Faramir Fiction Archive

Some Other End (R)

Written by Lexin

14 December 2005 | 39687 words

Part VIII

Nothink for nothink 'ere, and precious little for sixpence.
Punch vol. lvii, p152. 1869.

Faramir strolled into the Common Room of the Prancing Pony; his arrival caused heads to turn only among the strangers, the locals were used to him by now. "Your usual, sir?" said Butterbur.

"Yes. Thank you, Barliman."

"I'll have a word with you later, if I may?"

"Of course," Faramir took his ale to his accustomed seat by the window, not far from the fire. Some travellers, dwarves for the most part, looked at him curiously for a while - no doubt the locals had told them who he was - but no-one disturbed him.

"How's business?" he asked, when Barliman joined him.

"Not bad. The improvements to the roads mean there's more people through. Pity about those taxes, though."

Faramir kept his smile to himself, "Improvements to the roads have to be paid for somehow."

"No doubt you and Prince Frodo know what you're doing."

"To tell the truth, Barliman, no. We're making it up as we go along. But we're doing our best."

Barliman smiled, but Faramir could see he was not believed. It was far easier for the people to imagine that there was some grand scheme to rebuild Arnor, but Faramir knew only too well that the only thing he had Frodo could hope for was to rule justly, shore up what was already in place, and hope they were not overtaken by some disaster. Faramir asked, "What did you want to talk to me about?"

"You remember when you and Prince Frodo first came back? I told you that there were people coming along the East Road and through Bree who seemed to be escaping trouble?"

"I recall, yes."

"At first it settled down, but lately it's been happening again. The rangers are still here, right enough, I saw that there Alagosín the other day and I'd've asked him about it but he hardly stopped for a sup of ale before he was on his way again. I know that you know 'em, sir, so I wondered if you'd have a word about it?"

Faramir looked again across the inn at the travellers, "I can try - the rangers don't exactly answer to Frodo, as you know, and certainly not to me. Where do the strangers go? Do you know?"

"That's the other odd thing. Some have said that rather than heading south or west as most do, they go north."

"To Fornost?"

"The North Downs and Deadman's Dike," said Barliman. "Nobody sensible 'ud want to go there."

Faramir smiled, "It's the ruins of the city of Fornost, also known as Norbury of the King. But there's nothing there, or not that I've heard."

---

"I suppose Aragorn could have sent them?" said Frodo. When Faramir returned to the castle he'd noticed a light burning in Frodo's rooms. "I imagine he would have told us, but he might have forgotten or the message gone astray."

Faramir smiled, "Surely not gone astray? He's so pleased with that messenger service."

Frodo laughed, "He is, isn't he? I hardly have the heart to tell him it works well enough in Gondor but tends to break down a bit as soon as it gets through the Gap of Rohan, and letters can wait two weeks at Tharbad while the messengers drink, gamble and visit houses of ill-repute."

Faramir blinked, "There are houses of ill-repute at Tharbad?" He crossed the room to sit on the comfortable seat beside Frodo.

Frodo set aside the papers he'd been working on. "There were houses of ill-repute in Minas Tirith, but you were too honourable to notice them."

"I am not a complete innocent," said Faramir, stung.

"Faramir! You took Sam to one and failed to notice what it was."

"But I only ever went to one wine shop with Sam. Oh. He must have thought me very stupid."

"No. Just someone who spent too much time in council chambers and libraries and on campaign. But it does explain why your father spent that evening giving you Morgoth's stare."

"I thought it was because I spent all day in a wine shop, drinking."

"It was because you spent all day in a brothel. He thought I might find out and turn you down. Even Bree has a brothel."

"Not the Pony!"

"No!" Frodo laughed, "Butterbur doesn't even employ women to wait at table in case they get their bottoms pinched. It's the Muddy Duck on Twofarthing Lane."

"The scruffy little inn on the corner by that tumbledown cottage? I've seen it, but I've never been there."

"I know you haven't. If you had, someone in this town of long tongues wagging at both ends would have instantly made sure I found out about it. And neither have I, for the same reason."

Faramir made an effort to return to their original subject, "What about the strangers travelling to Fornost?"

"I can't imagine what they might want, there is no treasure there that I ever heard though I suppose they might believe differently. May even be right for all I know. Nobody lives there, so they're not visiting relatives."

"I left a message with Butterbur for the rangers to contact me."

"Good. In the meantime, I don't think there's much we can do. People are free to visit the ruins of Fornost if they wish, even if we don't know why they're there. What are you thinking?"

Faramir smiled, "In Minas Tirith when I was growing up, a man obtained permission from my father to use his library. I remember talking to him; he used to dig up old houses and the bones of the dead, not to steal or despoil or father would have had him hanged, but to study them. He wrote down everything he learned about how the people of the Elder Days lived, hoping to recapture Gondor's lost greatness. Most people thought him mad."

"Do you think these travellers are of the same mind?"

"I doubt it," Faramir smiled more widely at the idea. "I doubt there could be more than one such oddity. But it occurred to me now how interesting Orodreth would have found Fornost."

"You liked him?"

"I did, strangely enough. I found his study and his theories most interesting. I would have liked to learn more of his methods and discoveries, but of course soldiering came first."

"Everything in your life took second place to that," said Frodo. He leaned against Faramir, and put an arm around his waist.

"Of course, it was necessary. Still is," Faramir wanted to break Frodo's suddenly melancholy mood. "I don't regret it."

"Do you ever wonder what might have been?"

"Not usually. After all, I made a terrible mistake had I wanted any other kind of life."

"What was that?" Frodo was clearly bewildered.

"Chose the wrong parents," said Faramir. It worked, Frodo laughed, and Faramir smiled at him.

---

A few days later Alagosín arrived at the castle. Cheesman, for once following his instructions, showed him in to one of the smaller rooms. "Do you ever use the throne room," Alagosín asked.

"Not if we can avoid it," Faramir looked up from the papers he was reading.

Alagosín laughed, "Those thrones don't look too comfortable."

"They're not. Not even metaphorically." He put papers and pen aside and indicated that Alagosín should sit. "Have you talked to Butterbur?"

"Yes."

"What do you make of it?"

"The travellers, as you noticed, are mostly dwarves. Which is curious. It occurred to us some time ago that with the balrog gone and Sauron defeated, Moria is no longer closed to them. We know they have tried to enter Moria by way of the Dimrill Dale, and found that way closed. They crossed the mountains using the northern pass, for Caradrhas remains resistant and the Redhorn Gate is closed, and tried to enter using the gates of Hollin. It appears that way is also blocked."

"I know these places by name only - the minstrels sing of them when they tell the tale of Frodo of the Nine Fingers." Faramir sighed, "But none do so in this hall unless Samwise is present. For him alone will Frodo endure it, and even then not always. Go on, what do the dwarves want in Fornost?"

"We believe they are here on instructions, though whose we do not know. Nor do we know what they seek; we believe it may have something to do with their attempts to enter Moria, but that is merely supposition."

Faramir twirled his pen in his fingers, "I could go and find out, but I would not leave Frodo when he is unwell."

"The Ringbearer is ill?"

"At this time of year the memory of all he endured presses upon him. He will recover in a day or two."

---

"You should go," said Frodo. He sat by the fire, dressed, but warmly for the time of year, and he looked pale and tired.

"We will, if it is still necessary, when you have recovered." Faramir saw the mutinous look on Frodo's face. "We face our dangers together, and the matter is not so urgent that it cannot wait a few more days."

"We do not know that."

"Then we will trust to good fortune. Alagosín and three of the rangers have gone to spy out the land and I have written to the King Under the Mountain. I have done all that is immediately possible. If what is at the bottom of this is an attempt to get into Moria without the leave of King Elessar or Thorin Stonehelm then I pity them. But no law I know of says they must approach us before going to Fornost." Faramir did not like the look on Frodo's face. "What is it?"

"Nothing. I'm being foolish, I'm sure."

Faramir sat beside Frodo on the low chair, and took his hand gently into his own. "What worries you?"

"Always during this time of year my mind and heart are full of the dark."

"I know." Faramir wanted so much to bring Frodo comfort. He tried, but he could never find the right words.

"These dreams, this dream was different. Most are of the past, and for all their pain I know they are gone. This was more of the now, a warning in my heart that you are in danger." Frodo smiled suddenly. "But you have done your best, and we must trust that is sufficient. What is for dinner?"

"You must be feeling better. I believe it is pork, unless they have burned it, in which case it will be something else."

"Faramir, have you no trust in our servants?"

"Do I need to answer that?"

---

By the time that Alagosín returned Frodo was well again to Faramir's relief, and they were together in that same warm room - for it was a cold spring in Eriador that year. Frodo indicated that Alagosín should sit, and asked, "What news? Faramir told me where you've been."

Alagosín stretched out in the warmth of the fire, to Faramir's amusement; Alagosín normally appeared above such minor matters as physical comfort. "Deadman's Dike is a peculiar place and not somewhere I'd would wish return had I a choice."

"Did you discover what the travellers seek?" asked Faramir.

"Yes and no."

"And I thought elves spoke in riddles," said Frodo. "Is it a taint one picks up from contact?"

"It may be," said Alagosín, looking amused at the idea.

"That would explain fully half of everything King Elessar writes," said Frodo.

"I do not think so," said Faramir, after a moment. "My brother is much worse, everything in pages and pages of tortured prose." Faramir had received a letter from Boromir only the day before, one that covered everything happening in Ithilien but nothing at all about Éowyn or the children. "It is fortunate that he does not write often."

"And the elvish blood in your mother's house of Dol Amroth is but a myth?" Frodo's smile was teasing.

"Ah. I had forgotten that. You may be correct after all."

Alagosín laughed, "Frodo is usually right, I've found. To return to my journey?" Frodo indicated he continue. "When we arrived at Fornost we discovered several groups of travellers, not just one, and dwarves and men. None would give a clear account of their reason for being there, their aims and purposes. There being already broken heads among them, we brought them back to Bree and have them in the lockholes here. We hope the authority of the prince might be of assistance."

Faramir caught Frodo's resigned glance. Frodo murmured, "What a pity that when the folk of Bree built this castle they omitted dungeons. This is not the first time we've been inconvenienced this way."

---

"Business must be good at the Mucky Duck," said Frodo as they rode past next morning.

Faramir looked round, "It's doubled in size! Ah, I see, they have incorporated that cottage. I would imagine Bree does host many travellers passing through." From Frodo's troubled expression, Faramir gathered that they were of one mind on the matter. Everywhere had an unpleasant side; he recalled that even Rivendell had privies, and that they were very clean privies only underlined to his mind the fact that someone had to clean them. There was little they could do about the brothel unless someone complained.

Faramir was accustomed to dealing with the stubborn: after all, he and Frodo had now been handfasted for some eight years. The stubbornness of dwarves, however, was legendary, and as Faramir discovered, they entirely lived up to it.

He remembered with some vividness the story Bilbo had told him in Rivendell, how Thranduil of Mirkwood kept Thorin Oakenshield and company in his dungeons for several weeks before Bilbo had rescued them. He could only hope these dwarves proved less resistant and were not supplied with a resourceful hobbit.

After a fruitless morning trying to persuade a group of dwarves to tell him something - anything - Faramir moved on to the men. "Where are you from?" he asked, "for I perceive that you are like and yet unlike the men of Rohan."

"Dunland," said one. He was a sandy-haired fellow, somewhat younger than Faramir.

"Your village?"

"Swansrest. It lies to the east of the road, south of Swanfleet."

"Your name?"

"Cinadry. Why are we being held here? We have done naught wrong, not like others."

"If you answer my questions honestly you will be permitted to go on your way," said Faramir, as patiently as he could manage. "What do you seek here?"

"You waste my time with questions..." Cinadry stopped.

One of his companions had put a hand on Cinadry's arm, and this man now spoke, "Sir. We have no quarrel with any here save the men we seek, and you are not among them."

"Whom do you seek?" Faramir had no feeling that these men were attempting to mislead him. "Tell your story."

"Some men came to our village, this was late last year. They offered my daughter gold to come north, promised her a job as a servant in a great house. I did not believe them and sent them packing. After winter they returned, again offering gold if she would come. All fathers imagine their daughters to be beautiful and talented, but my Ketas is more than most, and I did not trust them. I sent them away again." Cinadry looked up, suddenly. "Have you daughters yourself?"

"No," said Faramir.

"Then you are fortunate. Their talk had filled her head with thoughts of finery, and nothing would please her but that she go with them. Even her mother pleaded with her saying that there were no fine houses in the north. Though now, seeing you, I see that that is not so."

"Go on."

"I tried to persuade her once again, and I am afraid that in my anger and nameless fear I struck her. It was a mistake, I know that now. In the night she must have packed up her few things and when her mother called her to help with the milking she was gone. Our house is but one room, she..." Cinadry stopped and swallowed, "She must have been so silent..."

Faramir silently handed the man a kerchief, and waited for him to calm. "You believe they came north? That they were not leading her to Minas Tirith or Edoras?"

"No, sir," one of the others answered. "I was up before dawn that morning, and I saw them leave. I did not realise that Ketas was with them or I would have tried to stop them leaving. They were heading north as I watched them."

"I blame myself still," said Cinadry. "If only we had been able to follow that same day..."

"We did not at first realise she had run," said the second man. "Her mother believed she was away sulking, as she had been the first time the men left. We lost time."

"Your wife was right about one thing," said Faramir, as gently as he could, "there are few fine houses in the north. I..."

"She is not employed in Bree," said Cinadry. "That we have found out. And nor does she work for the unnatural princes in their castle in the lands beyond. Perhaps she works for you?"

"I fear not," said Faramir. "At least, we have no servant called Ketas, and I know all my servants by name." He waited again for Cinadry to calm. "That explains what you were doing here in the north, but why had you gone to Fornost?"

"Where?"

"The place where the rangers found you. You may also know it as the North Downs, Deadman's Dike or Norbury of the Kings."

"Deadman's Dike is the best name for it," said Cinadry, with a shiver. "One of us, Tuon here, thought he recognised one of the men who came to our village. We followed him, he was with some others. We were never sure..."

"I was," broke in Tuon. "I swear that one of them was the one who called himself Naerdir."

"What did they do when you reached Deadman's Dike?"

"Waited until nightfall, then set upon the dwarves. When your men came they ran off," said Tuon. "They weren't caught like the rest of us."

"I see." Faramir leaned back.

"What will happen to us now?" asked Cinadry.

"Nothing. What inn were you staying in while in Bree?"

"An inn?" Tuon smiled, "We do not have the silver to pay for an inn. We set up camp in a field belonging to one of those little people. He said he didn't mind."

"Do you know his name?"

"Something odd. Greenleaf, I think, as if leaves come in many other colours."

"Do you remember his other name?" asked Faramir. "There are many hobbits called Greenleaf in Bree." The Dunlendings looked at each other helplessly. Faramir continued, "I must check your story before I can release you. In the meantime, I will send some men at arms back to Fornost to try to find the men you told me of and to the villages around to see if any have heard of your daughter."

"How can you do this? Who are you?" Tuon looked at Faramir with new respect.

"I am the unnatural prince who intends to see to it that your daughter's fate is discovered. So if any part of your story is untrue, or there is more that would help, please speak quickly."

---

"Were they telling the truth?" asked Frodo at dinner that night.

"It was a long and complicated lie, if it was one. The man seemed genuinely distraught at the loss of his daughter, they were Dunlendings and they had been staying in Hugo Greenleaf's field. That took me less than half an ale in the Pony to find out."

"And the girl?"

"Nobody in Bree has a Dunlending maidservant, nor yet in Archet, Staddle or Coombe. Or any foreign maidservant that I can discover." Faramir looked up from his food to see Frodo looking amused, "Out with it, whatever it is."

"What did he say when he realised who you were?"

"Nothing. Well, he thanked me for my help, though I have yet done nothing for him."

"What do you think has happened to her?"

Faramir lifted his goblet, looked into his wine for a moment and then said, "A young girl from a poor family enticed away by strangers? Likely she's dead."

"Yes," said Frodo. "That had occurred to me, too."

---

Next day Faramir and Frodo returned to the lockholes to question the dwarves. He gave the order to release the Dunlendings, but cautioned them against leaving Bree. There was nothing they could do which was not already being done.

The dwarves told him very little and Frodo only a small amount more. Faramir wished heartily that there was a fast method of getting word to the King under the Mountain, but the messenger had been gone only a few days.

The dwarves had, of course, been separated from their baggage, and Faramir saw Frodo eyeing the packs speculatively. "What is in your mind?" he asked.

"I believe I have the beginnings of a plan. Though perhaps it would be better if you knew nothing of it."

"No. Whatever it is I will bear my part of the responsibility for it in the eyes of our people."

Frodo looked at him for a moment, and then said, "Very well."

---

Frodo had some of their men at arms lay the packs out on the floor of the passageway outside the cells. "I intend," he told the dwarves, "to have our men search your packs. We would prefer to do this with your agreement..." Frodo's eyes moved to Faramir, who had insisted they be given the opportunity to give permission. "But if necessary we will have them do so without."

A man at arms, Faramir knew he had the curious name of Borninmay, picked up the first, and Faramir asked, "Whose is this?"

"Mine," came a dwarvish voice from the nearest cell.

"Your permission?"

"Very well. I have nothing to hide."

"Let us hope not," said Frodo.

Faramir did not much like the idea of searching the baggage of innocent travellers, and some of their prisoners were innocent, at least of intending harm to any in Bree-land or Eriador. These Frodo ordered released. That left five dwarves who looked dangerously mutinous at their continued incarceration, but who could not explain the blasting powder in their baggage. These Frodo ordered to be locked up again, each held separately.

"There are days," said Frodo as he climbed down from his pony, "when I hate being prince. I would have much preferred to remain quietly at Bag End but I suppose that would have been a waste of your talents."

"Mine?" said Faramir. "You rule here."

Frodo looked amused, "And I suppose you merely provide decoration?"

"And a long arm with a sword."

"Which it looks as if someone has need of," Frodo turned as a man entered the gates at a run. "Bob? What's happened?"

"It's Butterbur, he says can one of you come quickly?"

When Faramir arrived at the Prancing Pony it was to find a chaotic scene of overturned tables and spilled ale. "What happened, Barliman?" Faramir surveyed the mess in perplexity. There were occasionally arguments, even fights, at the Pony, but normally these were nothing Butterbur couldn't cope with. This looked, from the damage and the mess, to be altogether out of the ordinary.

"It was them there Dunlendings. You didn't ought to have let them out of the lockholes."

Faramir sighed, "They had done nothing wrong. I had no choice."

"Well, they've done something wrong now!"

"Tell me what happened...I mean before the fight started."

"There were a few bodies in, just having a sup of ale and a talk as they do." Butterbur sat down on the remains of a settle. "Then one of them Dunlendings was here, and says he's looking for a bloke what he's seen come in. There weren't nobody - I mean, nobody he wanted - in the Common Room. So he waited quietly enough for a bit and then started wandering. I don't like that, you know I don't. Folks have a right to have their dinners private-like. So I threw him out. Next thing I know he's telling me that all us northerners - pardon your presence, sir - are in league with someone for something I didn't rightly understand. Some of my regulars didn't like that and a fight started. The other Dunlendings joined in and this is the result." Butterbur looked sadly round the wrecked common room.

"I see," said Faramir. "Which of the Dunlendings was it?"

"All of 'em."

"The one who started it?"

"I don't know. They all look the same to me."

"Well, thank you, Barliman. I'll do what I can," said Faramir.

"Think they'll pay for the damage?"

Faramir had to be honest, "I doubt it, Barliman. If they had any money they'd be staying at your inn, not wrecking it."

---

The sun was starting to set as Faramir rode across Hugo Greenleaf's meadow. The Dunlendings stood around their camp, and they looked particularly sullen to see Faramir arrive.

"You have come to take us away," Tuon stepped forward.

"Not necessarily," replied Faramir.

"And hardly on his own," one of the others said.

"We would not fight him," said Tuon. "There has been enough foolishness of that kind for one day."

"Where is Cinadry?" asked Faramir.

The Dunlendings looked at each other. "He's disappeared," said Tuon.

Faramir could only hope he didn't look as blank as he felt. "In Bree?" he said. "How?"

"He said he'd seen one of those we seek, going into the inn. He was going there to see him. He never came back. That was yesterday. So Duin here went to the inn to try to find him. The innkeeper doesn't like us; he would not help and tried to throw Duin out when he tried to search. We went to help him and a fight started."

"You say he went to an inn," Faramir said. "Which inn?"

"There is but one."

"There are three," corrected Faramir. "The Prancing Pony, the Sun and the Mucky Duck."

"We only know of one."

"And we know that he is not there. So that leaves the Sun and the Mucky Duck." Faramir sighed. "Do not come with me; you have done more than enough damage for one day."

Faramir's horse gave him a rather martyred look as he remounted; Bree was not a large town, but it was larger than it had been when Faramir first passed through. The Sun was closer so he went there first. Nothing. The inn catered mostly to big folk of the poorer sort, and though they looked at him with distrust, he was satisfied that they had not seen the missing Dunlending.

---

The moment Faramir walked through the door of the Mucky Duck he realised that he should probably have brought at least one of his men-at-arms with him. On the other hand, there was nothing obviously objectionable about the place. Some men sat with ale or wine, and in a corner on a slightly raised dais, a young woman sat with a harp, singing as a young man played the flute. Her dress was somewhat more revealing than most Bree-women would wear in the street, but actually rather less so than he had seen on some young women at the Court at Minas Tirith.

All stared at him as he crossed the room, which was rather uncomfortable, but he reached the bar without comment being made. The barman turned to face him. It was Gamil Twotrees.

Something clicked into place in Faramir's mind. Had Twotrees smiled, Faramir would have been hard put to it to keep his hand from the hilt of his sword, but all he said was, "A drink, sir."

"Very well," said Faramir. What he had to ask might go better with a drink.

"Wine?"

Faramir nodded and took the drink he was offered. He looked about again; the other men had gone back to their drinks and the girl sang on without appearing to have noticed him. Her face was very pale, and her lips redder than was natural. Her hair was blonde, but unwashed looking. Faramir sipped his wine and turned back to Twotrees.

---

The room was dark, Faramir felt dizzy and very sick. He recognised the effects of sandrinard, but was too nauseated to care. He groaned, unable to help himself, and there was a movement somewhere in the room. He wondered if it was some kind of vermin, but then heard a noise, perhaps a sob, certainly a sniff, and a shuffle.

He tried to remember what had happened. He was sure he'd talked to Twotrees. He seemed to recall a long conversation, but not really what had been said, just a growing sense of anger and frustration. He thought he could remember standing, or trying to stand, then blackness.

Under the sandrinard headache he could feel another sharper pain - had he hit his head on something? And if so, what? The shuffling sound grew louder, and suddenly a pale, oddly squat, face looked into his own as if down a well.

Had he been able to move he would have jumped back, but he couldn't. He lay still and endured the curious stare. The head withdrew and Faramir heard a female voice speak in a language he did not understand. It returned a moment later, he was lifted and something wet was placed against his lips. She spoke again, then changed to the common tongue, "You're not dead, then. Not dead. And them wanting your lovely clothes, too. And your sword."

It was then he realised he was naked.

She offered him a little more water, and he swallowed it thankfully. It soothed his stomach, just a little.

"Who are you?" he said. He had intended his voice to be clear, strong and confident but what came out was a cross between a croak and a whisper.

Even then she said, "Not so loud, my lovely one. Not so loud. Gamil thinks you're dead, and better he does until I can get you out of here." She laughed and Faramir wondered about her sanity, not that there was much he could do. "Shitting tree trunks, that one is. Thinks he's killed the halfling prince's handsome husband. But we'll prove him wrong, won't we, my sweet? And see him hanging, like a ripe apple."

"Where am I?" he whispered, since it was clear he wasn't going to get an answer to his original question.

"In the cellar, with the other dead beauties, or nearly. But you're not dead, are you, my lovely? Don't go back to sleep. You can't sleep here." The woman offered him some more water, which he swallowed obediently. He resolutely kept his eyes open, listening to her move about. Time passed slowly, and Faramir wondered what hour it was outside. He seemed to have been in this place for hours though it could have been minutes or days for all he could tell.

The effects of the sandrinard receded and Faramir found that he could move a little, first his arms and hands, and then his legs. This was his first inkling that he was lying inside a box - and why the white face seemed to be looking down on him from a height. He guessed he was on the floor. The loudest noise came from somewhere above and away from him and a cover was placed over his box. Faramir swallowed. Coffin. They believed him dead. He flexed his fingers and toes as best he could.

A voice, a male, "Mim! Mim, where are you?" Faramir thought it sounded like Twotrees.

"Here, master." The woman; Faramir recognised that voice.

"You're needed, you useless lump! There's meals to be got, you can't be sat down here mooning over some dead prince. Move!"

A door slammed and Faramir almost moved, but the lid was lifted and the air stirred. The man's voice said, "Not but what you're worth a look." Faramir tried desperately not to show by a flicker of an eyelid or a breath that he was alive. "A waste, that body in the bed of a halfling. Or maybe not? They say how much he enjoyed you, and you endured it. Never showed if it disgusted you, but never a smile. Like one of those statues up at Deadman's Dike, a fallen king from an old tale." Twotrees dropped the coffin lid over him and Faramir winced at the noise. "Enough of this. You'll be rotting away soon enough." The door slammed again.

Faramir desperately tried to stay awake, but his head was still full of empty cloud and he closed his eyes.

He was shaken awake. This time he immediately recognised the voice: the woman Twotrees had called Mim. "You can't sleep, lovely one. Wake quickly, they're coming with shovels. Come!"

Faramir took a deep breath, and tried to sit up. He was mostly successful, though he flopped over the side of the coffin. The woman pulled him up by the arms and shoulders; it was painful, but he was able to stand. He leaned on her and climbed out.

"Here!" she said. "Sit!"

He did so, finding a barrel behind him. He watched her as she dropped two sacks of grain into the coffin. "You're no great weight, are you, my lovely?" she glanced over at him while she put down the lid. "Now, quick!" she said. "He'll be here soon," she helped Faramir, not to the door but to a wall.

He watched, wondering once again if she were insane. It appeared not, shelves pulled back and a black opening was revealed with a flight of stairs down. A sweetish, musty smell came up and Faramir clamped down hard on the need to vomit. "Hide you," Mim said, her voice low. "Until he's gone. Just until he's gone, I promise." She braced her strength against him.

The stairs were difficult, not steep or long but Faramir's legs had the consistency of boiled asparagus. Mim dropped him at the bottom of the stairs, shuffled back up and closed the door.

The darkness was complete and total. He could not tell whether his eyes were open or closed. He pulled himself shakily upright using the wall to lean on, and caught his breath. Moving very slowly he crept forward, feeling his way along the wall with both hands and feeling the floor with his feet. The ground seemed to be earth, dry packed, and the walls were shelved as far as he could tell. The horrible, sweetish smell was strong - and somehow familiar. He turned a corner, then another, then another. He stopped; he dared go no further, afraid of losing his bearings. He could feel he was sweating just from that exertion and cursed his reaction to sandrinard with what strength he had left.

A noise somewhere behind him caused his heart to race; he heard Twotrees' voice, "It's not as heavy as I would have expected."

There was grunt, also male, and another voice, "It's heavy enough. Where d'you want it buried?"

"Near the back, I think there's space... Hold that light up, stupid sow! How're we supposed to see?"

For now, Faramir could see a light coming round the corner. He moved as quickly as he could away from it as it advanced - stark fear was a considerable aid, he discovered. There were two of them, three if you counted the person with the light and he was naked and unarmed. He crouched down behind some barrels - he seemed to have gone as far as he could. Beside him, also providing some protection, was a set of ramshackle shelves holding two long boxes.

He watched as the two men dragged the coffin into the centre of the room. Twotrees went back and fetched two shovels; these he handed out, one to the other man and the other to the woman. The took the torch and pushed her, roughly. "Get digging, both of you. I want him nice and deep."

"You never bothered..."

"Get on with it, and stop your whining. Get on!" Twotrees struck the woman, and then the man. "We ain't got all night."

She made no protest at the blow, but raised the shovel obediently and started to dig. As she did so Faramir became aware of something he'd only vaguely been aware of before: the woman definitely had orc blood: that face and those slanted eyes. He'd realised of course that Mim was no beauty, but this had never struck him before. No reason why it should, of course, as far as he knew there were no orc women and even a half orc was something of a surprise. The man took a few seconds longer to obey, but did so in the end.

It took the two a long time to dig a hole large enough to please Twotrees, and Faramir felt his legs stiffen - it was extremely difficult staying low enough to remain hidden. After a while he had to lean on the shelves and hope the movement was invisible. It was slight relief, but sufficient to allow him to remain crouched - seeing what they were about he did not care to sit on the ground if he could avoid it, not to mention that he was not sure he could so without making a sound.

At last they dropped the coffin into the ground and covered it, Twotrees gave the cellar a comprehensive look round and Faramir held his breath. Twotrees turned and led the way out still holding the torch. The door closed, leaving the cellar in darkness again.

Faramir tried to move, his legs were cramping badly and he dropped to his knees, taking deep breaths. He attempted to stand again, this time using the shelves and boxes as leverage; this was more successful, he pulled himself up slowly. As he did so, he felt a crunch, which sounded loud in the dark and silence, and a part of the box broke off. He suppressed a yell of horror as something that had been inside flopped out and hit him. It hung there. It was cold, unpleasantly so, and the sweetish musty smell increased. Standing now, he moved slowly forward and felt a hand. A dead, cold, hand. It didn't move, but Faramir did - his instinctive jump back brought him in contact with the barrels and he cursed silently at the noise.

Moving very slowly and still shivering with horror, he made his way back to the rise of the stairs and let around for where he knew the opening must be. He could hear nothing in the room beyond.

It was difficult, feeling in the dark for a mechanism he knew must be there, but had no idea what it looked or felt like. At last he found a catch, and raised it. The door swung outward.

To his relief, the room beyond was empty. Now that he could see it properly it appeared to be some sort of store room attached to the kitchen and the light he'd been aware of came from a high and dirty window. It must have been night when he first woke, but now it was day and the room was at least somewhat lighter than it had been. He closed the door behind him, and it swung to with a soft snick which argued frequent oiling.

He leaned against it, and looked around again. The kitchen storeroom held nothing obvious by way of clothing; he had half hoped for an empty sack, or even a full sack that he could empty, but there was nothing. Still, he couldn't stay where he was.

He looked up at the windows. There were a couple of barrels he could use to help him climb, and he was thankful that he was now feeling strong enough to move them. The window was intended to open but was old; he surmised it was part of the old cottage. It took him some time to persuade the catch to come undone, but he managed it eventually, more out of desperation than anything else.

Had Faramir been a big man he'd never have managed to get through the window. As it was, the struggle cost him scrapes on his arms, legs and back, and once through he dropped to the ground with the grace of a sack of potatoes. From the quality of the light, Faramir guessed it to be very early morning. He stood up and leaned against the inn wall for a moment to get his bearings.

---

The first thing that Faramir was aware of when he walked into the Prancing Pony was an earth-shattering crash as Butterbur dropped a breakfast tray. Before he could speak, Faramir said, "Fetch Frodo. Now, Barliman."

"Bob!" yelled Butterbur. Faramir winced, his head still hurt and the fall from the window had not helped.

Bob arrived and stared at Faramir, "Prince Faramir, sir. Everyone's been so worried..."

"Go get Prince Frodo," said Butterbur, "and ask him to bring some clothes for the Prince. Go on, then!" One more stare, then Bob was gone. Butterbur turned, "You'll be wanting a room?"

Faramir had a mental vision of walking into the Common Room as he was. He couldn't help it, he laughed. He was sure it was more than half shock and it must have sounded it for Butterbur took him by the arm, "This way, sir. I'll get you a bath and something to eat, and Prince Frodo won't be more than a few minutes. He's been right worried about you and no mistake. Come on, sir."

"How long have I been..." Faramir tried to conquer his hysteria.

"About three days, or a little more."

"Three days?"

"Yes, sir."

"Butterbur? Is Alagosín around? And Borninmay?"

"Yes, sir." Butterbur steered him along a corridor and to an unoccupied room.

"Good. Send them to me as soon as you can." He wrapped himself in a sheet.

"I want a watch put on the Mucky Duck," said Faramir, when they arrived. That had been so quick that Faramir realised they must be staying at the inn.

"It's been searched," said Borninmay.

"Not well enough," said Faramir, "since that's where I was for the last three days. And you can wipe that look off your face; Gamil Twotrees tried to murder me, and very nearly succeeded. He must not be allowed to escape."

"At once, my Prince," Borninmay's look of shock was almost worth it.

"It's worse," said Faramir to Alagosín. He wrapped the sheet tighter around him. "Very much worse. Find me one of the Dunlendings, Cinadry if he has returned, though I suspect he met the fate that they intended for me, or Tuon. It must be someone who knew the girl Ketas well."

---

Frodo was nearly as angry as Faramir suspected he was going to be, but he did bring clothes. Frodo's anger with him Faramir easily identified as a result of fear, and forgave it even as the words were spoken: had Frodo disappeared for three days without word or explanation he'd have been furious.

Faramir was washed and dressed again before Alagosín returned with the Dunlending - as Faramir had suspected he'd found Tuon, who came in slowly and looked around the small parlour. His expression underlined as little could have the poverty of the village he came from: it was hard for Faramir to imagine anything else which would make a parlour in the Prancing Pony as impressive as the throne room at Minas Tirith.

Tuon's eyes widened still more at their dress: Frodo had brought the first thing which came to hand, an outfit which included a shirt so heavily encrusted with embroidery that Faramir hardly ever wore it, and had obviously been in the middle of a meeting requiring full formal dress.

"You know the girl, Ketas?" said Faramir.

"Yes, my Lord."

"Very well."

---

The fight was short but fierce, and Faramir was bone-weary. He was not sure that he wanted to know more, but he had no alternative. Searches - now they knew where to search - had turned up six sad coffins now in a row in the main room of the Mucky Duck. Outside might have been better, but Frodo did not want their investigations to be overlooked by the rest of the town.

Frodo, who took charge, first had Tuon meet those people in the Mucky Duck who were still alive: Ketas turned out to be a young girl with mouse-brown hair. She had spent the morning since they arrived with their men-at-arms weeping whenever anyone spoke to her, and often when they did not. This included Tuon, at whose arrival she howled.

Faramir had seen death in many forms, had even caused it in the course of defending Ithilien. This was different. These had not been fighting men who presumably knew the risks they faced, they were women, for the most part, and young. Some even had babies in the coffins. He felt, looking at them, as if he would never again be clean. Inconsequentially, he thought that it was just as well this had not been his favourite shirt; he would never again be able to wear it without remembering.

By the time they identified Cinadry, Faramir was so weary he could barely stand. As he left the inn he passed Mim, standing with the other prisoners, and heard her say, "I knew you'd do it for me, my lovely." He shivered.

---

He woke next morning in his own bed at Chetwood. He tried to sit up and found that every bone ached, "Lie still," came Frodo's voice.

"No," he said. "I need to move."

"I might have known there'd be no reasoning with you."

Faramir hauled himself into a sitting position and Frodo put pillows behind him, allowing him to lean back. The curtains were closed, but he could see a bright sunny day around the cracks. It didn't seem fair.

"You'll want to know what happened after I sent you back here."

"Yes," Faramir nodded and realised he still had a headache.

Cheesman came in with a tray, and Frodo put it on his lap. Toast, only slightly burned, and tea.

"Go on," he said, when Cheesman had gone.

"Start with this," Frodo handed him a goblet of some green liquid. It tasted vile, but Faramir drank it.

"What was that?"

"Tincture of willow bark. For the pain."

Faramir reached for the toast, hoping it would rid him of the taste. "One of Rose's?"

"Rose made it up, but it's from a book that Elrond gave Bilbo." Frodo pulled himself onto the side of the bed. "I have ordered Gamil Twotrees hanged. Alongside him will be three others, and the woman, Mim." He paused, "I'm sorry, Faramir, I know she saved your life, but she had a hand in what happened there: whenever those poor young women became inconveniently pregnant, which they did quite often, Twotrees was using her skill as midwife to...well, you can imagine."

Faramir hoped he didn't look as ill as he felt. "Do you think she'll know what's happening?"

"I don't know whether to hope she won't - or that she will."

"What do the people say?"

"If I had not ordered Twotrees - and five others - hanged, they would have done it themselves. Better, I think, that I should do it honestly and legally."

"We," said Faramir. "For I must also take responsibility, not least for not having noticed something was wrong."

"Now you are being foolish. Both you and I are comparative strangers here. How should we have seen it? Even Butterbur, who's lived here all his life, did not suspect the extent of the evil." Frodo shivered, and Faramir put an arm around him, and drew him close.

"There is much cruelty in the world that the Nameless Evil and his Ring had no hand in," said Faramir. "I suspect that the abuse of a few young girls would have not interested him much. I have even known Men who would see it as worth a bawdy joke, perhaps, but nothing more. Has Tuon taken Ketas back to Dunland?"

Frodo's face darkened, "No. I have no idea what Cinadry and the others expected to find, but Tuon says she can't return, that she's 'unclean'. All she does is weep, which I can entirely understand. I've left her with Rose; if anyone can talk some hobbit-sense into any of them, Rose can."

"I suppose..."

"No, Faramir. We cannot take in every stray kitten you find by the roadside or our household will be beyond feeding."

"I am responsible..."

Frodo sighed, "No, you are not. You offered to help, and it was a kind offer. You helped, and succeeded where none other had. They must take it from here."

"Sometimes you sound like my father."

Frodo looked up and smiled, "Because sometimes, my husband, your father's right. He ruled Gondor a long time, and one of the hardest parts of being a prince, as I've discovered, is knowing when to step back."

NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]

Enjoyed this story? Then be sure to let the author know by posting a comment at https://www.faramirfiction.com/fiction/some-other-end. Positive feedback is what keeps authors writing more stories!