Chapter One: Reunited

It was high summer in the land of Gondor. Fields and meadows were covered with flowers and the great river Anduin shone brilliantly as the sun began to stretch its luminous rays over the water and the great plain that lay between the sister-cities of Minas Tirith and Osgiliath. Fíriel, youngest daughter of the Lord Denethor and his late wife Lady Finduilas, paced the battlements of the city walls restlessly looking northwards for some sign of the return of her brothers. Boromir and Faramir had been away fighting near the borders that separated Gondor from the country of Rohan. Most Gondorians regarded the people of Rohan as much wilder and less civilized than themselves. Fíriel, however, had always been extremely interested in everything that lay to the north of her city. Although she loved Minas Tirith, she longed to travel beyond the stone walls and go to war like her brothers. She did not much like the idea of killing people, but she was very patriotic and wanted to do everything she could to aid her countrymen. However, her father rarely allowed her to do anything that she wanted. Certainly he would hear of no proposition that involved her going beyond the walls…especially with her brothers absent. Letting out a long sigh, she leaned her chin in her hands and glanced up at the black banner flying above her with a silver tree emblazoned in the midst. After a few moments, a black moving mass appeared on the horizon. Fíriel jerked her head up and narrowed her eyes against the brightness of the sun in a vain attempt to get a better view. Then, quite suddenly, a loud noise of trumpets sounded from the high tower of Minas Tirith and Fíriel turned swiftly on her heel and rushed down the stone staircase. She was met by Beregond, Captain of the Citadel Guard. He bowed.

"Lady, the lords Boromir and Faramir have returned in triumph from our northern-eastern borders and driven back the forces of the Dark Lord…"

Fíriel nodded understandingly. No one dared mention Sauron's name in the city.

They may have driven them back, she thought. But it is only a matter of time before Sauron gathers his forces together and strikes again…

Nevertheless, she was thrilled at the prospect of having her brothers safely back home again.

"The lord Denethor also bade me to summon you to his presence," Beregond continued.

"Thank you, Captain."

As Fíriel climbed up to the highest level of the city, she turned her face upwards toward the sky. Over the city, the sky was as blue as clear ocean water. But to the east, dark clouds loomed and liquid lava from the dreaded Mount Doom rose high into the sky. Fíriel suddenly shivered in the heat of the day and walked slowly up the few steps to the great doors that led to the main audience chamber. Upon her approach, two guards pushed the heavy doors open and she entered the great hall silently. The echo of the doors closing was the only noise in the chamber and Denethor, seated at the foot of the White Throne of the King, motioned for his daughter to come forward. Fíriel did so. She curtseyed according to custom and took her stance behind her father's seat only moments before the great doors swung open once more to admit two men whom Fíriel recognized as her dear brothers. Boromir had not changed a bit, except for a nasty red slash that ran down one side of his face and had barely missed his eye. Faramir, on the other hand, had grown taller…taller even than Boromir. Fíriel supposed that it was something she and Faramir had inherited from their mother. Although she desperately wanted to run and throw herself into the arms of her brothers (who were, in fact, far more fatherly to her than Denethor), she knew that she would provoke the anger of her father by doing so. Thus, she was forced to remain where she was. As his sons entered the hall, Denethor rose from his seat and came down a few steps to welcome them. He embraced Boromir,

"You have driven the forces of Mordor from our northern borders, my son?" he asked, ignoring Faramir, who stood a little behind.

Boromir, Fíriel thought, noticed this and said,

"It was mostly Faramir, Father. He is a brilliant tactician and…" he glanced at Faramir and put his arm around his younger brother's shoulder. "We would not have won this battle without him."

Fíriel smiled to herself. Faramir had always been more of a thinker than Boromir. Denethor, however, eyed Faramir coldly.

"Is that so?"

"Yes, Father." Boromir replied. And Fíriel could sense the exasperation behind his voice.

Denethor, for the sake of propriety, stepped up to Faramir and embraced him briefly before pulling himself away. He muttered,

"Then we are indebted to you also, Faramir."

Then he turned back to Boromir,

"Tonight we will all dine together and you will give me a full account of the battle."

Boromir and Faramir bowed and turned to leave. Before her father could turn back to his seat, Fíriel slipped out of another door. After climbing down several levels of the city, she found her brothers in the stables. She leaned against the doorframe and waited for them to notice her.

"…It's not that, Faramir," Boromir was saying as he finished checking a loose shoe on the hoof of his warhorse.

"Isn't it?" Faramir asked doubtfully.

Boromir would have replied, but he happened to look up in the direction of the doorway and shouted,

"Fíriel!"

Fíriel smiled and ran towards him and very soon found herself enveloped in his affectionate embrace. Faramir came forward too and held her tightly for a few moments before letting her go.

"I've missed you so much. You were gone for so long that you were beginning to worry me," she scolded.

They laughed and confessed to her that it had, indeed been a much longer expedition than they themselves had expected. However, Fíriel sensed that there was something more than her brothers were telling her. She pulled them both down beside her on a bench,

"What is it, Boromir? What troubles you?"

Boromir sighed. When it became obvious that he would say nothing, Fíriel turned to Faramir and grasped his hand in sudden fear. Faramir took a deep breath and said,

"About a fortnight ago, a strange dream came to me…"

Fíriel listened intently, and her brother continued,

"In the dream I beheld the sky in the East grow dark with thunder clouds. Yet, in the West there was light and a voice that cried,

Seek for the Sword that was broken:

In Imladris it dwells

There shall be counsels taken

Stronger than Morgul-spells.

There shall be shown a token

That Doom is near at hand,

Fir Isildur's Bane shall waken,

And the Halfling forth shall stand.

"This was on the eve of battle," he said. "After I dreamed this dream the first time, I dreamt it many times again. And it visited Boromir, too."

Fíriel sat quietly in deep thought, but could make little or no sense of the dream.

"Tonight we will speak to Father about it," said Boromir, speaking for the first time since Faramir had begun telling the story.

Fíriel nodded her approval. As well as being the ruling Steward of Minas Tirith, Denethor was very knowledgeable in all the areas of lore and legends of Middle-Earth.

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Justine