This is a follow-up to two stories by the wonderful Isabeau of Greenlea, in which Amrothos of Dol Amroth, Faramir's cousin, assists in the destruction of the bridge at Osgiliath. The stories are "The Blasted Bridge" and "Consolation".

However, this story should stand alone.

Commendation

Minas Tirith, June 3018 T.A.

Feeling that he had proven his mettle sufficiently in recent days, Faramir waited until he knew his uncle was not at home before taking himself down to his house on the sixth circle. There, in the library, nose in a book, he found his cousin, Amrothos.

Faramir stood at the door and watched the young man read. Bookish and nervy, clever and sensitive, his young cousin had, by his father's will, not been sent to war like his older brothers and cousins. Yet Faramir had called, and Amrothos had come – into the middle of the worst battle that Faramir himself had hitherto seen. And he had kept his wits about him like a twenty-years' man, and, through his skill, had blasted the bridge and saved the western bank from being overrun. No doubting this young man's courage, although Imrahil, Faramir suspected, would have plenty to say about the whole business.

"Rothos," he said, softly, and entered the room.

Amrothos, seeing his beloved older cousin, smiled and put down his book. "Cousin!" he said, and made to rise, but Faramir gestured to him to stay down. He came to sit beside him on the couch, placing the small parcel he carried to one side. He quickly took in the young man's pallor, his tired eyes, the brandy bottle on the table to one side, and the glass containing a generous measure. It was not much past noon.

"How are you, cousin?" said Rothos. "How is your shoulder?"

Aching, abominably. "I've had worse," said Faramir. "What's your book?"

Amrothos passed it over. A collection of Khandian verse. Faramir's command of the language was better than most, but rusty by his own standards. Everything he loved to do went undone. He frowned down at the page, and picked out a few lines here and there, and waited.

"Faramir," said Rothos, very quietly. "I've felt most dreadfully odd ever since… Well. Since."

Faramir nodded and kept leafing through the book. The trick was to leave space to speak. The words would come tumbling out soon enough, and he would feel much better for it.

"Not just the Shadow, whatever that was…" Amrothos stammered, and stopped.

For a moment, the sun quavered. Faramir shivered; it was like a cold hand upon his shoulder or sour grey breath upon his back. He put down the book. "Go on."

"Not just that," Amrothos said. "But the rest. The noise, and— Well, I knew, in my head, what a body must look like, but somehow at close quarters, it all becomes rather different, doesn't it?" He stopped and wiped his hand across his face. "Very different."

"I know," said Faramir, softly. "How are you sleeping?"

Amrothos joggled his hand about. So-so.

"It can take a while," Faramir said. His eye strayed back to the brandy glass. "Don't drink."

Amrothos flushed.

"Promise me, Rothos."

The young man swallowed. "I promise."

"Good," said Faramir. "Now," he said, picking up the parcel he had brought, "I have a letter for you – from the Captain-General no less."

"Oh yes?" Amrothos frowned. "What does Boromir want from me?"

Faramir opened the parcel. As well as the letter, which he handed across, there was a small black case, about the size of his palm. He held this while his cousin read the letter.

"Faramir…?" Amrothos said in puzzlement, looking up from the letter. "A commendation—?"

"For your service on the bridge."

"But I'm not in the army—"

"Field commission," said Faramir. They were bending the rules, but then they were Boromir's to bend.

"I don't know what to say…"

"No need. You might think about what you'll say to Elphir and Chiron, however."

A slow and satisfied smile spread across his cousin's face.

"There's something else." Faramir undid the clasp on the case, and showed Amrothos what lay inside.

A small oval brooch, black, bearing the White Tree, with a motto silvered beneath. "Here," he said, lifting it out. "Let me see to this." He reached across to pin the brooch to the other man's chest. Gently, he kissed Amrothos on the brow. "For valour beyond duty."

Amrothos blushed. "Oh cousin," he said. "I hardly think—"

"That's what it says." He pointed at the silver words. "So it must be true."

Amrothos traced his fingers over the brooch. "This is a lovely thing," he murmured. He looked up sharply at his cousin. ""Do you have one?"

Faramir shook his head. "No."

"Really? What about Boromir?"

Yes. "I don't know. Probably. Boromir generally has so much metal about him I'm surprised he doesn't topple over."

Amrothos began to laugh. That, thought Faramir, was what I wanted to hear.

They heard the front door, and then, in the hall, Imrahil's voice. "In the library, is he?"

Faramir rose from his seat. He looked again at his cousin, who was still admiring the brooch, and he felt a soft pang of envy – at the life this young man led, at the freedom of his days, the quiet interests, the time and the peace to pursue them. He damped this down quickly, as he did much else, there being no point thinking that way. The handle turned on the door. He clasped his hands behind him, back straight, to attention, and waited for his uncle to arrive.

Altariel, 5th August 2018