When word reached Minas Tirith that Osgiliath had been reclaimed from the Orcs by the Gondorians, the White City erupted in a celebration of its own. On every street and in every house there were people gathered; drinking, dancing, singing, and playing music.
In the King's Stable's however it was a different story. Freyda and the servants under her command worked fervently to get everything ready. The soldiers would be bringing in their horses soon. It'd take them all night to feed, tend to, and heal the horses wounded in the battle.
"Freyda."
She looked up as soon as she heard her name, A servant from the palace came up to her, "My lady, Lord Boromir wishes to speak to you."
"He's back?" She asked in relief and stood, "And Faramir?"
"He's still in Osgiliath."
Freyda gave a sigh of relief and took off her apron. She'd grown alongside the brothers since she was three years old. Her father and mother had moved here from Edoras to manage the horses of the Gondorian army.
She ripped off her apron and straightened her dress. Boromir stood on the porch of the stables, his hands were folded behind his back and he looked out over Osgiliath. Something was wrong; he was too quiet. Usually with a victory he was smiling and bragging openly.
"They say you fought with the strength of ten men," she told him after a few seconds of silence.
He chuckled quietly to himself and turned, "Only ten? Is that all?"
"Isn't that enough?"
"I was hoping that I fought with the strength of fifteen to twenty at least."
"Perhaps you're losing your touch," she smiled teasingly.
He laughed and shook his head, "It's good to see you again, sister."
She embraced him. They weren't siblings in blood, but he, she, and Faramir had spent years being as close as siblings. She spent many years of her youth riding with them in the fields and learning things a lady shouldn't know. Like how to fight with a sword, and a spear and her bare hands. She was a lady of Rohan after all. What was that worth if she didn't have the skill that the other women in her country had?
"How are things in the city?" he asked.
"Oh about the same," she took the crook of his elbow and walked down the steps, "I can't be gone long; I have work that I need to do."
"The others can handle that," he guided her to an alcove away from the people and the guards, "Tell me, how are things with my father?"
She became quiet and averted her eyes, "Is this a trick question that might result in my banishment in the near future."
"No jokes Freyda, tell me how he is."
She couldn't ignore the knots in her stomach. Boromir would never betray her confidence but it was still unsettling to tell a man that she feared for his father and the state of an entire country.
"There are rumors in the city."
"What rumors?"
"That his strength to govern the country wanes each day. That Isildur's descendant has been found and he's coming to take the city back. But it's not that which bothers me, it's what I do know. I know that he won't surrender his rule of Gondor without a fight. I know that his disappointment for Faramir grows almost as much as his favor to you. And I know that he's desperately trying to find a way to marry me off. The last suitor was old."
"Is marriage so bad?"
"Of course not," she replied, "But after marriage comes childbearing and I refuse to suckle a child in times such as these."
"They could be worse," he told her, "Is there no man in Gondor worthy of you? Perhaps you should try Rohan."
"And perhaps I'll find no one worthy there either and I'll go north. I hear the Prince of Mirkwood is still fair and unmarried, perhaps he would fall for me." She braced her hands against the bench, "I will marry. But later when our futures are a bit more certain."
"I will be sure to tell the Prince of Mirkwood about your attraction for him when I see him in Rivendell."
She tilted her head, "What are you talking about?"
"Elrond; the Lord of Rivendell has called a meeting and my father's sending me there to represent Gondor."
"Oh what a way to reward his sons for the retaking of Osgiliath," she muttered, "Barely done with one task before you're given another."
"Such is the duty of a soldier. You know that."
"What could the elves possibly want?"
"There may be a possibility that the one ring may have been found."
She looked at him, startled, that couldn't be possible. It'd been gone for two thousand years, how could it just suddenly turn up in the hands of the elves? "Do you know that for certain?"
"Of course not," he countered, "But as you said. What could the elves possibly want?"
She clinched her hands tightly in her lap. What were they thinking? They couldn't risk sending one of their best soldiers to Rivendell when they had so much trouble in Gondor right now.
But if this was the one ring, then the only thing they could send was the best.
"When do you leave?" she asked.
"Immediately. I'm just here for supplies"
She sighed, "And here I expected that for at least a few days, you would all be a family again."
He looked back down and she could see Denethor, Stewart of Gondor returning to the city. "I believe those days are long past," he told her.
"Is there anything you want me to do before you leave?" she asked.
"Just one thing. I want you to swear to me that you'll watch over my brother and father. I worry about both of them. Especially if I don't return from this."
She looked at him sharply, "What are you talking about? You'll come back."
"You know that there's always a chance I won't. Just swear it."
She didn't have to even think about it. She owed the Steward and his sons many things for the luxuries that she'd been given all her life, "I swear."
He smiled sadly and kissed her on the cheek, "Thank you little sister."
After the servant prepared his horse, Boromir mounted it and took the reins with one hand and grabbed her hand with his other, "If it's nothing, I will be back before the year is done."
"And if it is the ring?"
He sighed, "Then when I return, it'll be a more peaceful time than it is now," with one last squeeze, he released her hand and spurred his horse forward.
Freyda watched until he disappeared from sight and then gave a worried gaze to the growing storm in the land of Mordor.
Something told her that whatever was going to happen, it would be soon.
Days passed into weeks, weeks passed into months and there was no word from her brother.
Freyda kept herself busy by tending to the horses and doing her best to avoid the angry words between Denethor and Faramir. She did whatever she could to comfort Faramir's frustrations afterward, but it was no use. Denethor's mind worse the longer Boromir was gone and for a while she thought that was the only reason.
She was wrong. Ever since they'd arrived in Gondor, there were always rumors that the heir of Isildur had been found but they were just dismissed as rumors. Now the rumor came with more. They said that he was a Ranger from the North, they said that he was tall and brooding with dark brown long hair and he had been raised by the elves. It sounded like something she'd heard from the old myths, but there was something about it that seemed true.
She hoped that the rumor hadn't reached Denethor, but judging from the way his mood changed every time a failure, however small, was brought up, his entire demeanor and mood would change. He refused to indicate either way, but she had an idea that he knew about the rumor.
On February 28th of the Third Age of the year 3019, Freyda was sitting in her favorite alcove of the stables polishing her saddle when she overheard two soldiers talking.
Boromir's horn had been found blood-soaked and shattered. Faramir had been rumored to have seen his body in a boat floating down the river.
Boromir was dead.