Disclaimer:I own Elendacil. I do not own the language of her name, any of the places she is found in in this story or any of the people she encounters. Furthermore, I do not have any claim to any members of Denethor's family, any member of the Fellowship of the Ring, any of the places in Middle Earth or anything else which I have failed to mention that is obviously Tolkien's. Finally, I do not own Tolkien. Enough about me, on with the story.

The World is Ahead

Chapter One

Young Faramir glanced up at his older brother, who was mounted on a horse Faramir

himself had trained. Soon the two sons of Denethor, steward of Gondor, would be separated by a great distance. Faramir was assigned to train a group of Rangers in Minas Tirith, while Boromir and a group of the finest Gondorian soldiers available were bound for the borders of Mordor and Gondor. Faramir was terrified. His brother had always protected him. What would happen if Boromir did not return, he wondered.

"I'll be fine, little brother," Boromir assured him, as if reading his thoughts. After embracing Faramir one last time, he disappeared into the east, toward Mordor. Faramir gazed after his brother even after the stars began to emerge in the sky. Then he felt a brush of air as someone came up beside him. Faramir turned to see Elendacil, a lady he had never met before, but knew her in an instant by her reputation. She was well known in Gondor as a foreseer, a healer, and a soldier. Her stern, yet beautiful features, along with her fiery red hair made her impossible to mistake. He tried to disguise his worry from her, which he tricked himself into believing would be simple in the darkness.

"Do not hide your tears from me, Faramir, son of Denethor," her voice filled the distance between her and the young man. "You should be concerned for your brother." Her voice did not hold the strong pride that Faramir had expected. Instead, she seemed to understand how he felt. Because of this, he had the courage to ask her the question he needed to voice.

"Will he come back, my lady?" his voice wavered. There was silence for a moment. Faramir had not expected an answer and, for a moment, believed the lady beside him was nothing more than a phantom. Then she spoke.

"Boromir will return, Faramir. Do not lose hope," she commanded him. Faramir smiled and, although the fear was still apparent in the tears that fell from his eyes, he was comforted by the words of Elendacil. Just by the way she uttered them, he knew she had spoken them many other times to many other warriors, when all hope seemed lost. She had survived. Truly hope was not lost, thought Faramir, as he bowed to the lady and took his leave.

The army of Gondor was greatly outnumbered. They had been returning to their camp at Osgiliath when they had been ambushed by the enemy. Boromir had blown the horn of Gondor multiple times, but thus far no aide had come. Perhaps Osgiliath had been attacked as well, Boromir thought. That possibility only caused him to fight more vigorously. One by one, the Gondorians fell. Within moments, only a handful of the army remained. Boromir summoned his warriors to his side with a blast from the horn of Gondor. Then, just as it seemed that the end had come, arrows of Gondor flew at the servants of Mordor. One of them struck Boromir in the shoulder. In the split-second wince that Boromir allowed himself, a weapon of the enemy struck him, and he fell into the Anduin River.

Elendacil sat straight up, wide awake. It had been nine days since Boromir had left Minas Tirith and a message had come at dawn every day, saying that Osgiliath was secure and there had been no attacks. Yet she knew this dream was not a fantasy. She rose and made her way to the throne room, waiting for dawn and news of the army. The streets of Minas Tirith were abandoned, but Elendacil was accustomed to this. Often she would walk the streets early in the morning to bring counsel to the steward. She glanced at the sky. The stars were beginning to dim and dawn would come all too soon. Elendacil sighed and took one final breath of the fresh morning air before entering the throne room.

Denethor slept soundly in his throne. There was no need to wake him, thought Elendacil. If he knew her thoughts before they were confirmed, he would not be able to do anything to aid his son. Besides, in this instance Elendacil thought it unlikely that the steward would heed her dream concerning his son.

Let him sleep then, thought Elendacil. Knowing she had enough time, she dashed to the armor closet just outside the throne room where she kept her own armor. She donned it with the skill of the seasoned warrior she was. First she carefully pulled a mithril shirt over her head. It had been a gift from a friend many years before. The collar was decorated with silver stars, making the design quite unique to Elendacil. Over the chest was the white tree of Gondor, outlined in green. Over the mithril shirt she placed her armor, made in the style of Minas Tirith. On this was also the insignia of the white tree of Gondor, this time arrayed in silver, like all the other knights'. She then pulled her lone, red hair out of her armor and back into her helmet. Then she returned to the throne room to await the dawn.

She did not have to wait long, although to Elendacil it seemed like an eternity. At last, Denethor awoke, and beheld her silent figure, her back turned to the throne. A smile passed over his face, for he knew her no matter whether she faced him or not.

"Why have you come hither at this hour of the morning, my lady?" he inquired as the servants rushed about fetching his breakfast. Before Elendacil could speak, a messenger burst into the throne room.

"My lord, my lady," he bowed to the steward as he approached and nearly fell down in his weariness. A servant came forward to assist him, but the soldier waved him off and knelt before Denethor. The steward nodded, giving him leave to speak.

"My lord, I rode all night from Osgiliath. The orcs attacked on of our parties as they returned to the city. Osgiliath was unscathed, but your son, my lord," the messenger swallowed fearfully under Denethor's now cold stare, "My lord Boromir was with them and . . . he fell, quite valiantly I assure you, my lord." The steward sat motionlessly for a moment, studying the terrified man. There was a stone-cold silence that filled the throne room, making everyone tense, anxious for the steward's next move.

"Thank you. You may go. Leave me," he commanded, addressing all those in the room. Elendacil rose to leave.

"My lady, would you remain," came the steward's voice just as she turned.

"As you wish my lord." Denethor motioned for her to have a seat upon the stairs at his feet.

"Is this why you came to me?" he asked after everyone else had left the room. He was fighting hard to banish the grief from his voice.

"Yes, my lord," Elendacil nodded. "I dreamt of the battle last night."

"Then he is dead," Denethor whispered, not really speaking to anyone. He did not look at his advisor, but stared off out the windows of the throne room. He rose, as if in a trance, and walked toward the doors. Elendacil accompanied him outside, not speaking, but studying her steward. Denethor went to the tower of Ecthalion and looked off toward Osgiliath, into the east. That was how Elendacil left him, for she had another duty to perform. She had to inform Faramir.

"It cannot be!" Faramir cried, not bothering to hide his tears. He collapsed in brokenhearted sobs to the ground at the feet of Elendacil. The lady knelt down beside him, attempting to console him.

"Faramir, do not lose hope. I believe your brother may still be alive. If you would notice, the body was not brought to Minas Tirith, but fell into the Anduin River." Faramir glanced up at her and saw in her green eyes the light of hope. He almost disbelieved her for a moment, but he had to trust her. He was obligated to.

"What must I do, my lady?" he asked, still fearing to hope, but his courage overwhelming his fear. He loved Boromir too much to allow fear to overcome the hope he still had for his brother's life.

"You must stay here and try to comfort your father. I have spoken with him, but only briefly. I know his way and he would not dare to have hope that Boromir yet lived. He believes him dead. If you can convince him that hope is not lost, you are a better man than I. Go to him, Faramir, for he is much aggrieved," Elendacil commanded. Faramir rose and dried his eyes. Then Denethor's youngest son turned toward the white tower of Ecthalion. Elendacil, in turn, raced to the stables and mounted her horse, Alaksul. Then she raced toward the Anduin River, praying to the Valar for speed.

"Boromir!" Elendacil shouted his name. She stood on the shores of the Anduin, for grace had been with her. If it favored her further, Boromir's body would not have passed this part of the river already. She was as far as she could go, quite a ways past Osgiliath. She shouted his name once more and her call echoed over the deserted river. The current was flowing swiftly, hinting at an oncoming storm, but not once did Elendacil ponder returning to Minas Tirith. It was not even midday, yet the dark clouds that covered the sun gave the world the appearance of twilight. For quite some time the soldier stood on the riverbank, scanning the white crests of the waves for any sign of life. Then, as the wind became even more violent, a dark-haired head became visible over the rapids. Elendacil sped out into the water and grasped the man around his shoulder, fighting to keep his head above the river. Boromir groaned, assuring his rescuer that he was alive and her efforts were not in vain. After a vigorous battle, they finally reached the shore, and Elendacil collapsed exhausted. Boromir was unconscious, but alive. Alaksul came to the place where the two warriors lay and the woman stood and heaved Boromir onto the horses back. She hoisted herself up behind him and sped Alaksul back to Minas Tirith.