June 20th 3018
The cheers rose up as Lord Boromir stepped up high above the crowd, the rubble of the once beautiful city of Osgiliath at his feet. Above him the sky was grey with opressive cloud and below him the men were stained with blood and dirt, but in his arms he held the banner of Gondor, and his face was alight with the fierce joy of victory.
The men and women who had fought under his command chanted his name with something akin to reverence, for this was the Captain-General of Minas Tirith, the Steward Heir to Gondor, leader of men. Here was the epitome of a true Gondorian warrior - with his broad shoulders, his strong arms, his wild hair and battle-worn armour. Here was the man so beloved by his people.
In response to their calls, Lord Boromir lowered the flag and unsheathed his sword.
"This city was once the jewel of our kingdom; a place of light and beauty and music. And so it shall be once more!" His voice was strong and the passion in it infected every man. He thrust his sword above his head and cheers rose up with it, "let the armies of Mordor know this: never again will the land of my people fall into enemy hands!"
The men and women cried their agreement, swords banging onto shields, booted feet stamping. Lord Boromir drew himself up and shouted for all to hear, "this city of Osgiliath has been reclaimed for Gondor!"
"For Gondor!"
Lord Boromir raised up his sword again, and despite the dullness of the day the steel was bright and true, "for Gondor!"
"For Gondor!"
"For Gondor!"
The Captian-General stepped down as the crowd descended into general boisterous celebration. His brother, Lord Faramir, was there to greet him. Lord Faramir, Captain of the Rangers of Ithilien, was of slighter build and gentler countenance, his hair dark and grey eyes sombre. They laughed as they hugged and spoke closely, before Lord Boromir broke away to call,
"Break out the ale! These men are thirsty!"
Another great cheer went up as barrels were broken into and goblets filled. Lord Boromir secured two, handing one to Lord Faramir.
"Remember today, little brother," the Captain-General grinned, clasping Lord Faramir's shoulder. "Today, life is good."
They drank deeply together, spirits high with their hard-won victory. As they did so the crowd parted briefly to allow the entrance of a tall woman, dressed in armour. Only her helmet had been removed, which she held against her hip, her other hand resting on the pommel of her sword. She moved with a purposeful gait and an upright posture. Her dark hair had been pulled back into a simple braid, her angular features and severe brow giving her a strict, solemn countenance.
"My Lords," she bowed to them, the gesture stiffly formal, "please forgive my interruption."
"Captain!" Lord Boromir greeted delightedly, reaching over to clasp her shoulder. Lord Faramir inclined his head in acknowledgment, a warm smile on his lips.
"Come, drink with us!" Lord Boromir continued, "without you, this victory would not be ours."
"I did only what my duty requires," Helwen, Captain of the Guard of Minas Tirith, denied, uncomfortable with the praise.
"Duty! We both know you go well beyond what your duty requires," Lord Boromir laughed. "Would you not say, brother, that the Captain saved our lives yet again this day?"
"I would say so," Lord Faramir agreed, grinning. It was not far from the truth, for when the bridge had been destroyed, Helwen had been the last to leave, staying behind to give her Lords the chance to swim to safety before she followed.
"So there you have it, Captain!" Lord Boromir announced triumphantly, "the hard work is done, now you must drink and be merry."
"Forgive me, my Lord, but I do not drink," Helwen replied firmly. She had always been considered a rather odd woman. Not yet thirty years of age and already the youngest to have ever become Captain of the Guard. She was not well liked among the men and woman under her command; she gave no compliments and demanded excellence; she did not join in the revelry and spent the time shut away in her rooms. They called her cold and humourless for it, made jokes at her expense. Whether she knew of it and did not care, or was simply oblivious, she never made any acknowledgment of it.
"Yes, yes, well – it was worth trying," the Captain-General relented reluctantly, "one of these days you will join us, and you may even find you enjoy it."
"Perhaps," Helwen allowed, but there was nothing in her stern expression to suggest it would happen. "The injured have been cared for, the dead documented, and everything is prepared for our return to Minas Tirith. If you have no further need of me, I would retire to my rooms."
Lord Boromir sighed and waved his hand dismissively, "yes, yes, you may go if you must. What is it, brother?"
Lord Faramir's expression had turned wary, and he gestured for the Captain-General to turn.
"He's here."
Behind Lord Boromir, Lord Denethor, Steward of Gondor, was making his way through the crowd of soldiers. He was a man of hunched stature, his figure engulfed in his heavy, dark cloak. His skin was sallow and his nose hooked. He did not have the impressive magnificence of his elder son, nor the calm thoughtfulness of the younger.
"One moment of peace, can he not give us that?" Lord Boromir muttered, resigned, mood darkened by the presence of his father. Already the Steward was calling out for him,
"Where is he? Where is Gondor's finest? Where is my first-born?"
Lord Boromir's expression was jaded, but he turned to face Lord Denethor nonetheless,
"Father!"
"My Lords," Helwen bowed, taking the opportunity to make her exit, though her words fell on deaf ears.
There were some things it was not her place to hear.
AU: Men and women are equal in Gondor and so all are able to join the Guard etc.