A/N: Aha, an on-time post! Huzzah for me! As requested, we are indeed home again. So now, I will leave you to it, and you may leave me to my endless notes on judicial malfeasance.

Chapter 3: Home again

A timid knock sounded at the door of Lord Denethor's chambers. "Leave me!" He growled, continuing his restless pacing up and down the marble floor. There was a pause, then the door slowly opened. Boromir slid carefully into the room. His father was in a dangerous mood. As he heard the door open, Denethor whirled with a savage glare to see who dared to disobey him. His face relaxed as he saw Boromir. "Ah, my son. So you have returned. I am glad." But Denethor did not look particularly glad. "How was your inspection of my lands? Does all fare well?" He turned to the servant standing in the shadow of a pillar and snarled "Leave!" She bowed and withdrew.

"It fares well enough in the country, father," Boromir replied, then hesitated, preparing to touch on the subject which so disturbed his father. "I have received news of Faramir's disappearance." The snarl returned to his father's face.

"Disappearance, ha! The cowardly dog has fled from his responsibilities and duties! He has run away for fear of battle! He knew he must return and face Osgiliath until it was retaken, but he is too fainthearted."

"Please, father..." Boromir said soothingly. It was taking all of his strength to keep from exploding with anxiety over his little brother. Missing for nearly three days! Despite what his father may think, Faramir was no coward, and was more loyal to his father than any man. He would never flee the city under any circumstances, save on the order of his father. Denethor though, ploughed on thickheadedly.

"I have always said that boy was no good. He is no son of mine who flees the battlefield!"

"Father, you cannot mean that! Do you not think," Boromir said, gritting his teeth in an attempt to maintain patience, "that perhaps something might have... well... happened to Faramir?"

"Happened? Oh yes, I know exactly what happened!" Denethor fumed. This was the first time he had really been able to vent his anger without restraint. "He has willingly fallen prey to the demons of cowardice and dastardliness, and has gone by their aid into hiding, fearing my wrath."

"Come now father, really. You know Faramir, you know he would never do these things you so... hastily accuse him of," Boromir chose his words carefully. "He has never played the craven before, why should he do so now at the prospect of this battle?" Denethor paused in his pacing to focus a sharp eye on his son.

"Do I know him so well? Or indeed, do you? He hides his thoughts well, but not well enough to betray his nature. There is a first time for everything, as there has been for this. He has henceforth shown little signs of either bravery or cowardice, and has, in my belief, only remained true as long as you, his protector, were present to hold his leash. Now, the moment I release him, he is away like an untameable colt." Denethor whirled about abruptly and began his pacing once more. Boromir tried to slow his breathing and maintain his calm. Nothing was ever gained from getting into a screaming match with his father. He had learned long ago you never won.

"May I at least have your permission to organize a search for Faramir, my Lord," he said rather stiffly.

"You may not." Denethor snapped, halting again. His eyes were ablaze with a furious light, his fists clenched tightly by his side. He could sense his elder son's suppressed anger, and it served to fuel his own, already burning deep in his soul, to a frenzy of blind rage. "Do not think I do not see your heart, my son. You are not steward yet, so do not seek to undermine my authority. I meant what I said that he is no son of mine. I renounce the coward Faramir as my son, and proclaim him dead in my eyes!" The echo of this booming statement bounced eerily off the stone walls, thundering in Boromir's ears. He could not believe what he was hearing. This was too far, even for his father. Too horrified for words, he turned and practically ran from the room.

Boromir's heavy riding boots made a resounding clamour as he pounded up the smooth marble of the stairs to the high courtyard. He rushed out onto the flawlessly groomed grass, feeling the ominous wind of the rising storm slapping against his face. He stalked across the smooth lawn to the very point overlooking the entire city. This view had always soothed him, but not now. He pushed his hair out of his face, his mind in turmoil. Why was his father being so bull-headed about this? He knew as well as Boromir did that Faramir would never run off like this… he must know. Boromir had never understood his father's attitude towards his younger son; he had always been hostile, unforgiving. Perhaps it was that he somehow connected Faramir with his wife's untimely death; perhaps it was because Faramir was not quite what Denethor wanted in a son. Faramir was quiet, peaceful. He was not meant for war. Boromir drew a deep, calming breath of the thick evening air; perhaps he was not meant for war either. This lifetime of fighting, a sword always at your side, always looking over your shoulder for the enemies that would always be there… it had sounded so much better in stories.

"My Lord?" He turned to see the servant girl from the Hall watching him with concern. Her straight brown hair fell about her narrow shoulders, and her head lay slightly to one side. She was not especially pretty, but she had a kind face that made one feel you could trust her. As he faced her, he caught the light, sweet smell of roses that always seemed to follow her. "May I get anything for you? I have prepared your chambers- would you like food sent up?"

"No, thank you. I have no stomach at the moment." She nodded, but did not withdraw. Her brow was creased, and she took a step towards him.

"My Lord, I… it is not my place, but… is all well with you?"

"I… never mind." She nodded, but still did not withdraw.

"What of… what of the Lord Faramir. Why-" she glanced quickly over her shoulder and dropped her voice. "Why has the High Lord forbidden all servants to speak of him?" Boromir gaped.

"He has done that?" He growled. She looked a little frightened.

"I am sorry my Lord, I should not have-"

"No, no, it's fine. My apologies, I was not angry with you." There was silence for a moment as the girl gained courage again.

"Is… is the Lord Faramir all right, my Lord?" Boromir gazed at her for a moment, then sighed and turned away.

"I don't know. I hope so." She was silent behind him.

"Indeed, my Lord. Thank you." She quickly withdrew. He turned and watched her go. He knew she was especially worried about Faramir. She had been one of his personal servants before their father decided a young girl, however plain, wasn't something his younger son should have control of. She now went everywhere in the castle, transporting personal messages and running errands for the nobility of the castle. Denethor was forever screaming at her for some misdemeanour; she seemed to gall him unusually. It was surprising she had spoken to him at all. She was very quiet, and he had never heard her speak to a noble before outside of her duties. Well, people will always surprise you, he thought bitterly.

Boromir rested his hands on the cool stone of the wall and leant over it, gazing down and the noble, beautiful city spread out before him, falling down from tier to tier to the wide, open plains which stretched endlessly east and west. Smoke curled from the crumbled, ruined remains of what had once been the city of Osgiliath. It burned like a hot coal in Boromir's chest to think of the filthy orcs defiling it, and for a moment, he also felt a taste of his father's anger towards Faramir; but he quickly shoved it down. It was inevitable that this last outpost of defence would also fall to the inexorable onslaught of the enemy. The dark cloud with its deep, burning red centre hovered over the distant mountains like some irremovable stain on the land. Boromir dug his fingernails harder into the stone in both anxiety and anger. Was there any way to stop an unstoppable force?

Boromir dragged his eyes away. He had a very pressing matter at hand. He knew it would be very dangerous to disobey his father; Denethor was a deadly man. If you crossed him, nothing you could do or had ever done before would save you. Boromir shuddered a bit inwardly. He both loved and feared his father, an unwise combination. Denethor was hard to fathom. One moment, he was calm, diplomatic, reasonable; the next, he was lost to madness, blind with rage, ready to deny his own son. Then, there was the inbetween stage, more dangerous than the others by far. In this, Denethor became as outwardly calm and controlled as a stone; but he was like a coiled serpent, waiting to strike. He would strike at your closest and dearest, where he knew it would cause you the most pain. There was no measure to how far he would go to destroy you and everything you loved. Thankfully, this mood rarely came to Denethor. Boromir had seen it happen only twice. Those times he did not dare to think about.

As the thoughts drifted through his head, Boromir's eyes drifted westwards along the spiralling, curving serpent of the road. A small movement far off in the distance now snapped his attention back to earth. A lone, minuscule speck was rapidly moving towards the city, not more than an hour off. Boromir strained his eyes, trying to make out some sort of figure. Suddenly, the clouds broke apart and an eerily bright patch of light fell on the traveller. Boromir's eyes snapped wide open as recognition dawned. He whirled about and raced back into the palace. A short time later, Boromir stood at the gate of the uppermost level of the city, watching as a horse galloped up the cobbled streets toward him. The horse jolted to a stop in front of him, tossing its head and dancing about as its rider dismounted. Boromir smiled and grasped the hand of the other.

"Welcome Gandalf."

TBC