Chap 18: Memories and Secrets

"Mel, this is bad right?"

"Oh yes," she sneezed involuntarily, but still gripped her staff like a lifeline, "very bad".

Avon tried not to flinch at the spearheads inches from his throat and also tried to figure out why this particular thing had gone so terribly wrong.

They had been walking for days, three, maybe four, and were still drying out from their little trek across the "stream" when this had happened. The stream had some potholes that they had fallen into that came over their heads and had made them both look like bedraggled rats, but did it really make them look like the Wild Men that these guys were accusing them of being? Did he really look that bad?

He had tried telling them who he was, but apparently they were either not in the mood for listening, or these riders really were too suspicious for their own good. And they wouldn't even let him speak to their leader who was just standing over there...just over there. All he had to do was...a spear blocked his way and he backed up again, trying to look apologetic and still trying to catch the eye of the leader.

Finally after some very tense moments, the leader finally broke off the discussion he was having with his Second it seemed and came towards them. The circle of horses parted and some spears lifted to give him space. If he was really able to take proper notice, the discipline would have made him make a very positive statement...in any other circumstance of course.

"So, what is your purpose here so close to the walls of Edoras?" The Leader spoke very frankly and looked them up and down, his only reaction to their appearance was a slight raise of the eyebrow which seemed to remind Avon comically of Hugo Weaving. He got impatient pretty fast too. "Well? Speak up!"

The eyebrows were now creased into a scary representation of Gandalf and Avon could only blurt out one word...which also somehow coincided directly after Mel's exclamation.

"Fellowship!" She said.

"Eomér?" Avon questioned, and both looked at each other in surprise. But then quickly looked back at the Leader.

Said Leader blinked at them both, then he seemed to be studying them more closely before his eyes widened and he called out to one of his men in a language that soundly strangely like Welsh and Irish combined into one muddled, yet smooth mess.

The spears withdrew and within a few minutes, and scurrying, around a spare horse¹ was brought forward and the now identified leader, Eomér, was off his and holding out his arm to Avon. The young man took it and they did that warrior grasp thing that, so long ago it seemed, was once so amusing to him. Now he didn't give a rats arse and was just happy to see a friendly face.

"God it's good to see ya, man!" Avon grinned as Eomér almost smiled.

"As it is you. We all feared we would never hear your singing again."

The man's comment made Avon's face bright red and he tried to block his ears from the snickering around him. He knew they weren't being mean about it, but he wasn't looking forward to any further remarks on that particular embarrassing subject.

Mel leaned close to his ear. "Singing?" She sounded amused.

Avon groaned and sighed, then replied softly. "Say one bloody more word about it and I'll tell them about your escapades.

"You owe me." She sounded damn sure about that one, and they returned to the world around them which consisted of curious faces and too many damn horses.

Eomér waved his hand to the horse and Avon swung himself up without another word. With a little more difficulty, Mel was picked up lightly by one of the men and sat behind him, where she then proceeded to squeeze his waist into oblivion. After a few trots, he was 100 percent sure she was a definite horse-hater and he didn't see how...considering she went to so many damn fairs and even worked in a stable for a month once, just to try new things. But he managed to ignore it once Eomér started explaining things to him as they rode.

"We met your friends a way back, their story coincides with yours but I still do not understand it. Nor do I currently want to." He added, seeing the look the other man gave him. He didn't ask anymore questions, but started explaining some things. "We've been gone scouting for a time now and are finally returning to the Golden Halls to report our findings, but I fear we will again be ignored, as we have been ignored before and after our last meeting. My heart grieves for Boromir, he was a good man and soldier. I am sorry." The Rohan man tipped his head and Avon just swallowed, turning his face to the front where there was, coming slowly into sight, a small town on a hill.

"It's ok. Shit happens."

He could almost hear Mel's thoughts of disapproval and the confusion, then reluctant acceptance from Eomér was almost palpable. But he definitely could feel the distinct increase of pressure over his bladder and he grunted out a pained whisper.

"Forget I ever said that."

"Said what?"

Avon looked over and could have kissed the guy. He had, even after only knowing him a couple of days several months ago, still remembered that Avon was really very touchy about tainting their lifestyle with his crude speech. However fascinating they found it, the Rohirrim were much less retentive when it came to cultural saturation than the rest of Middle Earth. You could even call them a bit French in that respect, with a touch of German in there. So dead set against change, they would even dub all movies into their own language before daring to watch them. While on that train of thought, he placed the Elves into the Dutch category, the dwarves into Scandinavia, shoved the rest of the humans down into Spain and put Aragorn on his own little pedestal somewhere in the Australian Simpson Desert, where the dust was as dry as his head sometimes.

Secretly his subconscious set Orophin in Iceland, just to see if the geysers would get him.

His eyes refocussed to suddenly see the walls of the afore seen blip of grey on the horizon very much closer. Now he could even see the soldiers walking along the porch of the massive hall on the very top of the hill.

"Wow." Was all he could say, eyes glinting at the site of so much...gold stuff.

Mel poked him in the back. "I thought you said you and Boromir had been here before, and even changed horses here."

"Nah," he replied and shook his head, eyes still staring as they passed through the gates and started walking their horses up towards the hall. "We stayed with this lot out on the fields and stuff, I never got to go inside here."

It took 10 strange minutes after arriving for them to come to the frightening realization that they wouldn't be given beds or rest after so long travelling. Instead Avon, after barely even seeing the haggard grey king, was being dragged backwards down to the cellars where he was thrown into a room and the thick wooden door was barred and locked before he knew what had happened.

He rubbed at the forming lump on his forehead and winced, blinking through the building haze in front of his eyes. The cell was dark, but at least it was dry and, after a bit of pattering around, he found water and a blanket. But not much else. The floor was stone with straw scattered over it and a single barred window was in his door which, when he looked out of it, only gave a view of a single small torch in a sconce making the darkness slightly greyer.

"Shit." Was all he could mutter and pulled away from the bars, holding his head as a dizzy wave passed over him.

What had happened?

Mel, he saw he getting carried off down another hallway. They hadn't even said anything, just Eomér got yelled at by the hunched guy in black and suddenly so many soldiers were on him...and not the ones they had travelled with. They took his sword. Shit, he thought again, patting around himself in anxious fear. They had also taken all his knives, bow and spear, but let him keep his pouch and...yes, his herbs. Avon's sigh of relief sent out a stream of smokey breath out into the cold air and he shivered, feeling for the first time just how cold it really was down here.

"Avon?" The croaky voice sounded so close and the man's first reaction was to dive for the door to see who was out there.

But the second call of his name made him realize it was coming from the other side of his cell, down near the ground. He shuffled close to the far right corner and put his face near the floor.

"Eomér? That you?"

"Yes." The voice was finally pinpointed to a small two inch wide gap in the wall join between their two cells. Avon could almost see the other man's eye. "That damned Wormtongue has finally won our King over, and this is their thanks for all my years of service." He sighed. "I am sorry...for what I have led you into, my friend."

The young man leaned against the wall and looked sideways into the gap.

"Not your fault. We wanted a bed, you were on your way home anyway. Who could have seen it coming?" Mel, he thought subconsciously. But of course she would never reveal some minor detail like this. In another moment he would think her to be a bitch for it, but right now he was simply worried as heck. Where the hell did they take her?

"No doubt your female companion has been brought to the women's quarters, most likely she is now under the care of my sister." Eomér answered his unspoken question in a dull voice. "And don't be too surprised. The Rohirrim treat their women more equally and it is more common to see them in men's garb than in such places as Gonder or over the Western Mountains. And we never throw them into cells, am doubtful any Rohan born could ever do that no matter how poisoned their heart is."

Avon didn't say anything on that, but it definitely didn't stop his worry. He just couldn't get that vision of the man in black looking at Mel with those...eyes...just before he was knocked over the head. Those eyes, that face, he had even licked his lips.

It was too horrible to even consider.

The night was so cold that he simply gave up sleeping early, trying to instead share a bit of warmth with Eomér's air as he huddled in the corner near the gap.

"Sooo, your sister. She's pretty right?"

"If you bring her up one more time I swear I'll figure out how to hurt you without your sister killing me." The horse man growled out and Avon could hear him shift around a bit. The time of night was indeterminable, but they were both exhausted anyway and the chill was just making it that much more unbearable.

"Just trying to make conversation," Avon chatted out through shaking teeth, "not like there's much chance she and I will hit it off anyway."

"I can land punches without leaving a mark you know."

"Hmm, sounds like the Australian Police." The young man pondered.

They sat in silence for a moment before it was broken by the older man's intrigued voice.

"Sounds nasty."

"You get used to it." Avon shrugged, and they fell back into silence again.

Only a few minutes later, maybe more, he might have dozed off, the sound of a large door being unlocked and keys jangling came from down the hallway outside their cells. Avon quickly scuttled over to his thin straw mat, arranging himself as though he was asleep. But he kept one eye open slightly, listening as scuffed footsteps and low talking came closer to their doors, before his was suddenly unlocked. The light from a flaming torch from somewhere beyond it blinded him for a moment, but that was all they needed as hands grabbed at him and shackled his hands and feet faster than he could blink.

Wormtongue's sickly grey face leered out into the torchlight and he tilted it with artificial concern.

"Ahh, we see now what the traitor makes friends with. A wild ranger from the north, untamed, unworthy for our trust, and pathetic." He spat on the floor at Avon's feet and the younger man simply glared and kept his mouth shut.

Grub, as Avon now called him in his head, didn't look to happy of the lack of reaction but seemed to shrug it off quick enough. He turned and started walking down the passageway.

"The woman wants to see you. We've given her five minutes with you alone, you had better use it wisely for it is doubtful you shall have such private times again in the future."

Avon could feel the smirk over the man's face, even though he could only see his back and he stiffened with rage. He jerked at the two men holding him and got a blow to the jaw in response, the third man catching him by surprise that made him see stars for a minute or two.

Grub looked rather amused as they stood there in the hallway, waiting for Avon to retrieve the use of his legs as he was sure the damn guards really didn't want to drag him. When he finally stood upright again, the shorter man walked up close and seemed to look deep into the young man's eyes.

About here, Avon felt the first real tinges of pure fear since he had first dropped into this crappy place. Those eyes had blue fire burning deep back and his voice, his never ending voice seemed to slime it's way into his bones.

"Of course, she is a fine young woman that should acquaint herself well with a man of station and importance, to be a fine wife and her fiery tongue shall be tamed. This is something that holds well with her future. But for you, I fear only death awaits for the collaboration with a traitor of the Mark." He smiled a nasty oily smile that showed his upper gums and turned on his heel, leaving it to the guards to make sure Avon followed.

The young man swallowed past his dry throat and blinked through the cold sweat dripping into his eyes. You bastard, he thought darkly. You evil son of a bitch.

He was dragged on numb feet and eventually passed through the large hall where he had first come in. He momentarily looked around and noticed that even then, haggard and smelly mercenary type guards were keeping an eye on near every corner under the dim light of flickering torches. The helplessness in him grew, but the hate of the man in front kept the thought alive that he would never win, coz Stridey would kick his slimy screwy arse. He remembered that at least from the movie. Who said Mel was the only one to carry some knowledge around in this retarded place?

They soon came to a door that was swiftly unlocked and Avon was pushed through.

"Five minutes." Said Grub, and the door was closed and locked behind him.

He didn't even have time to look around before a figure launched itself at him from the shadows and a sweet smell of flowers reached his nose. He heard something rustling and a distinctly female figure was felt in his arms.

"I need to make sure that you were ok. Some guards said...you were...dead and Wormtongue laughed. He actually laughed." She sniffed, and he felt his shirt starting to get wet. He realized she was crying and held her closer, just whispering words of comfort into her short and...clean hair.

He sniffed again, and let his hands wander for a moment.

"Avon!" Mel pushed his hands away and pulled out of his embrace, stepping back into a small circle of light from a nearby set of candles.

The soft glow illuminated her and Avon's heart gave a little jolt as he, for at least a moment, saw an angel.

Mel self-consciously smoothed out the front of the figure hugging dress, as he now identified as the cause of the rustling, and stared at the ground, shifting her feet.

He was in front of her in a second and tilted her chin up with a crooked finger, staring into suddenly very young eyes in a familiar face. For a moment, he was back in the past when they were both still innocent and even...dating. His lips touched hers, and she responded, letting her hands come up behind his neck and...

Slam! The door was opened and he wrenched away with a gasp, eyes spinning to the shocked face of Grub standing in the hall. The shock melted into amusement, then turned into a thoughtful gaze that wandered over to Mel...and then strayed up and down which made the blood shoot to Avon's face in a hard, hot rush.

"You sick mother..."

A thick hard fist was in his face and he was on the floor, spitting out blood from a cut lip. But hardly feeling any pain. All he could feel was rage. A cold, dark, deep rage that forced it's way into his very being and honed his reflexes to tight points of concentration. He knew this feeling, it was far too familiar to be comfortable, but it still fueled his blows and he got a few very good hits in on the guards around him before they finally got him pinned and more fists were hammered into him.

Mel was screaming in the background, but he couldn't respond as the air was pushed out of him with a sharp hit to his solar plexus and stars danced in front of his one good eye. The other was already swelling shut and other bruises were making themselves known.

Eventually he was pulled upwards and his hair was pulled back, forcing him to face Grub once more. This time he didn't hesitate and spat in the mans face, blood dripping down and making the young man smile in painful, grim satisfaction.

Grub snarled and something flickered in his eyes. But then he seemed to calm down almost immediately and calmly wiped the blood off his face with his sleeve in refined motions, though it still left a grotesque red smear over one eye.

"Take him back to his...quarters. He shall be tried on the morn and hanged like any other conspirator to the Mark...unless," and Avon didn't miss the quick movement of his eyes to the woman to the side, being held by another guard "circumstances change."

Avon opened his mouth in horror, but before he could say anything he was cuffed over the side of the head and the words were lost. Blinking through the haze in his vision, he gazed hard into her eyes for bare seconds and let the new grief swallow him whole. She looked back in pure terror, and could only mouth 'help me' before the door was closed by the silent and malicious hand of the Grub as he locked it from the inside.

Avon was thrown into his cell without too much ceremony and the door clanged shut hard behind him. The stomping feet echoed off into the distance and he painfully crawled over to his matt, laying gingerly down onto the lumpy straw.

"Pssst. Avon, are you well?" Eomér had his mouth right up against the crack and the young man turned his head towards the voice.

"Yeah," he croaked, "couldn't be better."

The horseman muttered something under his breath, then whispered out louder. "You're a worse lier than me."

Avon groaned and shifted, wincing in the process and his sharp intake of breath alerted Eomér to his physical problem.

"You are injured! That evil son of a goat!" Eomér swore again and Avon rolled his eyes.

"Fine, you want the whole story. I kissed Mel and now grub is doing God knows what to her and I've been beaten to a pulp for giving a damn. Happy?" He frowned and shifted his eyes to the cell floor.

The other man was silent for a moment. Then he spoke quietly, "I could say words of comfort right now, but they would be misplaced. And as for her being your sister, it has been a doubt in my mind, considering neither of you look alike and you both seem to have a much too familiar look about you for mere siblings..."

"Eomér." Avon interrupted.

"Yes?"

"Shut up." he sighed and settled down to try to sleep.

And Eomér wisely stayed silent as the night passed slowly and he fought sleep. But sleep must have overtook him because soon daylight was streaming through the high bars in the cell and early morning was there. But Avon didn't even bother moving, because all he could do was cry for not even being able to stay awake for the girl he loved. And yes, he was, as usual, always too late to say it.

TBC

A/N: I had a HUGE consideration for naming this chapter 'Sap Interlude'. Coz that's what it is...SAP! This is to satiate any romance and drama lovers out there who just love emotional terrorism...also I secretly kinda liked the chapter as it has boosted my inspiration for more action later on. And yes, this is still bookverse. A lot from here on will most likely be very unfamiliar to pure movie-goers, but hopefully then it may prove to be a fresh insight into GOING TO READ THE DAMN BOOKS! -wink-

Sorry for the semi-cliffhanger...will it make you want to read more? Or quit now due to SAP OVERDOSE!

Be well, and THANKYOU for the reviews I have gotten so far. The most recent...to the most distant. I love them all. Thankyou again.

¹ – In chapter 11, Riders of Rohan 'page 420', of the unabridged version of LotR in the Two towers...Legolas sees the riders from far off and describes them as follows. "There are three empty saddles. But I see no hobbits." Aragorn and Legolas only took two horses. I merely fiddled with what happened to the third and found out with joy that my story was working closer to the setting without being a pure retelling more than I could of ever imagined. Weeee!