the most part, he thought, until he saw Théodred's quick glances towards Boromir.

He wondered how long it would be before they, too, were murdered. If Théoden King did not come soon.

~*~

Grimbold woke to darkness and pain. He gently felt his left temple; he could feel the sticky blood covering his fingers as he pulled his hand away. He stood slowly and looked about. He discovered Aldor's body just a few steps away, and then Baldor's further back. He grunted, cursed their murderers, and continued searching - time for tears and farewells later. Try as he might, he could find no sign of the children, or of Éomund and Indis. Where was that stupid leech, too? They must have all been captured. He breathed a sigh of relief. At least they would be safe for the moment.

He looked up and stars greeted him, faint and somehow hidden. He knew it was not the same night; the bodies of his companions were too cold. So he had been out for a night and a day. When would they come back to bury him? Or would they leave him there for the carrion eaters? He noted a fog seemed to cover his eyes; it wasn't fog, it was his own blood. He tried to wipe it away and discovered that the head wound had started bleeding again. He tore his sleeve and wrapped his head with it. Then, he moved forward. He must find a way out. As he walked, he heard voices in front of him. Quickly, he ducked behind one of the pillars lining the street; he had recovered his sword and held it in front of him, ready for anything.

Three of them strode forward, one carrying something heavy over his shoulder. Grimbold watched and followed. They moved towards the back of the Hallows. One of them stopped, grabbed Aldor's arms and dragged him along. The other grabbed Baldor and did the same. The third did not stop; his burden too heavy.

When they reached the wall, they turned to their left and walked to a clearing. Markings told Grimbold that it was a simple burial ground. This was his only chance, while their hands were burdened. The third was dragging far behind. Aldor was a big man and took much effort to move. Grimbold pulled his knife with his left hand, came up behind the soldier, and cut his throat. The man fell silently. He crept forward and dispatched the second as easily as the first. The leader had not noticed, but put his burden down and picked up a shovel, joking about the men they were going to bury, and proceeded to dig. He looked up when no one answered. At that moment, Grimbold shoved his sword through the man's belly.

Grimbold looked about him. "I do not think any will look for this lot too soon!" He laughed as he espied a flask tied around one of the soldier's waist. "They were planning on celebrating, it seems, once they finished their task. Well, I will celebrate for them!" He cut the flask from the man's waist and raised it to his lips. He was parched; it was good ale and most welcome!