Chapter 3 - Faramir

When he heard footsteps they came from behind. Foregoing the attempt to free himself, Faramir let himself hang free, giving his burning stomach muscles a brief respite. He grasped the single remaining arrow that had not spilled from his quiver as the infernal rope trap had closed about his ankle and held it in his teeth, then extracted his bow. If he could make this one shot count it may give Eowyn and Legolas a chance of escape. Flee, Eowyn, flee!

Pounding returned to his head now that he was upside-down, and blackness quickly creeping into his vision.

“One stag already caught in my snare!”

The approaching voice stirred the now familiar nausea inside him and he struggled to keep hold of his bow. He must shoot soon, else they detect the weapon and take him down first.

Twisting up and to the side one final time, he swung his bow towards the voice and fired. His stomach muscles quickly gave way, and with an exhalation he let the bow fall to the forest floor and grappled for his knife - lodged securely in his boot.

Footsteps and cries sounded as he attempted to wrestle the blade from its place, but as it slid free, a gloved hand wrapped about his own wrist and forced it back, his arm twisting so that he could no longer keep his grip on the weapon.

He cursed that the cowards had come at him from behind. With his free arm he struck out and heard a stifled grunt of pain in response, but white hot pain swiftly paid him in return as a blade sank into the flesh at his side.

Hours before

Faramir had not been surprised to find his chamber door locked from the outside; Eomer’s apathetic manner at dinner had been enough to inspire suspicion. An uneasy feeling, giving way to nausea had settled deep in his stomach - and after a failed attempt at lock-picking, and several hours of purusing the mildewed tomes lining the walls, he welcomed the soft tapping upon his chamber door.

Shadowing his face with the hood of his cloak, he softly snuffed out the candle and levered his blade from its resting place. The door slid open and he breathed more easily as he recognised Eowyn's slim fingers at the opening. Legolas was behind her and both their faces seemed gray as they stepped into his chamber.

He grasped Eowyn's hands, the long night's fears easing a little.

Eowyn gave him a half smile, then held up a hair pin. “One advantage of the tiresome fashions of Gondor...” Her face suddenly sobered. “I waited but he has not come, something is amiss and I will wait no longer.”

Legolas’ bright eyes scanned the room behind them, flickering over the dusty tomes in piles across the tables. “Have you learned anything of use?”

Faramir turned and shifted several Easterling texts and maps; the dusty smell had a comforting normality to it. He retrieved a small tome inlaid with a gold insignia of a serpent that had seemed familiar to him upon first viewing. From what he could determine, while not understanding enough of the language to be sure, the book contained a record of Rhûn's ruling family through the last age, with histories and family trees recorded meticulously.

“The name 'Kaleri' is mentioned on the second to last page,” he said, passing the tome to the Elf. Eowyn drew in close to see the diagrams scrawled text.

After running his sharp eyes over the diagrams, Legolas shook his head, shutting the book with a soft snap. “Let us hope our hosts do not belong to a sovereign family - lest our rescue provoke further enmity between our peoples.”

Faramir nodded. “Our best course would be to leave this place at once.” He glanced at Eowyn, and by her set mouth knew she would do nothing less than search for Eomer. “If we are to flee in the night, we must be prepared - gather supplies for the return journey, and find where they have stabled our horses.”

“I can do this,” Legolas said, and Faramir grimaced gratefully in return.

They had passed many locked doors, a small library and a study, staying just long enough for Faramir to note the same heraldry from the note in Eomer's chambers in Rohan.

A large wooden door now confronted them. What if it should be the room of the lord or lady?

“It is worth the risk,” Eowyn said quietly, taking a breath and leaning on the door gently so that it swung inward.

No cry echoed from the chamber. Faramir felt Eowyn start beside him as a figure was revealed standing looking out of the window opposite. He =stilled his own beating heart and gripped his sword the harder.

Eomer stood standing shirtless and eerily still in the moonlight. He could surely hear them breathing now, but made no move to face the door.

Eowyn resisted Faramir’s cautious hand and moved into the room as though she herself was enchanted.

“Eomer,” she whispered, peering around Eomer's broad shoulders to see his face.

The hand that shot out to grasp her throat was faster than sight. Eowyn’s feet lost their hold on the floor as her brother’s inhuman strength raised her up. His other hand easily prised the sword from her grasp.

“Eomer!” Faramir cried, his sword arm wavering in sudden fear and indecision. “Eomer, what madness holds you?”

A shadow passed over Eomer's face at the words. Even as Eowyn grew more distressed, struggling for air and tearing with her nails at Eomer's fingers, Eomer paled and his grasp loosened, allowing Eowyn’s feet to touch the ground once more.

Faramir moved a step closer into the moonlight, feeling his own newly-found happiness slipping out from under him. His customary resolution was failing him, not knowing what unnatural strength was in the King’s hands.

He spoke softly despite his own distress, hoping to draw the other man out of whatever sorcery held him. “Eomer, it is Eowyn. Do you not recognise your own sister?”

“Sister?” The new voice slid out of the darkness to their right, and swinging his blade to face it Faramir saw the lady Kaleri slipping slowly from the bed where she must have been watching the scene play out. Dark curls tumbled over her pale moonlit shoulders. Her dress was sheer, hiding nothing, and even in the horror of the moment Faramir found it difficult to meet her gaze.

The lady’s smile was strange as she approached, seeming unmoved by the sword point now inches from her heart. “Princess of Ithilien. Forgive me my lady but you do not play the part of a servant convincingly.”

The lady, all graciousness at dinner, now showed only callous amusement. Faramir felt her gaze return to him and saw hunger there. They had been right to conceal their identities, but foolhardy to raise no further force of arms.

“But what use have I for a Prince and Princess when I have my own King?”

She reached out with slender fingers to shift Faramir's blade aside but he took a half-step backwards and steadied his sword arm. She laughed.

“Let the girl go, my love. We shall speak a little before you take their lives.” Kaleri did not take her eyes from Faramir as Eomer released his sister. She stumbled aside gasping, but quickly retrieved her own sword, raising it.

“War and weapons. The men of the West have always hid behind their steel - the women too it seems.”

Eowyn freed, Faramir felt his heart return to normal, control returning, “The war was not won with weapons, and the West did not choose to take up arms.”

“You may not have chosen it, but embraced it nevertheless when it came. You wish to know why we have taken Rohan's King? Because Rohan murdered ours.” Each word left her lips as a curse. “My betrothed was next in line to the throne. My children would have been Kings and Queens.”

She flung the next words at Eowyn. "Your barbarians rode down our men like pigs to slaughter. Shunned, we now stagnate on the borders of this land while peasants take to the throne. Why should I not take what was promised?”

“What reparation can be sought for a deed so long passed?” Eowyn breathed. Bruising was already beginning to show on her pale throat.“Cursed witch! What have you done to Eomer?”

Faramir reached out an arm to steady her.

“Your brother is immoderately fond of his ale. When he began to feel the affects in Rohan he told no one. A king who cannot take his liqueur is no king.”

The beginnings of fear began to stir in Faramir's mind as he recalled the ale they had consumed at dinner. A creeping sensation stirred in his stomach and the nausea returned, stronger than before.

Decided, he lowered his sword. What use were blades against a friend and brother? Hands raised, he took a cautious step nearer, with the same care he might approach a skittish horse.

"You are not yourself, friend. What is this woman to you that you should forsake the grasslands of Rohan for this barren place?"

A quiet followed, in which Faramir heart only the beat of his own heart, and the laboured breaths of Eowyn beside him.

"This is my land now," Eomer spoke at last, “and these my people". His voice resonated with the same restrained rage as his limbs, lips drawn back and teeth bared.

Eowyn shifted, fear and hurt both evident in her set mouth and wide eyes.

"You see my work is strong upon him,” Kaleri raised her arm. “It is time, my King. Time for your family to die.”

The shriek of metal broke the silence of night as Eomer seized the long, curved, knife in his belt and drew it forth. Candlelight glinted on the blade and from languor to strength and passion unbridled, the horseman lashed out.

The knife sliced the air as Faramir and Eowyn fell back. Faramir’s feet faltered under him at the sudden assault, and he briefly rued discarding his own sword. Eomer’s unrelenting attack forced further regret from his thoughts, and he had only the presence of mind to thrust his own bracer beneath the man’s descending knife-hand before the other man’s weight crashed into him.

Both men slammed into the chamber wall, and for a moment Faramir could not breath as the air was forced out of him. He felt like a rag-doll beneath the muscular power of the other, and knew the fear of Rohan’s enemies in facing Eomer in combat. He briefly met the man’s enraged gaze, sweat dampened hair and the other man’s breath strong in his nostrils, but saw no sign of recognition, and no likeness to the man of hearty laughter and unwavering truth that he had come to know.

Wrapping long fingers around Eomer’s bare wrist, he was able to inexorably turn the blade further to the side, but with almost impatient ease the man’s boot rammed into the back of his leg and sent him to his knees. A blow to the chest followed and his fingers lost their grip as Eomer pulled away.

Gasping and head spinning, he heard the clash of steel, and realised too late that he had been drawn aside so that Eomer might disarm his sister. His blood ran cold.

Eowyn’s breathing hitched in her throat and her sword arm was reluctant as she parried oncoming blows. “Eomer! Eomer my brother!”

Faramir could see the weakness of sisterly love there easy to exploit.

Eomer’s fist finally caught her across the side of the face as she lifted her guard to avoid slicing into his bare chest. She cried out as she was thrown from her feet with the force of his blow and her sword hit the ground, skidding away.

“Eowyn, no!” Faramir’s ribs protested as he dragged himself to his feet and stumbled. At the corner of his vision he caught Kaleri looking on with bright eyes and flushed cheeks. Changing course, he veered towards her, and saw her eyes widen in surprise.

He seized her about the neck, arm wrapped tightly and dragging her backwards until her feet lost their footing. She did not struggle against him and with the limpness of a corpse seemed to drag at his strength. He shook stray hair from his eyes and drew a breath, tightening his grip.

Eomer had turned, wiping the blood from his knuckles, and now stared him down - jaw clenched and eyes enraged.

Faramir’s chest protested at the lady’s weight, making him breathless, but he held her tight against him as she seemed to tremble in his arms. He realised that she was laughing, silent amusement shaking her form.

“Well played,” she whispered, “for you are no match for his strength. But he is loyal to no other now and will no nothing to harm me. Impressive, is it not?”

The gleam of Eomer’s knife met his eyes as the other man raised it to throat level, arm outstretched. He had grasped Eowyn’s wrist in the other and dragged her forwards.

Resisting Eomer’s hold, Eowyn pulled back, spitting her words toward Kaleri. “But you are not with child, are you? No matter how much you compel him you have not yet brought him to that.”

Anger and bile rose up within Faramir at the thought. “Undo the witchery you have placed upon him. Free us, and we shall be gone from your house and lands. We shall take no retribution.”

“You speak of witchery,” the Horselord growled in a voice Faramir had only ever heard in battle, “What madness did you lay upon me to give my sister to you - coward - last a ruined house - son of despots and madmen. What is my sister now but a slave of your people? And you her keeper.”

The words stung. Their marriage was new in the making, and Faramir not such a man as to believe happiness was so easily assured. Eomer’s unbalanced state of mind did little to curb their bitterness.

“You know not what you say, brother -,” Eowyn gasped. She suddenly slacked her resistance, allowing Eomer to draw her close so that she looked up into his face. She pressed imploring palms to his cheeks and drew his head down to look into her eyes.

Faramir could not hear his wife’s soft words, but he felt Kaleri tense in his arms, and saw the outstretched knife arm waver.

As the great warrior dropped to his knees, Eowyn still cradling him to her, the knife slipped from his hand.

Recognition lit strong and fierce as the man’s familiar hands grasped his sister’s wrists. Horror followed, and eyes that darted around the chamber alighting on the woman in Faramir’s hold.

“Eowyn!” he gasped, voice hoarse. “Flee Eowyn! I am not of my own mind - these hands yet seek your blood - .”

Eowyn did not move, and Faramir saw her shift to support him further. He saw Eomer’s hands clench, a tremor taking them. It could not be so.

With all the strength he could muster he threw the lady bodily from him, and reached for Eowyn’s arm. Kaleri’s shriek of anger tore through his concentration,

Eowyn protested as he drew her back away from her cowering brother, and only relented at the sight of the pain and fear on Eomer’s face warping into ferocity and violence. Kaleri’s scream had wakened the house, and noises could now be heard on the stairs - the guard could only be moments away.

He heard Eowyn give a choked sob of frustration as they flung the chamber door shut behind them.

They ran. The hounds behind growled and whined as they were held back, knowing the hunt was coming. Darkness blinded them as they passed from the sands into the treeline.

Faramir grasped Eowyn’s wrist as her breathing hitched.

“Barbarians,” she gasped.

He drew her on, taking a sharp turning over a fallen trunk he hoped might slow them up.

“To hunt us like animals - savagery!”

“Only madness,” he breathed, and wished she might save her breath for their escape. Their faces were clear in his mind, brother and sister, eyes lit with the fire of the hunt, and shining knives and weapons poised.

A flash of gold alerted him too late to another presence and his boots skidded in the dry leaves.
“You must take better care of your things, Milady.”

Legolas, with a serenity Faramir envied, lowered himself from the tree above and produced a sword.

Eowyn’s wild eyes looked the Elf over but took the weapon quickly. “How..?”
Legolas then produced a knife and bow and held them out to Faramir. “Your own fine ones could not yet be rescued.”

Faramir took the offering anyway, the weapons offering some sense of safety.

“I watched as you left the house,” the Elf explained. “It seems our hospitality has been compromised.”

“He is under their control, Legolas, we could do nothing to shake it. I do not know -”

“They will be here soon, and only delay because they take pleasure in the hunt. We should separate.”

Faramir hesitated, unwilling to lose Legolas’ staunch presence so soon. “Which way lies our best hope?”

“Through the trees,” Legolas said with confidence. “There is a river where we might hide our scent, and from the canopy I sighted houses. Mayhaps someone might lend us aid.”

Present day

“I do not think much of your schemes, sister.”

Ritan's voice from close by drew Faramir back from deep, crowding shadows. A short breath of cold night air, and the chill burn of the knife returned, and the hot blood rush to the head. Low growls of hounds somewhere behind brought forth visions of tearing teeth and claws.

“Why not build snares that finish our prey?”

“You cannot claim you do not enjoy playing with your food.”

Kaleri filled his line of sight. Torch-lit hunting garments - boots - long jewel-handled knife. “Besides, it was only a scratch.”

The rope-snare had pulled him from the ground, and in swaying slightly - sickeningly - he was almost level with her face. Her dark-rimmed eyes were alight with some ecstatic pleasure.

The soft touch on his cheek that followed had him flinching back, his stomach churning once more with the strange poison that seemed to be connected to the lady's nearness. Warm blood was dripping slowly down the side of his face now and falling to the leaves and scattered arrows beneath.

“I shall pay this wound back ten times over.” Ritan twisted the blade slightly and Faramir gasped, eyes closing. “Yet I do not see why it has been worth the trouble.”

“What hunter has not considered using bait? How else to capture the doe but with her stag?”

Faramir gritted his teeth, turning his head to avoid her touch. “Eowyn will not return.” The words came with difficulty, each movement of his chest now a sharp pain. “She will ensure Eomer escapes.”

More footsteps approached and the noise of something being dragged over leaves and branches. Perhaps his arrow had done more damage than Ritan's small wound.

“No stomach for hunting, Jhov? Come then, cut the Steward down.”

Suddenly he felt his ankle freed and fell heavily. He retched as the world righted itself, mortified to be so weakened as they stood above watching.

He became aware of another body beside him, a young man with his own white-fletched arrow through the throat. He turned his head away, wishing his arrow had found its mark elsewhere.

He could see the red gash across the side of Ritan's neck now, and his own blood staining the man's hand. With a groan he realised the man's knife was still in his side.

Note: Thanks to those who have enjoyed the tale so far. The story was originally going to be only four chapters, but now there will be an epilogue also. Feedback and comments welcome.