Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Lord of the Rings belong to their respective creators, Joss Whedon and J.R.R. Tolkien.

The blade was perhaps thirty-six, thirty-seven inches from point to guard, nearly two inches at the base, and fullered twelve, twelve-and-a-half inches. The guard was nigh ten inches wide, angular and flat in the cross-section, the grip black leather, tight and spare. A circular pommel topped the grip, flat on both sides and unadorned.

"Is that a new sword? I have not seen it before."

Boromir looked well-rested for only a few hours of good sleep. He was armed again in his sword and vambraces, with a thick cloak clasped at the neck. Otherwise, he had dressed quite modestly, in tunic, surcoat, and leggings. Faramir had talked him out of wearing the uniform of the High Warden of the White Tower with difficulty. He had shaved as well, though his hair was still longer than he was used to wearing it.

"No," said Faramir. "This was a gift."

He gave it into Boromir's hand when his brother held it out, and watched as Boromir wielded it.

"Perfect balance," Boromir murmured. He made a quick, wide swing. "Weighs almost nothing." He paused, holding the sword out straight in front, and looked at Faramir. "Bare bones, but... Have you tested it yet?"

Faramir shook his head. "I received it recently," he said, "and have had other things to think about."

"Later, then." Boromir moved as if he would give the sword back, but then stopped, his eyes locked on the blade.

"Faramir," he said quietly, "the trees...?"

Faramir said nothing, and, after a moment, Boromir gave the sword back into his hand.

"Now," said Boromir, adjusting his cloak. "Let us speak to the captains, and then we will go see your Buffy."

They turned their faces in the direction of the War Corridor, where the captains of the armies were to be assembled. The Citadel had come alive since Boromir's return, as the Steward finally gave the orders for the mobilization of troops. The quartermasters were already hard at work, and the call had gone out into the country for the outlying lords to provide numbers of armed men.

"I meant to tell you, brother," Faramir said quietly. "Theodred is here."

"Here?" Boromir frowned, nodding to a passing guard. "I had not heard. Father did not mention it."

"He does not know. I saw Theodred and his cousins among the Rohirrim camped at the Fair. Now I suppose they are somewhere in the city." He held back. "He did not announce himself, and he has no retinue that I have seen."

Boromir looked as if he were mulling over what he had heard. "While returning home, I heard rumors that a shieldmaiden had appeared in Edoras."

"And Theodred is trying to find her," finished Faramir. "Mablung told me the same."

"Do you think Theodred believes the shieldmaiden to be in Minas Tirith?"

Faramir had not expected his gut to wrench as it did. "That would explain his presence here, though not why he would come in secrecy." He hesitated. "Unless she is fleeing him."

"Perhaps she is extraordinarily beautiful," said Boromir, smiling, "and he wants to catch her and convince her to marry him, in which case I understand why he would not want to tell such a breaker of hearts as you."

"Alas, my career as a seducer of cruel warrior women is over. I have been undone by a girl with a hammer."

Boromir burst out laughing, getting looks from servants and guards alike. He clapped a hand over his mouth and struggled.

When he had regained control of himself, he looked at Faramir with a considering eye. "You have changed, Faramir."

At the doors leading into the War Corridor, Boromir stopped, briefly laying his hand on Faramir's shoulder. "Do you remember when Theodred came to Minas Tirith with his father when we were children?"

"Mostly I remember how you two fought like Huan and Carcharoth."

"I remind you that I was fighting for your honor."

"Ah. The threatened honor of a five-year-old."

"And then you betrayed me by hanging about him as if he were your brother and not I."

"Well, it was a very good toy horse he gave me. I recall you wouldn't let me play with any of yours."

Boromir smiled, but then looked at his brother thoughtfully. When he spoke, his voice was low and soft. "What is she like, Faramir?"

The question caught him off his guard. "Buffy? She...well, she..."

He broke off, unable to think of what to say. He remembered her sitting on her stool beside the bed, making her clumsy stitches. He remembered her taking his hand, remembered dancing with her through the simbelmyne. He remembered kissing her.

"She has green eyes," he said, "and...and golden hair. She's...she's very small."

Boromir laughed, in the same quiet tone he had spoken with. "I suppose we really are brothers, we have so many of the same tastes. You could be talking of my lady."

"Truly?" Faramir thought of Buffy climbing out a window in her underclothes and smiled. That would be like her. "And is your lady more beautiful than anything you have ever seen before in your life, lovelier than even the White City on a summer day?"

He did not expect an answer, watching as Boromir turned to gaze out a window in the far wall, outside to where the storm was beginning to slake, slowly releasing its grip of thunder and lightening over the city.

"Yes," said Boromir, and seemed as surprised as Faramir at his own answer. "Yes, Faramir. My lady is more beautiful than anything I have ever seen, even above that which I have loved more than all other things my entire life."

Faramir did not know what to say. There was a tightness behind his eyes, and he felt as if he were watching his brother, the man he knew better than anyone else alive, falling from a very high place. He could not put a reason to that feeling, however, and could not think how to express it.

"Come, little brother," said Boromir, turning. His face became familiar again, flashing that grin he had known all his life. "There's war to make, and then you must introduce me to your Buffy. I want to have a look at this girl who is about to give our father more trouble than he has ever had before."

Then the doors opened, and the assembled captains of Gondor loosed a great cry as the Captain-General of Minas Tirith strode in.