Chapter Twelve -- Strategy and Duty

"It seems apparent to me at least, that my son sleeps soundly. Why have you brought me here?" Father. And none too happy. Boromir tried groggily to bring himself to full wakefulness.

"It is good to see him peaceful at last," Garad said quickly. "He was so badly fevered when I left. I am, however, sorry to have taken you from your duties, My Lord. Shall I call a guard to escort you back to –"

"No," Denethor said testily. "He is waking. I will speak to him. Leave us."

Boromir opened his eyes in time to catch his friend's dismayed expression. "Thank you, Garad," he said with a smile. "Though I am now feeling much better I am glad you have brought my father to me." Standing behind Denethor, Garad rolled his eyes and shook his head, then mimed that he would be right outside should he be needed.

"I would have been here sooner, my son," Denethor was saying as he drew a chair close to the bed. "But there is much that needs my attention."

"I understand completely, father." Boromir pushed himself up to sit against the bed-board. "How go the plans for the city's defence?"

Denethor waved a hand as if to dismiss the matter. "The men know their duty and will protect us as best they might. But neither might of arms nor shielding walls will save Minas Tirith this time."

Boromir's jaw dropped. "Our men are able and our walls unbreakable. All we need do is last the fight."

Denethor smiled and patted Boromir's arm. "You are never one to surrender easily, Boromir, I know that. Yet you have not been here these past months to understand fully how grave is our plight. We cannot stand empty-handed against Sauron and live. Our only hope lies in the one mighty weapon I asked that you return to me. If indeed it was lost to you, then you must know where it may yet be found, or at the least where we may begin searching."

Boromir shook his head in irritation. "Forget The Ring, father. It is a weapon that serves naught but Sauron's will."

Denethor stood and glared with such vehemence at Boromir that he was startled. Denethor turned his back and snarled, "I must have it! I will have it! Without it all hope is lost!"

"There is still hope, father," Boromir pleaded. "We must recall all our forces to defend our walls, and light the beacons. Rohan will –"

"Light the beacons?" Spittle flew from Denethor's mouth as he swung back to eye his son with utter contempt. "Would you betray me to do the Wizard's will?"

Appalled, Boromir could only stare, struck dumb by the madness in his father's normally astute grey eyes. Then, as abruptly as it had come, the terrible rage left and Denethor rubbed a hand over his face. "I am sorry," he said. "I did not mean to accuse you, my most loyal, my beloved son." He sat in the chair again and scrubbed tiredly at his face.

"I serve only Gondor and Gondor alone," Boromir said at last.

"Of course you do." Denethor looked up at him with a twisted smile. "And your loyal heart cannot imagine that others might eagerly seek to betray. Others who are very close to us. Very close."

Boromir decided it wiser to ignore that remark. Instead he said, "Then, knowing my love of Gondor you will believe me when I say we must light the beacons!"

Denethor sighed heavily and looked down at the floor. "Theoden will not answer. He has ever been against me."

"Father!" Boromir said in astonishment. "That is not true! Rohan has ever come to our aid in time of need."

Denethor shook his head. "You are a soldier, Boromir, and a great one for battles of arrow and sword. But you know little of politics. We did not go to Rohan's aid, and thus they will refuse us."

Boromir frowned. "We have ever given aid to Rohan."

"When we could, in years past. But we have been unable to help them of late."

"Theoden asked for aid? When?"

Denethor waved a hand. "It is of no import. I was unable to answer his need. He will not so easily forgive. The Riders will not come."

"They will if we but ask! I know it!"

"And I have seen that they will not!" Denethor snapped. "The beacons will not be lit! Of more importance is all you know of The Halfling who now carries The Ring. Where does he take it? What plans does the wizard conspire to make with him?"

Angry, Boromir opened his mouth to say that The Ring was to be destroyed. But just as suddenly he hesitated. Even that might be to say too much when his father's desire remained so great. If Denethor knew they planned to destroy it, he would work out the rest and send an army, if need be, to retrieve it

"Come, Boromir, you were a member of this Fellowship, foolish as it was. You must know its secrets." Denethor's voice was oddly silky, smoothly compelling. And it made Boromir shiver for he had never before heard such a tone from his father's mouth.

"Gandalf ever kept his intent from us," Boromir hastily prevaricated. "Then, after we believed him lost in Moria, I did what I could to convince them we must bring The Ring to Minas Tirith." He flinched inwardly at that memory.

"I see. Still you must have discerned some of what he planned to do, of why it came so far south from Rivendell. You must have some idea. You must!"

Boromir's unease grew greater. The desire for The Ring seemed now to dominate his father's thinking. What had taken hold of Denethor? If Boromir didn't know better he would say The Ring itself had possessed him. He well knew that madness. Yet he had escaped it very quickly, while Denethor remained mired within it.

"You know how greatly I love you, father," Boromir said. "Listen to me, now, I beg you. Hear me when I say you must put aside all longing for The Ring. It can do naught but bring despair."

"Despair!" Denethor spat. "Do not speak to me of despair! I know it only too well, and I tell you that only with The Ring may we find our salvation! Tell me where you last saw it and do not try to twist the words to save your brother!"

"I last saw The Ring at Amon Hen," Boromir said truthfully.

"Ahh! You begin to learn the way of politics. You tell the truth, yet hide much in so doing. Do not try to play such games with me, Boromir, for I have long since mastered them! I know what else the Wizard would hide from me. He would see me bow to a miserable Ranger from the North! It will not be so!"

"I have learned much of Aragorn. He is an honourable man and –"

"I know The Ring came to Osgiliath! You were there! You know it is true!" Denethor leaned menacingly over the bed and snarled, "Where is it now? Who carries it? Or has your loyalty to me been stained by too long an association with an Elf-loving Ranger who would usurp the throne of Gondor!"

So, his father had known all along of Osgiliath, yet questioned him regardless, tried to trick him. Boromir was appalled by the depth of Denethor's insane rage, and incensed by the attempt at deception. And now his father tried physical intimidation. That was a tactic Boromir had last seen used years ago against the boy Faramir. Even then Boromir had stood his ground, protected his brother. He would not remain in bed and allow his father to think him cowered.

Furious, Boromir threw back the bed-covers and swung his feet to the floor. He would stand, look his father in the eye, and reveal his oath of fealty to Aragorn. He would not hear his good friend, his brother in arms, and future King so maligned! Pain stabbed through his wounds, making his vision fade and swim. The room tilted and began slowly spinning about him.

"Boromir! What are you doing?" Denethor sounded startled.

Boromir smiled grim satisfaction despite the tearing pain. He struggled for focus, found his father's eyes, and said defiantly, "I have found Gondor's salvation! And it is not an accursed Ring created by Gondor's foulest enemy! Gondor's King will come to our aid as he has sworn! Gondor's King will bring us victory! I have given him my oath of fealty! Aragorn is our rightful King and you will do well to remember it!" Boromir gasped and staggered, his sight going dark, but not before he saw shock and perhaps awe in his father's eyes. "As for the cursed Ring," he finished breathlessly, one hand floundering for the support of the bedpost. "I have sent it far from us and it is – my fervent… hope that I never see it again!" Something cold and hard slammed into Boromir's knees, and he realized dizzily that he had fallen.

"Boromir!" he heard his father cry, felt fingers clamp tight about his arm. "Boromir! You do not know what you say! The Wizard has poisoned you with his foul Elvish potion!"

Somehow, Boromir found the strength to lift his head though he could no longer see. "I await the coming of our King. The Ring is gone! On my order!" It took all the strength remaining to him, but he pulled his arm free of his father's grip, intent on getting back to his feet without help. Something struck him a stunning blow to the face. His father crouched anxiously over him. Cold floor tiles pressed against Boromir's cheek and he realized distantly that he had toppled from his knees to sprawl facedown. It was the hard floor had hit him, not Denethor's hand. He shook his head and tried to move but only succeeded in losing consciousness completely.

The next Boromir knew, he was back in bed. A small, warm hand was once again holding his tightly. Pippin, sitting on the far side of the bed, away from the shouting voices. Someone else was holding a flask to his lips, coaxing him to swallow. He tasted miruvor, the elvan restorative. A few drops would bring strength, a mouthful sleep. He swallowed only a little and spat out the rest. He could hear Denethor and Faramir yelling at one another from further back in the room. His vision cleared to find as expected, Gandalf leaning over him, brows drawn down in concern, but his blue eyes afire. Close at the wizard's side, glowering with equal parts anger and worry, was Gimli, helm removed but axe in hand as if to guard the bed. "It's all right," Boromir said, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Let me handle him." Gandalf's worried scowl melted to a faint smile.

"I do believe you've already won this round, laddie," Gimli said.

"You're awake!" Pippin exclaimed. "I was so worried when we came in to find you on the floor and Denethor – well, he was sobbing. I thought you must have died."

Boromir snorted and pushed himself up—with some much needed help from Gandalf, to sit in the bed. "It takes a lot to kill me, Pippin," he said. "You should know that by now."

"I do," Pippin said. "But you do seem to always get into the thick of it!"

Boromir, about to speak to Gandalf, turned back to stare at Pippin indignantly. "Me! Who was carried off by – Never mind." Shaking his head in self-annoyance he turned sharply back to Gandalf. A new pain stabbed above his eye and he could feel blood trickling toward his ear.

"What did he do to you?" Gimli growled. "This time."

"He did nothing. I tried to stand and I fell on my face." Boromir tried to follow what Faramir was saying then groaned when he understood.

"It was my decision, and never have I made better! For The Ring is now far beyond our reach!"

"You have ever been one to fail Gondor's need, Faramir!" Denethor hissed. "And you will pay the penalty!"

"He will not!" Boromir roared, drawing their attention, but having to press a hand to his ribs so that he might continue speaking. "Or if he does, then I will share it! For it was my wish and would have been my order had I been able to deliver it!"

Denethor swung back to the bed, his rage somewhat lessened by his relief at seeing Boromir awake. "You have ever sought to protect your brother, Boromir," he said in an abruptly quiet tone. "But you will not do so this time."

"Try it," Boromir said. "And you will lose us both."

Denethor's face grew stark white as he met his elder son's determined eyes. His lips moved as if searching for further rebuke, but unable to find any.

There was a long, tension-filled silence. Finally, Denethor looked to Pippin. "You swore an oath yesterday, Halfling. Will you now be foresworn?"

Boromir, sitting so close, plainly heard Pippin swallow hard before answering, "I will not." Under his breath he whispered, "For my oath is for Gondor alone." Boromir smiled and said equally softly, "Well said."

"Then I will expect your presence in the Great Hall early tomorrow." Denethor gathered his cloak about his shoulders. "And yours, Faramir." He straightened and looked to Boromir with sudden sorrow in his eyes. "I bid you goodnight, son. May you sleep well and understand more clearly come the new day and your fever is gone."

"Good night, father. I am not fevered."

Garad, who had apparently been standing inside since Gandalf's arrival, opened the door and Denethor left the room. Everyone remained silent, letting the tension ease a moment. Finally, Boromir looked up to his brother with a smile. "It is good to see you safe, brother. And you, Gimli. Gandalf delivered my request?"

Faramir, smiling in return as he approached the bed, suddenly hesitated. "Request?"

"Such proved to be unnecessary," Gandalf put in dryly. "Your brother had the good sense to withdraw while there was yet hope of saving some of the garrison." He crossed the room to sit in the armchair by the tall, lattice-framed windows. Night was beginning to darken the sky. Gandalf tapped his pipe against the ledge and prepared to refill it from the pouch at his side.

"Osgiliath is overrun," Faramir said wearily. He unclasped the leather armour from his shoulders and let it fall. He collapsed wearily into the smaller chair by the bed and ran a dirty hand over his fatigue-lined face. "None of us would have escaped alive if not for Mithrandir's timely aid."

"You should have seen it, Boromir," Pippin said excitedly. "We were galloping so fast, Shadowfax was near to flying. Then Gandalf lifted his staff and made all three Nazgul turn tail and run."

Boromir stared from Pippin to Faramir. Gandalf's head was lowered over his pipe, drawing on it to get the flame started to the leaf in the bowl. Close by his side, Garad poured water into a cup from a pitcher on the table.

"It was indeed a fine sight," Faramir said, his sad, exhausted face lit briefly by amusement for his brother's speechless astonishment.

"Three Nazgul?" Boromir said at last.

"Three." Faramir sighed heavily and settled back in the chair. Garad gave him the water, and, a little surprised by the thoughtful gesture, Faramir nodded thanks. He drank the entire cup before continuing, "The enemy attacked not long after dark last night when our men were already weary after the day's battle. Never have I seen so many boats. They were fitted with ramps that allowed access to Osgiliath's western bank even where the water lies most deep. I do not know how far the Orcs carried the boats or where they were made. I know only that we counted some forty craft each laden with one hundred or more enemy before we were left too busy fighting for our lives to count any further."

"Yet you held until sunset today?"

"Many are dead." Faramir's eyes shone with tears and he looked away as he said, "Our men fought most valiantly."

"I know it."

"The enemy now hold the bridge and the western shore. They will soon bring machines of war to the Pelennor."

There was another silence before Boromir said, "Gandalf tells me Mordor has amassed an army of one hundred thousand or more. We do not have the men to long hold them from the city. We need the aid of Theoden and his Rohirrim, and we need it as soon as possible."

Gandalf looked up from his smoking to meet Boromir's eyes with silent question. "No," Boromir said tiredly. "Father would not agree to light the beacons." Gandalf sighed, and was about to say something, when Boromir continued, "So we must do it ourselves. If only we can find some way round the guards."

Gandalf cleared his throat. "There, I believe I may be able to help. Leave the beacons to me, and to Pippin. I promise you they will soon be burning."

"Me?" Pippin said surprised but eager. "Truly? I can do something to help for once?"

Gandalf flinched. "I believe I have spoken rather harshly to you in the past, Pippin. I have never doubted your willingness, nor your ability to help. And I will be most grateful if I may have your aid in this mighty task."

Pippin flashed a broad grin. "You only have to ask!"

"Good," Gandalf nodded. "Then, since time is of the essence, we might as well do it now. Come along."

Pippin moved to jump down from the bed, but Boromir held tight to his hand. "Wait. You go tomorrow to swear an oath of fealty to Gondor?"

Pippin nodded but would not meet Boromir's eyes. "I had to do something," he mumbled. "When Gandalf and I first saw your father, he – well, he kept saying you were dead. But it would have made no difference -- I would still have done it."

"Done what?" Boromir prompted when no more was said.

Pippin drew a deep breath and looked up at him. "Denethor wanted to know so I told him how you had defended us. Then I offered my service to repay that debt."

Boromir felt his throat close tight with emotion. He squeezed Pippin's hand.

"Did I…? Was that the right thing to do?"

Boromir nodded and smiled. "It was exactly the right thing, Pippin. Though I expected no repayment, I have never been more deeply honoured. I thank you. The Tower Guard will do well to have among its ranks one who brought Isengard to justice."

"Well, I had a lot of help." Pippin mumbled. "The Tower Guard?"

"Our finest," Boromir said, then frowned as he ran his eyes over his valiant friend's small form. "Though, it may be a while before the smiths can make armour to fit you."

"I can help there," Faramir said. He came closer to place his hand to Pippin's shoulder. "I have a suit of armour given to me as a boy that should fit you well. I would be proud to see you wear it tomorrow."

Pippin's eyes rounded. "Thank you, Faramir!"

"It is my honour."

"Well, if that's settled, Peregrin Took," Gandalf said gruffly, "And if I may have your services before Gondor lays claim to you, perhaps we might see to the beacons?"

"I'll come with you," Gimli said. "I can distract anyone who takes too much interest." He winked back at Boromir. "Besides, I need to ask directions to the nearest tavern. I believe the ale is mine for the taking."

"It is indeed, friend Dwarf!" Garad said with a laugh. "I'll come with you to be sure there is no argument."

"My thanks to you all," Boromir called as they headed for the door. "Be careful!"

"We will," Gandalf assured.