Untitled

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Title:     Sleeping With the Enemy
Author:    Arctapus
Codes:     LOTR, E/B, R, Very AU, Challenge story,
This story is an AU. There is no war with the ring, the Elves are
not much known by everyone in the respective kingdoms beyond the
canon sense of fairy tale, the kingdoms of men are trying to
become closer, building between them goodwill and support.
Summary: For the sake of their countries, Theoden and Denethor
decide that Boromir and Eomer should get bonded/married. One
problem: Boromir and Eomer hate each other..... Pairing:
Boromir/Eomer. (Maeglin Yedi)
Disclaimer: This is for fun and no copyright infringement is
implied by the use therein of the characters and their world. No
money changes hands.
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Part 1:

In a town in California ...

It was quiet at the house as he sat in the living room, sipping
beer and watching Australian Rules football on ESPN. It had been
several days since he had been on the town, several days since he
had come to the conclusion that he was who he was and there was
no getting around it.

A phone call from his son had resonated with him, making him
consider a lot of hard truths. Now that they were separated, now
that she was going to live in another town and his son was no
longer a part of his daily life, he had taken stock of his
situation, laying aside bitterness and considered what he had
done wrong with his life.

He was a lineman for the local electrical company, a man with
nerves of steel and a solid reputation among his peers. A
handsome man, nearly six feet two inches, he had been someone the
ladies had looked up to as well. He had been married for several
years, raising his son with great attention and affection but
inside he had kept something to himself, something that in the
end had destroyed his marriage and taken his happiness away.

He shoved it out of his mind, having come to the forgone
conclusion that he would never make a good husband. No one was
stupid enough to be with him on a full time basis, including his
soon-to-be former wife. She had made it clear that there was no
reconciling from their split up and he had learned to live with
the idea that his son would be growing up fifty-five miles from
him in another city.

His house was his own, his wife having money of her own, the
second bone of contention between them. He had been working class
and she, the daughter of a wealthy man, and so it had been
difficult for him to feel manly and independent around the father
who was so solicitous of his daughter's creature comforts. She
had taken what she had brought into the marriage, including the
beloved son that they shared. It was to her great credit that she
worked out the most generous custody arrangements possible.

He sighed and rose, walking through the house to the kitchen.
Dinner had been takeout, something easy and warm and the rest of
the evening would be quiet, spent just getting used to being
alone. He put his bottle on the counter, staring at the dishes in
the sink and he sighed, wishing more than anything that he could
hear his son's voice once more. He would be coming on the
weekend, sharing the house with his father through the holidays
before going back to school in the city.

The sun was setting and darkness was falling as he stood by the
window and stared out. Things had fallen apart quickly, or so it
seemed, but if he had been truthful, he would have seen the
unraveling sooner. He just didn't want to, preferring to hope it
wouldn't happen. His son was his life and now he was gone.

With a sad sigh, he turned and walked back to the living room,
turning off the light as he sat down once more. Channel surfing
aside, he found an old movie, a Robin Hood-like story with men in
tights. Smiling at the strangeness of the men on the screen, all
exaggerated posing and blustery bravado, he settled in to watch,
the hours ticking by as slowly but surely he fell into sleep.

***************In another place and time ...

"I am *not* going with you."

The finality in the voice was amusing to her as she stood in the
doorway, watching with some detached objectivity her brother
fulminate. It had been a day and a half since the proposal had
been made and still Eomer had not calmed down.

"Come down to dinner before Uncle gets angry."

Eomer turned, staring at her with furious eyes. "*Uncle* gets
angry? What about *me*? You are my *sister*. You are supposed to
be loyal to *me*, Eowyn, or am I not able to count upon you any
further?"

She swallowed her amusement and stepped into the room, pausing
before the tall and furious figure of her only truly close blood
relative. He looked like their father, she thought, as she put
her hand upon his chest. His heart was pounding furiously, like
his temper. He stilled, ever in tune with her.

"Eomer ... you must come down and sup with us. Uncle is
concerned."

"Not concerned enough to propose what I cannot abide. You would
have me agree with him?"

"We have no choice," Eowyn replied, sighing softly. "We do not
have the luxury of choice, those of us who bear the burden of
service. Someday, you might wear the crown of the King. You must
learn to put yourself second."

"And you, Eowyn ... what do you put before yourself?" he asked,
knowing full well that his question was unfair.

She sighed and looked at him with grave eyes. "Everything," she
replied quietly.

He gathered her into his arms and they stood together, two people
caught in the vice of their people's need.

***************In another place ...

"He's *not* joking," Faramir replied gravely.

He stared at his brother, at the terrible fury on his face.
Boromir was pacing, wearing a rut in the ground as he tried to
bear the burden of his rage and distaste. "Father must have taken
leave of his senses," he muttered, pausing before his brother,
who sat on a chest, watching Boromir fume.

They had been together all afternoon long, Faramir patiently
listening as his brother ranted and raved. It was always so,
Faramir listening and Boromir working out his passions and plans
at the top of his voice. Now they were caught in a dilemma from
which there appeared to be no escape and so they sat together
talking, walking and cursing, ever Faramir the patient one,
supporting where he could.

"Father is *mad*," Boromir said angrily, pausing to look at his
brother once more. "Tell me he's mad."

Faramir smiled a ghost of a smile, nodding as he rose and walked
to his brother. "He's mad."

Boromir smirked, hugging his brother tightly. "What are we to
do?"

Faramir sighed and shook his head. "There is naught to do but
obey. Unless you want to be banned or bothered or worse."

"Father is *mad*," Boromir persisted, rubbing his hands nervously
together. He paused and looked at his brother, noting the concern
in his eyes. "Faramir, I do not know what this will lead to but I
would appreciate it very much if you would reason with him."

"With *Father*?" Faramir asked, surprised. "Since when did Father
ever take *my* council? His mind is made up, along with Theoden
of Rohan. What can a mere second son of Denethor say to such
worthies?"

"How about nay? How about 'this is *madness*'," Boromir said,
sitting heavily on his bed. "How about ... I can not imagine what
you can say, my brother, but I want to hear you say it again."

"What, Boromir?" Faramir asked, moving to sit on the bed next to
his brother. Boromir lay splayed out, arms out flung and defeat
written into every line.

"Tell me that Father is mad."

Faramir smiled and complied.

***************In Rohan at the same time ...

He sat at the table, leaning on his elbows, his dark eyes focused
on the candles before him. Sitting in their accustomed places,
Eowyn, Theodred, Theoden, Gamling, and Hama watched him furtively
around the delicate dance of their conversation. They didn't
bring it up, the proposal that had been struck and Eomer wasn't
conducive to conversation about it or much else.

The food was good as ever and the wine sweet. The men talked
together, about anything but Gondor and Eowyn watched her brother
sulk with a sense of sad foreboding. They would be going to
Gondor in three days, putting into practice what had been only
just now decided upon in correspondence.

"For the good of Gondor ... for the security of Rohan ..."

These words had echoed in her mind, the carefully formulated
diplomatic language of nations conversing and she considered what
it meant to the people caught up in the middle of grand design.
The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. This had
been taught to her early on in her life, her parents sacrificing
themselves for the good of her country, bringing her to live with
the brother of her mother.

Theoden was a good man and a good king as well. He loved his
people and always put them first. In the doing of this thing,
this inherited burden of responsibility, he had made hard
decisions for the good of all. His family, his son and nephew
especially, had shouldered their share of the burden, almost
never offering an opposing view. They supported and loved him,
helping him where they could but this decision had landed hard
among them.

Theodred glanced at his cousin, the boy child of his youth, the
stalwart companion of his majority. He would be undertaking a
terrible and fraught-filled mission for the good of Rohan, a
mission that would hold sway over the rest of his life and bind
two countries together in a way that no treaty or agreement ever
could.

In three days, they would be traveling to Gondor, going into the
White City to make a special kind of treaty. They would wear
their finest garments, riding the most beautiful horses in their
kingdom, making a show for Rohan that would be remembered for
years to come. He smiled slightly to himself, unable to feel the
depth of his cousin's despair over the situation he had found
himself trapped inside.

Theodred had met Boromir before, riding with him in hunts against
the enemy, foraging off the land and having great sport at
shooting tournaments. He liked the big handsome man, a man of
great virility and charisma. For a moment he lingered on the
possibility of their joining, Boromir and Eomer, on the thrashing
and dominance-seeking magnitude of that moment and the mere
thought made him tingle all over with sensation.

Boromir and Eomer had a rendezvous with destiny, a personal
joining that would have far-reaching consequences for both
nations. It would be a treaty of a different kind and he would
have ringside seats at the most unusual negotiations ever
attempted between them.

Of course, he considered, it *could* have been him, the chosen
sacrifice for the dignity of their two nations. But it wasn't,
his father sparing him even as he chose his strapping nephew to
meet the challenge. And challenge it was, this diplomatic venture
and he wished he could be a fly on the wall when payment came
due.

Smiling to himself, he sipped his wine, well aware that when the
fireworks were over, they would all return to their own homes
once more. Eomer would come back with them, Boromir would stay in
Gondor, suffering reunions only at the instigation of their
respective lords. In between they would continue as before
perhaps, wenching or not among themselves as ever they did. They
were good companions, friends of lifelong standing and when this
was all over, they would return to the lives that they lived,
unmarked and unbothered by the fuss. Hopefully.

But one thing would be different. One thing would be changed.
When the ranks of married men were marshaled in the days ahead,
Eomer would be counted among them. What was so amusing to
Theodred and to Eowyn, he could tell, was that the "woman" of
Eomer's heart and bed and soul would be the tall and wildly
masculine son of Denethor, the brave and rowdy Boromir of Gondor.

He blinked and shifted in his chair, the white-hot gaze of Eomer
passing over him as he stared around the room. Theodred masked
his amusement, forging a placid look on his face. He glanced at
Eowyn, herself staring decidedly at her plate as his father
droned on about horse racing and the coming crop of foals.

***************Gondor ...

He sat in his room, staring at the fire. Faramir had stepped out,
going to request an audience with their father. It was irritating
to him that the younger of Denethor's sons had so little access
to their father's affections. Faramir was a good and decent man,
strong, smart and kind. Definitely, in Boromir's mind, a person
worthy of respect.

Yet he got little from their father, the consequences harmful and
it rankled Boromir, sparking many short and sharp discussions
between Denethor and himself. His father favored him, choosing
him over his younger brother and the reasons for such were not
clear. He had taken to his brother, holding him closer than ever
because of the sorrow he could see in Faramir over this
treatment.

Treatment.

He was the favored son but he still faced this outrage, the
ordeal of binding himself to someone he loathed. Eomer of Rohan
was only a mild acquaintance, someone he had met here and there
in the course of the hunt. No formal occasions had brought them
together so what he knew, he knew on the trail, in the machismo
and aggressive world of fighting men.

Eomer was a big man, he recalled, strong and well made, meeting
him eye-to-eye when they faced each other. He had broad shoulders
and very strong hands, fast of foot as well and very smart. Eomer
had lived his life in the saddle, his strength born of service to
king and country. As a swordsman and bowman, he was more than
capable and few could match him hand-to-hand.

Of course, *he* could. He was himself the equal to Eomer
physically, more than up to the challenge of competition. He,
himself was tall and broad of shoulder, a lifetime of riding and
fighting tempering him. He was as strong as steel, hard as the
land he rode over and as determined as any foe who stood before
him.

Eomer was like him in some ways, he conceded, but his arrogance
was hard to bear on the few occasions they had met. It was a
clashing of wills and of temperaments between them and if he was
truly being fair, it was because they were more alike than not.
But he wasn't fair and he didn't concede it, so angered and
unsettled was he by this change in fortune. It was his doom, he
considered, his doom to bear and as he sat before the fire, he
mused on his fate.

They were strong-minded, stubborn, determined and hot-headed.
They were big and strong and capable and confident. Each was
masculine to a fault, both of them dominating personalities and
more than willing to step in and do what was needed without
asking. Both of them loved their countries, both of them were
loyal to their leader, their king, their steward, loyal indeed to
a fault. Both of them were willing to die in the service of their
people. Nothing about that was unusual in the cultures where they
were forged.

What was new, what was hard, what was humorous and what was sad
was the new dread they faced. They would be bound to each other
in a perfectly legal fashion as befitted some men in heroic
cultures. They in the end would be spouses and allies. That they
hated each other was incidental and wholly irrelevant. That was
the part that didn't count at all.

He sighed and sipped his wine, waiting for his brother as he
contemplated the unthinkable, sleeping with the enemy. He closed
his eyes in despair.

**********A soft buzzing sound ...

He started awake, looking around disoriented and then he
remembered where he was. Stretching, he stood up, staring at the
television screen and the off-the-air picture that filled it. A
buzzing sound hummed softly and he clicked it off, tossing the
remote into the chair. Turning, he walked slowly into the
bedroom, stripping off his clothes before walking into the
bathroom. He paused by the sink, staring at his reflection and
the semi-stranger that stared back at him.

He sighed and turned, stepping into the shower, standing under
cool water before lathering and rinsing. The rest of his routine
passed in silence and when he was toweled off, he turned off the
light. Darkness suffused the bedroom, but he knew where he was,
so familiar were his surroundings. Slipping on sleeping pants, he
slid into the bed, lying back tired against the sheets. They felt
good against his skin, the cool linens soothing and by the time
he had settled, he was halfway into sleep.

"Boromir."

The name flitted across his mind, a vision of blond hair and a
firm gaze, the sound of horses and a river. The sounds and smells
seemed real and he was jolted from his dream state, moving
restlessly in the bed before falling once more into sleep.

The lights flickered as he hurried down the corridor, rushing to
Boromir's chamber. They had come and he had not shown himself,
making a difficult greeting more so. Turning the corner, he came
to the door he sought and paused, knocking briskly. He didn't
hear any sound and so he opened the door and stepped inside,
glancing around the gloomy room quickly.

"Boromir."

Dark eyes met his, eyes filled with anger and emotion. "Faramir.
The protocol is to be asked in."

"The *protocol* is to greet guests when they arrive."

"Guests," Boromir sighed, sipping his wine once more. "Guests. Is
that what we call them now?"

"We will soon call them kin," Faramir replied quietly, staring at
his brother with concern. "You *have* to come. You have to,
Boromir."

"I *have* to come," Boromir replied, setting his glass down. He
turned, facing his younger brother. "You do not *have* to tell me
my duty, Faramir. *Name* the day when I have shirked it."

"You never have," Faramir replied, moving to stand before him.
"You won't now, will you?"

"Do I have a choice?" Boromir asked, shaking his head.

"No," Faramir replied, sighing. "You do not, I am afraid."

Boromir stared at him, at the sadness in his brother's face.
Reaching out, he caressed his cheek. "Afraid ... I am not that."

Faramir smiled slightly. "You never have been, have you?"

"Not so that anyone would notice," Boromir said with a smile. He
reached out and hugged Faramir, squeezing him tightly. Gathering
his emotions together, he shrugged. "Let us go. Our *guests* are
waiting."

Together they turned and with unity of purpose, they left the
room and walked through the corridors, passing richly dressed
courtiers all turned out for the festivities. Entering the Great
Hall, they walked toward the dignitaries, sitting and standing
around a great fireplace.

Denethor watched them come, hiding his irritation at his older
son, the conversation with his younger echoing through his mind.
It was for the best, the heir binding himself to the prince of
Rohan. The countries long had ties but the future could not be
foretold. They would make a tie between them, something that
would last longer than his own lifetime and bind the two peoples
together forever.

He had no illusions about his son, Boromir. He loved him dearly,
depending upon him in ways he never considered. He was keenly
aware that Boromir hadn't wed and with all likelihood, wouldn't
in the near future. He had no idea why, perhaps his duty was
stronger than his need to hold someone but he was sure that this
wouldn't slow him down in his life.

Bonding to a man was common among warriors and he had no
reservations about his decision for his son. He was irritated as
he stood watching but he hid it well. By the time the two men
reached him he was the picture of calm and contentment.

"Finally, you come."

Boromir nodded to his father, glancing at their guests, making no
mention of why he had not been here. The guests watched them,
noting the undercurrent of tension that was ever so slight but
very much there. Denethor turned, smiling at the visitors, bowing
slightly to Theoden, who rose.

"My Lord Theoden," he began, glancing at his son. "May I finally
present my son, Boromir."

Boromir stepped forward, offering his hand. Gripping Theoden's
arm, he nodded. "Theoden King."

"Boromir," Theoden said, a slight smile forming on his lips.
Turning, he glanced at the three youngsters with him, including
the tall glowering figure of his sister's only son.

"Eomer," he said simply, nodding to his nephew.

The tall strained youngster stepped slightly forward. They stared
at each other, these two who would be bound together, their eyes
locking in silent combat as they took the measure of the other.
Eomer offered his hand, gripping Boromir's tightly, the two
squeezing each others fingers as tightly as they could.

Faramir watched them, his eyes roving from his brother to the
strangers and when they finally let go of each other, he felt a
deeply held breath released. So far, so good, he considered,
relaxing slightly. Good for now, he considered, watching as they
turned together, walking toward the dining room

It would be a long and difficult evening, he considered, walking
with his brother to the great doors beyond. A long and very
difficult evening.

Part 2:

"You look tired."

"I am," he replied, yawning. "I haven't been sleeping well
lately."

"You've had a tough time," his partner replied, moving tools from
the back of the truck to where they could be reached more easily.

He didn't argue, that much was true. He gathered his tool kit and
turned toward the street, walking up to the pole that he was
going to climb. They were making a repair, fixing a breaker box,
the first on a long list of things to do. By the time they were
finished, it would be the end of the day and he would once more
be on his own.

The sun was shining, warm on his face as he climbed to the router
box that awaited his inspection. He sighed with pleasure, the
sight of horses nearby a bonus to the usually bleak city
surroundings that accompanied his work day. A big white stallion
stood in a field nearby, eyeing him with interest and he paused,
looking at its beautiful form. It was soothing to him, to watch
the great stallion and he began his work feeling refreshed and
relaxed.

***************Later that night ...

He had gone to dinner at a local diner, sitting by himself as he
ate. The sun had set and he was alone again, facing another
evening without diversion. Sighing, he rose and paid his bill and
walked to the street, looking at the sky overhead. It was filled
with stars, brilliant against the velvety blackness. Somehow he
felt better looking upward at them. Thoughts flitted through his
mind, visions of other times and he shook his head, a sense of
loss suffusing him.

Turning, he walked to his truck and drove onto the main road that
split the town in two. He took the off ramp to the interstate and
drove for eighteen miles, coming to the college town that served
the entire area. The college was an interesting place, filled
with activities and people that he would never bump into
otherwise. Parking near the student union, he got out and began
to walk, strolling around the campus and down the road to the
town.

Small coffee shops bustled with patrons, couples walking along
the street nodding as they passed him by. He continued on,
passing businesses and homes, some open and not as he wandered
along. A movie theatre advertised an action movie but he didn't
stop in, moving farther along until he reached the town square.
He stood in the light of a street lamp, watching as a group of
youngsters stood nearby laughing. He watched them, feeling
suddenly lonely and he wished he was in his house, his son for
company. But it wasn't to be and so he stood watching them,
considering what he was doing.

A shop door opened and two women walked out, hand-in-hand. They
stood in the shadow of the building's eaves, talking softly and
then they kissed each other before turning to walk away. He
watched them, slightly uncomfortable and stepped across the
street, moving to stare in the window. Inside, there were many
couples but not the type he expected. Men sat with men and women
with women, clear signs of unapologetic intimacy on display.

At least he felt it was on display, the openness that he saw and
the discomfort that he felt was extreme. He shifted his feet,
undecided whether to leave and as he did, the door opened and a
tall figure stepped out, smiling at him as he paused by the curb.

He smiled back, nodding, suddenly embarrassed to be seen peeking
and turning, he began to walk away toward the college. The figure
watched him go and then cleared his throat, smiling as he paused
and turned back to stare.

"Hi," he said again, watching the big stranger shift
uncomfortably.

He nodded, suddenly shy for some reason and stood uncertainly as
the other came up to him. He held out his hand, a smile on his
face. "I'm Tom."

He nodded and cleared his own throat, suddenly awkward. "I'm ...
I'm Sam."

Tom smiled and nodded. "I saw you through the window and I was
wondering if you'd like a drink?"

Sam stared at him, shifting uneasily. "A drink?"

"Or coffee."

The warm smile of the stranger was comforting to Sam and so he
nodded, following Tom into the cafe. The aroma of coffee and
garlic greeted him and he glanced around, profoundly uneasy at
being a part of the scene. He sat and settled, his eyes focused
on the candle that was the illumination for the table where they
sat. A youngster walked over and took their order, coffee and
danish, and then walked away.

Tom watched Sam, quietly amused by his discomfort. "First time
here?"

"Does it show that bad?"

Tom grinned. "Yes," he replied with a chuckle, nodding to the
waitress as she gave them their order. She left and they were
alone, sitting together quietly.

Sam stirred his coffee, adding sugar and cream, ignoring a couple
of men sitting beside them, holding hands and talking quietly
nearly nose-to-nose. They began to eat, exchanging pleasantries
and by the time they were finished, they were relatively
comfortable together.

Rising, they walked to the door, Tom taking care of the bill.
Exiting, Sam felt the tension receding as the cool night air
soothed him. Tom watched him, more than aware of the turmoil and
confusion in the tall man's mind.

"Where are you headed?" he asked, smiling as Sam turned,
uncertainty on his face.

"I was just ... I was heading for home. I'm working tomorrow."

Tom nodded, stepping to stand beside him on the curb. "All right.
How about dinner then?"

Sam looked at him and then nodded, smiling slightly. "Sure."

"Good. How about meeting me here tomorrow night about seven. We
can go some place for dinner."

Sam nodded, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets. "All
right."

"Good," Tom said, holding out his hand. Sam took it, giving him a
firm grip. Then, with a nod, he turned and walked down the
street, heading back to his truck about a mile up the road.

Tom watched him go, considering the awkward figure receding into
the darkness. Smiling, he turned and walked down the square,
heading for his own car and home.

***************Later that same night ...

He walked into his house, tossing his keys on the counter. He
entered the bathroom and went through his routine, moving to his
bed and sleep. Settling in, he pushed his excitement and turmoil
away, falling into a light sleep at last.

***************In the tower of the great city ...

He stood on the balcony, the uncomfortable dinner finally over.
They had gathered in the room behind him, talking together in the
quiet evening. The city sparkled below him, shimmering in the
darkness, the familiar landscape of his home comforting. He loved
the great city, the ancient homeland of their people and it was a
prideful thing to him to be heir to its great traditions.

Eomer stood by the fire, watching the big man as he stood alone.
It had been difficult, more than he could have imagined, keeping
his emotional disarray in check. He turned, catching Faramir's
eye, glancing away as he turned. He stood stiffly, uncomfortable
and fuming, as the evening wound onward, drawing him unwilling in
its wake.

Faramir listened with half an ear, considering the man that his
father had chosen for Boromir. He was as big as his brother, as
stern and hardened as Boromir and probably as aggressive and
forceful as well. It didn't look good to him, this pairing of
equals and so he rose and stepped to the hearth, smiling slightly
at Eomer.

"Why don't we go out onto the balcony. You can see the whole
sweep of the Pelennor at night in a way that is unequalled any
other time."

Eomer shifted, his eyes flickering between Faramir and the tall
man standing on the balcony and then nodded, following him
through the quietly talking group out of the room. Denethor
watched them, sighing as they passed and he turned, catching
Theoden's chuckle as he did.

"This is going to be an interesting event," Theoden said, shaking
his head. "I am very pleased that Gondor and Rohan are as tough
as the bones of the mountains that surround us. The tussle of
this arrangement could shatter stone."

Denethor smiled, a genuine thing and nodded in agreement. "If we
survive the coming days, there will be nothing that can pull us
asunder."

The night air was refreshing as Eomer stepped onto the balcony,
trailing Faramir reluctantly. He paused by the balcony, Faramir
between them and sighed softly, wishing himself home. The sloping
fields before them were dotted by flickering lights, indications
of the locations of towns and villages. Stars were brilliant, the
sky nearly creamy with them, shedding their light in conjunction
with a waning moon.

"The view is beautiful," Faramir offered, his gaze moving from
one side to the other. Each man stared straight ahead, neither
looking at the other and Faramir sighed, shaking his own. "You
are both ridiculous. Nothing can be served from your sulking but
trouble. The matter is done and you must abide by it. So what say
you?"

"What say me?" Boromir said, turning to face Eomer at last.
Faramir stepped slightly back, the two meeting eye-to-eye and
watched, holding his breathe as he did. "What say me to being wed
to someone for whom I hold little friendship. What say me to
giving my freedom to someone for whom I will never be friends."

"You? You say this to *me*? I, who have never given you offence,
I, who have not caused you alarm of any kind must endure such
statements from the likes of *you*?" He moved closer, squeezing
Faramir slightly backwards. "I have lived in my own country for
the whole of my life, happy and content in the manner in which I
conduct myself. I am not the citified, prissy and wholly arrogant
sort who would mask my disdain behind false memories."

Boromir moved closer, his fists clenched. "False memories," he
hissed, his anger vivid. "You forget that it is I who am the
wounded one, the one for whom you gave the most offence. Your
memory of woe is laughable in the extreme. I would say to you,
horse master, that you are the one gaining from this arrangement,
not me. I would say that to your face."

Faramir sighed and stepped closer, his brother's arm reaching out
and moving him back. Boromir stepped closer, protecting Faramir
with his own body as Eomer's face darkened with anger.

"You believe that I have much to gain from becoming wed to one
who is no more a woodsman than a stripling girl? Wedding my only
life away to someone who has no sense of what to do in the
wilderness is somehow a *good thing*? You feel that cities are
the mark of a man but for those of us who know of manliness more
clearly, your big-footed amblings in the wilderness are
laughable. You can no more survive in my world than I can
tolerate the falseness of yours. I would say to you, *city boy*,
that you would gain greatly from an infusion of Rohirrim blood.
It is not as if you hold a crown of your own in any future that I
can see."

At that point Boromir lunged, caught by Faramir as he did. Eomer
stood, glaring at Boromir, his fists clenched and his eyes dark
with fury. Faramir pushed Boromir, quelling his charge and stood
between them as they glared at each other.

"Enough," he said, hissing, hoping that no one had noticed and
then he turned and slapped Eomer on the arm. Turning back to his
brother, he slapped him too, drawing their attention once more.
"Some place else, some place more quiet," he said, tugging on his
brother's arm. Reluctantly and slowly, they followed him as he
walked off, skimming down stairs until they came to a small
promontory. A bench ran along the stone wall, the view as
spectacular as the other and when they got there, Faramir stood
hands on hips, staring at them both with disgust.

"What do you two propose to do? Fight and kill each other? Argue
and make things worse?"

"What can be more terrible than to marry someone like him?"
Boromir said, pacing in a tight circle near the edge of the
balcony.

"You are *no* bargain," Eomer sputtered, balling his fists as he
watched Boromir pace.

"*Neither* of you are," Faramir said, shaking his head.

Boromir paused, staring hard at his brother. "Whose side are you
on?"

"I don't know. I'm struggling to bare this as best I can. What
are you going to do? Your uncle and my father have decreed this
into being. Either you accept it or you do not. If you don't,
then you must tell them and accept the consequences."

"The consequences cannot be as bad as this possibility," Boromir
hissed, glaring at Eomer darkly.

"Do you think so?" Faramir asked. He looked at Eomer. "What would
your uncle say if you refused?"

"He would ... be furious," Eomer said, sighing. "The bans have
been made and the arrangements laid in. It would be the height of
disrespect and shame for Rohan if I did not do this horrible
thing."

It was silent a moment. Faramir stared at his brother. "Well?"

"There is never any gainsaying when Father makes up his mind."

Faramir nodded. "You both know that this is the price of wearing
the crown."

"As if that will ever be your fate," Eomer hissed.

"You are a fine one to talk to me of crowns," Boromir replied,
smirking. "Your cousin looks in fine health to me."

"You two should *listen* to yourself. I am struggling to remember
that you are as old as you are," Faramir said, turning his back
on them.

"You do not have to do this painful thing. It is easy for you to
judge, Faramir, when you can walk away," Boromir chided, his
voice peevish.

Faramir stood a moment and then turned, eyeing his brother
carefully. "Father has made a pact that a son of his household
shall marry a son of Theoden's. What if one does?"

Boromir stared at him perplexed. "One *is*, or have you not been
paying attention?"

"But which one?" Faramir asked, shrugging.

It was silent a moment and then Boromir shifted, staring uneasily
at his brother. "Speak your mind fully," he said, his voice soft
with suspicion.

"If a son of Gondor must wed a son of Rohan, I offer myself in
your place."

Boromir stared at him and then at the surprised face of Eomer.
"You cannot be serious."

"I am."

"Faramir ..."

"I would be wed and you would be free," Faramir offered. "You can
go back to Rohan once the marriage was consummated and never
again would you have to come here. If I am needed in Rohan, I can
come and you, here. That makes the deal and that makes the
peace."

Boromir shifted uncertainly, his face a cavalcade of dark
emotions. "Father would never agree."

"If the marriage cannot be made between the two of you, then make
it with me."

Eomer bit his lip, uncertainty in his demeanor. He moved to the
bench and sat upon it. Staring at Faramir, his mind in turmoil,
he offered no indication that he approved or not of the changes
in arrangements. Boromir stared at Faramir, shifting closer for a
moment and then he halted, taking Faramir's shoulders into his
hands.

"Why?" he asked, his eyes searching Faramir's face for answers as
he stood, stunned by the offer before him.

"Because you are my brother and I love you," Faramir said simply
and quietly. "For better or no, Boromir."

Boromir let him go and turned, walking to the railing, staring
out into the night for a moment or two. Turning, he looked at
Eomer, unsure of himself and what he might say. He looked at
Faramir, at the brother he loved standing quietly, willing to
sacrifice himself for his sake. He shook his head, pausing for a
moment, gathering his thoughts to himself.

"It will never be allowed, by Father or by me, Faramir. But I
love you for offering all the same."

"I am going to put the proposition forward, offering myself to
Theoden," Faramir said, turning and hurrying up the steps.

Boromir watched him go, surprised for a moment and then after
glancing at an equally roused Eomer, hurried after him. By the
time they reached the sitting room, Faramir was already
concluding his offer to his father and the King of Rohan. They
both sat silently, glancing at the two men as they came through
the door, Gamling, Hama and Eowyn quietly watching as well.
Faramir turned, nodding to the two men as he waited for the word
from the King and the Steward. Theoden glanced at Denethor,
shrugging slightly.

"This is a most interesting turn of events, my friend," he said,
smiling slightly at Denethor.

The Steward was regarding his younger son with interest,
considering his words carefully. "Faramir has made a most
interesting proposition, offering to exchange himself for you,
Boromir. What say you to his most generous offer?"

Boromir glanced at Faramir and then Eomer, nearly sputtering with
exasperation as he collected his thoughts. "This is impossible."

"And why is that so? Eomer," Theoden asked, catching the
attention of his nephew. "Do you find the prospect of binding
with Faramir daunting as well?"

Eomer swallowed and glanced at Faramir, the latter standing
silently, his expression hard to gauge. "No, my Lord," Eomer
finally managed, shifting uneasily from side to side. "I ... that
is, no."

"And you, Boromir?" Denethor asked. "What say you to giving up
marital bliss with the nephew of the King?"

"I ... I would like to say ..." Boromir stilled, frustrated
beyond measure, staring from his brother to his father and back
again. "Faramir, you cannot *do* this."

"Why?" Faramir asked, sighing deeply. "This is to be had, because
it was willed thus. You cannot bend yourself to the will of your
father, this I can see. I give myself in your place, Boromir,
because of my love and respect for you and for the esteem that I
hold the Kingdom of Rohan."

It was silent a moment as they digested that information and then
Denethor rose and turned to Theoden. "Well, that appears to be
resolved," he said quite simply. "Would you care to join me in my
study for wine? I believe we can formalize this new arrangement
together."

Theoden rose and nodded to his partner, walking together with
Denethor until they cleared the room. It was silent a moment and
then as one, they all turned to Faramir, fixing him with varying
expressions of astonishment.

Faramir sighed and turned to the table, pouring a glass of wine
for himself. He turned and faced them, holding out his glass,
gazing from face to face as he did.

"Cheers."

Part 3:

He drained the glass in one gulp, watching as the others stepped
forward, filling their own as well. For a moment there was only
drinking and then Boromir set his glass down, facing his brother
with a frown.

"You didn't have to do that," he said angrily. "You didn't have
to sacrifice yourself."

"*Thank you very much*," Eomer said, glowering at the tall heir
to the Stewardship of the city. "You act like being with me is
the end of the world."

"It might be for all I know," Boromir growled.

Faramir stepped between them, facing his brother. "No more
fighting."

Boromir paused, stepping back. "Faramir ..."

"Please," Faramir pleaded, placing his hands on Boromir's
shoulders. "No more. It's useless, this bickering and fighting.
What is done is done. You have to get used to it."

"And you, Faramir," Boromir asked. "Will you get used to it?"

Faramir shrugged. "You and I and all of us, we don't count in the
end. We do what we have to, that's all."

Eomer stared at Faramir, at the quiet determination on his face.
He turned and walked away, standing by the fireplace. "They have
made up their minds. You have thrown the scheme for a moment, but
they are bound and determined to make this happen."

"Then if it must, it must," Boromir said, resignedly. "It's not
like you have to live in Edoras. You will never have to be
together again after-"

He paused, manifestly uncomfortable with continuing. Faramir
refilled his glass, turning and holding it up. "Whatever I must
do, I will."

Theodred reached out and clicked his glass. "I for one will be
happy to welcome another adult into the family."

Eowyn grinned, clicking her glass against Faramir's. "As will I."

Eomer felt the blood rising in his cheeks and turned, facing them
all. "It is not a sure thing."

"You know it is," Theodred replied. "They both will take what
they can manage. If not Boromir, then Faramir. Honour demands
it."

Honour," Boromir sputtered. "What honour is there when you give
up your own comfort and future hopes for me?"

"Enough," Faramir replied softly.

Boromir looked at him, anguish in his eyes. "In the morrow, you
will be wed and I am sorry, Faramir. I did not wish for this to
transpire. It was my doom, not yours."

Eomer winced, glaring at Boromir. "You act like your brother is
going to his death."

Boromir bit back his retort, turning and staring at Faramir. "You
are a fool, my beloved brother, but I love you. I will never
cease in my life to make this right between us."

Faramir sighed, shaking his head. "There is nothing to barter."

"Perhaps," Boromir said. "I owe you."

The door opened and Gamling returned, pausing before them for a
moment. "The King requires you, Prince Theodred, to sign as
witness for the new marriage bans."

Theodred nodded, setting down his glass and with a grin, walked
from the room with Gamling. Boromir watched them, then the door
opened again, a household servant peeking in. "My Lord Boromir,
your father requires you at the signing of some document and bids
you post haste to come thither."

Boromir blanched, turning to his brother, intense misery on his
face. Faramir squeezed his arm and nodded, watching as Boromir
reluctantly walked from the room. Eowyn followed, silent and
thoughtful, leaving Faramir and Eomer alone. They stared at the
door and then turned, facing each other, both awkward for a
moment.

"You must love your brother," Eomer said, discomfort suffusing
every fibre of his being.

"I love him more than I can say," Faramir said, turning and
placing his glass on the table. He looked at Eomer, considering
their predicament. "Sit and talk to me. We have things we must
consider."

For a moment he stood silently and then Eomer turned, walking to
the chairs by the fireplace. They sat side-by-side, staring into
the fire and then Eomer leaned back, suddenly very weary.

"I am sorry for your misfortune," he said, quietly. "It was not
my intent to cause you woe."

"Nor was it mine to make this sacrifice but I know my brother. It
would do little good for what is trying to be achieved if the
ones chosen for unity showed so little potential to achieve that
together."

"It is not that I do not have great respect for Gondor and the
House of the Steward. It is just that ..."

"What?" Faramir asked, curious and yet not, afraid almost of what
he might hear.

"Your brother and I, we would not be good together, so little in
common do we share."

"You are most alike to me," Faramir replied, shaking his head in
disagreement. "You are two peas in a pod, both dominating and
dominant. I would think you would have *greater* chance for
affection because this is so."

"I do not see it," Eomer insisted stubbornly.

"No, I am sure you do not," Faramir replied, chuckling in spite
of himself. "All it would take is a consummation and then you
could leave, going about your lives as freemen once more. It is
not like closeness is wanted or even needed, so clear have you
made your positions to be."

"Consummation," Eomer sighed. "It would be like coupling with a
bulldog, to lie with your brother." He glanced over quickly. "No
offence intended."

Faramir smiled. "No more is taken than can not be shrugged off.
If you and I are to be bound together, then he is your family. It
would be bad form to harp upon the blood of your blood."

Eomer smiled slightly. "You are a remarkable person."

"There are those who would disagree," Faramir replied, the faint
echoes of sorrow in his voice.

Eomer glanced at him, noting his profile and the sadness
reflected therein. He reached out and took Faramir's hand,
squeezing it gently. "I would never hurt you," he said,
surprising even himself by the statement.

Faramir nodded, sighing softly. "And I, you, Eomer."

They sat together quietly for a moment and then Eomer rose,
staring down at Faramir, towering over him as he sat. He gathered
his dignity, assuming his normal posture. "I have not really seen
the city from the parapets. I would hope that you might show me
your country."

Faramir smiled slightly, rising. "Follow me," he said, walking to
the doorway and out onto the balcony beyond.

For the rest of the night, they would talk together, enjoying the
beauty of the city below. Boromir, filled with turmoil, would
follow them as they walked, watching over his brother from the
shadows.

Part 4:

It was dark when he arrived at the corner, waiting nervously for
the arrival of the stranger from the night before. It was nuts,
he considered, coming here this evening. He had been long in
choosing his apparel and in getting ready to come. Jeans and a
blue shirt, boots and light jacket, he was handsome and groomed
as he stood in the light. Around him, moving through their own
dramas, people came and went, attending the plays at the theatre
nearby.

Unnoticed by a building, Tom watched him waiting, more than
pleased with the handsome stranger he had stumbled upon. Not
given to cruising, there was something about this tall man that
made him take a chance. Stepping out, he walked down the
sidewalk, greeting Sam as he turned and spotted him.

"Hi," he said, gripping Sam's hand.

Sam felt the heat in his cheeks as he returned the shake. "Hi."

"Waited long?"

"No," Sam said, shifting his feet nervously.

"Good," he said, smiling. "I have reservations at Gino's, unless
you want to go some place else."

"No, no. Italian is nice," Sam replied, stepping out with Tom as
he turned and they walked up the street.

It was quiet a moment and then Tom smiled, glancing at the
intense man beside him. "How long have you been out?"

"What makes you think I am?"

"Oh, you remind me of me a few years ago."

Sam winced, shaking his head. "I don't know what I am or what I
feel. I just know something needs taking care of, that's all."

"Nice way to put it," Tom said, chuckling. "I know the confusion
myself very well."

They entered a restaurant filled with college kids and sat down,
ordering food and wine. Conversation was easier as the night went
on and by the time they left, the two men were relaxed together.
They walked to the park, the one by the theatre, the center piece
of the small town that was so famous for its plays. The path
wound up, into thickets of trees and past ponds, until they came
to a grassy knoll where a band shell sat empty.

Pausing, turning, Tom smiled at Sam, noting his watchful eyes and
his shaking hands. He took them into his own, holding them still
as he raised them and kissed them, sighing with pleasure. Sam
felt a tremor rush through him, a deeply unsettled feeling and he
stood as still as a statue as Tom stepped forward. Soft lips
touched his, the lips of a man and he felt himself melting as
they pressed against his own.

Tom broke the kiss, stepping back to watch his partner and the
changing array of emotions that played across his face. Sam
blinked and looked at Tom, licking his lips tensely.

"Well?" Tom asked, smiling broadly. "Are you scandalized?"

Tom shook his head, smiling slightly. "No." He swallowed hard and
moved forward once more, his dark eyes filled with emotion as he
gathered his courage. "It was good," he whispered. "More than
good."

Tom smiled and stepped forward, kissing him again. He lingered on
Sam's lips, putting passion into his delivery and when he stepped
back, Sam's eyes were closed, a look of deep appreciation on his
face. He sighed and turned, rubbing his face with his hands.

"I guess its true then," he whispered softly.

"You doubted it?" Tom asked, watching as he turned slowly.

"I hoped it wasn't so," Sam replied with a sigh. "Life would be
easier. I would still be married."

"Not necessarily," Tom said quietly. "People get married and
divorced for all kinds of reasons. I imagine statistically
marrying a gay spouse is very small."

"It's one hundred percent for me and Lily," Sam replied sadly.
"What now?" he asked, gazing at Tom uncertainly.

"I don't know," Tom said, moving closer. He rested his hands on
Sam's shoulders, smiling as he kissed him lightly on the lips. "I
know what I want, but I'm not sure you're ready and I don't want
your first time to be something you regret."

Sam smiled, looking up at the stars. "How about a walk around the
park and a beer?"

Tom chuckled and nodded. "Sure. If you're buying."

Sam smiled. "I guess I can do that. Unless, of course, it
violates some rule that I don't know yet."

"Not that I can see," Tom said, turning and walking down the
trail, Sam by his side. "I'll loan you my handbook."

Tom smiled and nodded. "Thanks," he said softly.

***************Late that night ...

He drove into his garage, entering the darkened house, tossing
his keys on the counter. He was filled with dinner, beer and
desire, the evening ending with passionate kisses in the shadows
by the car park. He had actually relaxed, giving as well as
getting and the feel of a man's hands on his body had been
incredible. Nothing he had shared with his wife or any other girl
he had ever been with could match it and he knew it was all true.

A shower was needed, his throbbing need relentless and by the
time he had toweled off, he had taken care of that problem.
Sitting on the bed, faint images of other places tugging at his
consciousness, he made up his mind that the next time they were
together, he would go to bed with Tom. Lying back, rubbing his
chest with his hands, he pushed back his neediness.

"You are pathetic, Sam," he whispered, rising and sliding into
bed. He lay back wearily, the taste of Tom's lips still fresh
upon his own and closed his eyes to sleep.

***************The City ...

It was barely dawn when he came into the city, wearing a cloak
and different than usual clothing, hiding his identity. The
nuptials were going to be taking place that afternoon and he had
little time left in which to make sure they failed. An alliance
of this kind, between Rohan and Gondor, would be the end of his
influence and he couldn't have that.

He was prepared to make sure that one of the two disappeared
before the binding, allowing the current situation to remain
status quo. His men had come before him, making their way into
the city, seeking information even as they made arrangements. He
was to meet one of them now, to finalize the situation and make
sure that they were all on the same page together.

He paused by the paddock, the municipal holding area for horses
that were being left for an hour or two. A tall man wearing black
saw him and came toward him, turning and staring into the corral
filled with horses. He came closer, pausing near to him, close
enough to talk, but not near enough to be connected.

"We have made our plans but there has been a change."

"What change?" he asked, startled by the news.

"The royal binding will happen but not with Boromir. The younger
son has been chosen instead."

"Why?" he asked, his brain working furiously.

"There is no word why, just that it is so. Faramir is the one who
will wed Eomer," he said, watching as the wheels turned in his
master's mind. It was silent a moment and then Grima turned,
glancing at the big man as he considered their options.

"The plan is the same. Only the target is different. The ship? It
is ready?"

He nodded agreement.

Grima smiled, a not so pretty effect and then glanced at the
horses, considering the changes. "This may work better. That
Boromir is a hot head or so I have heard. He would not be well
disposed to Rohan at the loss of his brother. I am told they are
very close and affectionate together."

"They are," the big man said, nodding.

"Very well. There is no time to waste, so make it all happen,"
Grima said, pausing. "Do not fail or we will all die."

The man nodded and turned, walking away, melting into the crowd
that had gathered for the festivities. Grima watched him go and
then drew up his hood, a smile on his face as he considered the
coming hours. With a lighter step, he turned and walked upward,
moving to the upper reaches of the great tiered city. He
disappeared into the crowd, blending in with the multitude as his
plan began to form in the band he had dispatched.

***************In the King's House ...

Faramir stood in front of his mirror, arrayed in his finery, a
beautiful sight in green and crimson. He was tall and slim, his
reddish-blond hair combed and his beard trimmed, framing his
handsome face and his pale eyes. He wore no weapon, none being
needed and as he stood by the mirror, he heard a knock on the
door.

"Enter," he said, turning and walking to the bed, sitting as he
pulled on his boots.

A tall man entered and then another, both bowing slightly as they
paused before him. Faramir stared at them, at the two strangers
before him, rising to speak as he did. "Yes?" he asked, a slight
frown forming on his brow.

"Lord Eomer sent us, my lord. He wishes to speak to you in
private."

The two men wore the livery of the King of Rohan, the green
cloaks of the Rohirrim and the glittering helms as well. They
were no one he had seen before but there were many Rohirrim in
the city and the house and so he nodded, turning and reaching for
his knife. As he did, he felt a sharp pain in his side, the point
of a dagger making him pause.

"You won't need that, my lord," the figure said, his cold eyes
glittering as he spoke.

Faramir froze, straightening slowly and turned to face them, two
men with knives in hand. One of them covered his with his cloak,
the shape of it still visible in its folds. The other raised his,
putting it to Faramir's throat, moving closer as he did.

"You will come with us now. You will make no attempt to flee or
to alert anyone that you are in distress. If you do, we will kill
you before they kill us. Understood?"

Faramir nodded, turning with the men as they moved to his balcony
and peered outside. One of them turned to him, putting the knife
to his throat as the other found a cloak and tossed it to him.

"Put on the cloak and pull up the hood. One of us will be on each
side of you. Keep your head down and don't try anything foolish.
We're leaving the city and if you're smart, you'll play along. If
you aren't, don't believe for a second we won't kill you."

Faramir shrugged on his cloak, pulling the hood around his face
and began the journey from his house to the streets below. With
one man on each side and a sharp blade pressed to his side, he
walked through the jostling crowds, ever alert for the chance to
make a break. They didn't give him one, no one taking more than
passing interest in three men walking together, two of them in
the livery of the Rohirrim of Rohan.

They entered the civic corral, mounting horses that they had left
there, one of them fastening Faramir's hands together and tying
them to the pommel of his saddle. They led his horse, riding on
either side of him and out of the city they went. Moving against
the tide of travelers making for the city, they headed for the
river and the docks that would take them to their ship.

It would be only a matter of time before they were safely on
board, Faramir stowed below decks, bound hand and foot. In the
city, the festivities quickened, people gathering for the binding
and by the time the family realized Faramir was gone, the ship
that bore him away would be sailing down the river, moving away
from Gondor as fast as the wind could bear them.

***************In the King's House ...

"What do you *mean* you cannot find him?" Denethor thundered.
"Where is my son?"

The room was filled with people, guards, family, Rohirrim and
guests. Boromir had searched the house from stem to stern,
finding nothing that would tell where Faramir had gone. But gone
he was and he stood uneasy, watching as Eomer paced in circles.

"This is ridiculous," Theodred said, shaking his head. "He would
be here, this I am sure. He was dedicated to this idea, giving
his brother relief from his burden and he wouldn't be missing
unless something had happened, this I believe."

"What could have happened?" Eomer asked, glancing around the
room, his eyes dark and forbidding.

"I want the city searched," Denethor said. "I want everyone
accounted for from the city to the docks. I want Faramir found."

The room emptied, the King and the Steward standing together.
Theoden turned, staring at Denethor. "You sound like you fear
something has been done here to prevent this from happening."

"What else could it be? My son may be many things but this he
would not have done. Something is not right and I mean to find
out."

Theoden considered Denethor's remarks. "Who would benefit if this
binding didn't happen? After all, it would be in the best
interests of our people to be closer this way."

"There are many in the east but this has a homely feeling. Who in
your household might benefit from such a happening?"

Theoden quelled his offence for a moment and then turned, staring
at the balcony beyond. The city was filled with people and
noises, many distractions and many who would use such a backdrop
for their own means. If it were indeed someone from Rohan who
might not want this alliance, there would be only one name for
them.

"Grima Wormtongue," he said, turning to Denethor. "Find him and
we'll know the truth."

Denethor stared at Theoden for a moment and then nodded, walking
to the door beyond. Opening it, he called for a guard, a captain
of his household stepping inside. Turning to Theoden, he nodded
to him, watching as the King stepped forward.

"There is a man in this city, a visitor from far away. He is
greasy and evil, a man of pale complexion. He is a conjurer of
mischief by the name of Grima Wormtongue. Find him and bring him
here. Search dark corners and places where fell things gather.
You will find him there. Bring him to me directly."

The guard nodded and glanced at Denethor, turning and leaving
with haste. Theoden watched him go and then turned, walking to
the balcony, staring down at the masses that thronged on unaware.
As he stood on the balcony, a ship sailed down the river, a faint
sight from the vantage he held. In its hold, tied up and
helpless, Faramir of Gondor lay.

***************Early morning ...

He shifted in his sleep, turning over, the images in his mind
rousing him subliminally. Settling once more, content within the
comfort of his bed, he feel into dream state once more.

***************In the hold ...

He lay on a pile of robes, rugs that were destined for some great
lord's hall. Bound hand and foot, a gag in his mouth, Faramir
struggled against his bonds. A painful gash in his side echoed
his one attempt to break free as they walked along the docks on
the way to this ship. They had poked him hard, breaking the skin
and he had been dragged onto the ship and down into the hold. A
well placed fist and a couple of kicks had been insult to injury
as he lay helpless in the darkness of the smelly hold.

They had left him alone, shutting out the light, the sound of
rats scurrying in the darkness his only companion. He had no idea
where they were going, no idea when he would be killed and thrown
overboard but he worked as he could, tearing at his bonds, hoping
against hope that he could at last get free.

***************On the road to the river ...

They rode together, passing travelers city bound, as they hurried
to the river and the docks nearby. It was a hard gallop by the
time they reached there, jumping from their mounts as they
hurried forward. Hard words were exchanged as they went from ship
to ship, demanding information as they collared sailors. The
empty berth of the ship that had sailed mocked them as they stood
before it.

"They done gone already."

Boromir turned, staring at an old man, toothless and aged,
mending nets.

"Tell me everything," he said, stepping forward, pausing before
the old man who stared up at him unfazed.

"They done gone," he repeated. "They shoved off, sailing away
downriver. They be heading west, going with the breeze and not
more than an hour or so they did."

"Who left? Describe them to me."

Eomer stood with Boromir, his hard eyes and imposing bulk
impressive to all around them. A small crowd gathered, sailors
and children, all of them watching.

"They was three," he said, squinting in memory. "Two men wearing
cloaks like yours." He pointed at Eomer and the big man shifted
uneasily, glancing at Boromir sharply. "They had another with
them, someone unwilling if you get my meaning'. He was wearing a
cloak like yours," he said, pointing at Boromir. "It was good
clothing, nice and expensive, like yours."

"I saw him," a small boy said, piping up from the crowd.

Boromir turned to him, his gaze frantic. "Tell me what you saw,"
he asked sharply.

The boy flinched and glanced at a man, obviously his father, who
nodded to him.

"He was walking between them, the man with the Gondor cloak. He
was as prisoner, like," the boy said. "They took him on the boat
but he didn't want to go. They made him go and they took him
below deck, shoving him rough like."

"Then they sailed, moving away with the wind," the old man said,
watching as they turned.

Boromir glanced around and then moved to a fast ship, grabbing a
sailor by the arm. "Is this your boat?"

"Yes," he said, nodding as Eomer and three others -two of Gondor
and one of Rohan- joining them in a crowd.

"Sail now. Take us down river. We have to follow that them,"
Boromir said.

The man nodded and hurried to comply as the party boarded,
standing on deck. They pushed off, tugging aboard ropes and the
anchor. Struggling to hurry, Boromir and Eomer helped with the
work. They moved from the docks and out onto the river, making to
put up sails as the ship picked up speed. By the time they were
set, the ship was sailing swiftly and was soon out of sight from
the crowd on the dock.