LI.

The Captain of Gondor

They'd ran towards the bridge together, the morning summer sun warming them and drying their clothes. The men cheered upon seeing them, an armored figure rushed towards Jaime, Boromir recognized him as Addam Marbrand, the knight who'd first come to Minas Tirith with Jaime.

"Jaime!" he called smiling, "That was… that was something out of legend! Half the men are saying you fought the Stranger himself, the other half are saying the Night's King has come again and this will be another War for the Dawn."

"There will be time enough to discuss it later, where is the mountain man? Timett?"

"Timett is here!" a voice called, they turned to see him walking towards the bridge with a small party of Clansmen, "Your father is alive Jaime Lannister, Timett has taken him to your healers."

"The boats Timett," Boromir said quickly, "Are they on this side of the river?"

Timett nodded, "Several wounded men were brought back over the river after our first attack." His eye widened suddenly, "You mean to go back? For the Andals who used the stone throwers?"

Boromir nodded, "They saved our lives by bringing down that bridge, if any still remain I will not abandon them."

The clansman drew his axe, "follow Timett!" the four of them, for Boromir saw that Marbrand was following now too, ran to a small dock that in the days of Osgiliath's glory had probably been used by merchants. Docked there were two rowboats, probably large enough to hold seven or eight men each. Looking across the river Boromir could see the men had piled stone and wood to block the final bridge leading to their position, but the enemy was coming for them. He motioned for Jaime to get into one of the boats with him and they began rowing madly for the small isle where the Trebuchets were situated. He could see now that the men had lit them on fire, the tall wooden structures spilling black smoke into the morning sky. The barricades they'd erected crumbled under the weight of the orcs assault just as their boats made contact with the shore, the men saw them and ran desperately towards the sand.

"Come on! Come on!" Jaime yelled, suddenly he pointed to a man who'd taken an arrow to the leg and was hobbling towards them, "Someone get him!"

Boromir saw and jumped free of the ship, running to the man just as the first group of orcs was about to overtake him. His greatsword cleaved through the first, before they could react he'd plunged it through the chest of a second. He was caught off guard by the screaming battle cry of an Easterling, a shield raised to block his strike, in the corner of his eye he saw Marbrand and Jaime helping the injured man hobble towards the boats. The Easterling met his sword and brought the heavy shield around to hit him hard in the side. He cried out angrily and was about to tear the shield from the other man but then Timett came from behind him and planted an axe in the gap between the helmet and the man's mail. He watched as the man fell and Timett merely jerked his head in the direction of the boats. Boromir nodded and they ran together, snarls and angry yells coming from behind them.

As they reached the sands the two of them jumped into the nearest boat and joined the men in pushing away from the sand with the paddles. They slowly drifted off and frantically rowed away, some of the orcs tried to rush into the water after them, but Timett seized a paddle and with a quick snapping motion jabbed the end of it towards the skull of the closet one, causing a quick cracking noise followed by the creature drifting underwater. They were too far into the water to be caught now, and a number or orcs yelled obscenities at them from the shorefront as they drifted away, and by the time any of them thought to loose arrows they were nearly back again.

When the boats had again docked the sappers helped their injured comrade out of the boat, several murmured thanks but it was clear most were still in awe that they'd managed to escape at all. Boromir looked over the city silently, the East bank was lost, the only bridge destroyed… but the enemy would not cross the river this day. He saw Jaime making similar observations, sharing his relief that they had avoided a total rout.

"Your father Jaime," he said suddenly, "We should see to him."

Jaime nodded, breathing out slowly looking back to the tower where he'd fought the Nazgul, "You're right. He'll be in the rear with the rest of the wounded."

"I'll go to him within the hour as well, I'm sure my report is needed." Marbrand said reluctantly, from the look of him he'd hoped to lurk away somewhere seeking a drink or perhaps a warm bed. "For now I will see to my men." Timett said nothing, just watching them go for a moment before walking away to look for the other clansmen.

The two of them walked slowly, the fatigue and weariness of the battle beginning to set in. The men they passed seemed to be in a similar state, with the bridge destroyed and the enemy cleared from this side of the river there seemed to be little to do. Men wandered aimlessly, looking for their lords or commanders, some just propped themselves against the ruined buildings and fell asleep. Boromir felt a small yawn escape his own mouth, with the adrenaline of the fight fading he wondered how long it would be before he had a chance to rest.

They came at last to the same palace they'd stayed at in the week leading up to the battle. One of the guards recognized Jaime and approached them.

"Ser Jaime, your father is in his bedroom being treated by the maesters, Lord Denethor and your sister are with him as well."

Jaime nodded, "What's the situation, is he… is it bad?"

The guard shrugged, "I'm sorry Ser Jaime but I know little of such things, but he is awake and he has been yelling for us to find you for at least an hour now."

Jaime frowned, "Well if he's trying to order me around already he must have some life in him yet."

The party climbed the stairs to Tywin's room. As they entered Boromir saw his father standing to one side of the bed, he nodded upon seeing them. Looking around he also saw Cersei, seated in a chair in the corner of the room, sipping wine quietly. He noticed she'd changed out of the bloodstained dress he'd seen earlier, though she seemed to be in as much shock as anyone else. When they entered they saw a maester and a woman wearing a grey hood and dress which Boromir recognized as the garb of a healer of the Houses of Healing arguing over the best method of treating Tywin's wound.

"I am telling you lady Loreth, breadmold is quite effective in preventing putrefication-"

"Nonsense you old fool!" She snapped, "brushing honey against the wound is the proper method of preventing a wound from going sour!"

Seeing the three of them enter his father sat up in bed, "I've no time for this, do both if it pleases you and then stitch my wounds." He was pale, likely from blood loss, and his armor and clothing had been cut off him leaving him naked from the waist up, a large assortment of bandages coating the wound in his side.

"Lord Tywin shall I prepare milk of the poppy?" The maester asked hesitantly, the woman had already begun removing the bandages to apply honey.

"No," He replied, "I must speak with my son and my allies, sew me up without it."

"Lord Tywin it will be extremely-"

"Do it," he said sternly. Sighing the Maester began applying the bread mold, following the path of the healer before the holding out a needle for her to thread, on the use of stitches at least they agreed. Tywin winced as the first needle pierced his skin, but otherwise seemed coherent.

"What in the seven hells..." he began before drawing a sharp intake of breath as the healers continued their work, "What in the seven hells was that? The things I felt…" he shuddered involuntarily, "It was no man, that much I know, nor was it a mere Wizard."

"The Witch King himself," Denethor replied, "Come to lead Sauron's armies again, as he did in ages long past. You are lucky to have survived."

Tywin was quiet a moment, "It's all true, Sauron really is some deathless abomination…" he seemed to sink in on himself, his eyes staring straight through them, "It's all true!" he almost shouted, startling the maester.

"Lord Tywin!" the man began, "Please remain-"

"Calm?" He yelled, "The Stranger himself takes up arms against me and you want me to remain calm?"

Loreth stood up and placed a hand on his chest firmly, in his weakened state Tywin was easily forced back to his pillow, "Lord Tywin, if you will take no sleeping drought then yes I am afraid that you must force yourself to remain calm." He fumed, and Boromir reflected that it was lucky that Loreth was a servant of Minas Tirith rather than Casterly Rock. He slowly adjusted himself to get more comfortable.

"How do we stop him?" he asked suddenly, "Every tale of grumpkins and snarks has something that stops the monster, do we need silver arrows? Dragonglass? Whatever it takes we'll get it!" he looked to Denethor and Boromir almost desperately.

Boromir sighed, "This is no tale of grumpkins and snarks Lord Tywin, his defeat in the war of the last alliance required numbers that we do not currently possess."

Tywin's brow furrowed, "The last alliance... forgive me but my study of your history has been mostly more recent events."

"The Last Alliance of Elves and Men," Denethor said suddenly, moving towards a chair alongside the bed. "Sauron had declared himself master of Middle Earth, his armies marched in force against all free peoples, men, elves, dwarves… Gondor was a young nation then, the blood of Numenor still strong, and the elves still numerous in their great realms."

"Oropher, father of Thranduil, was slain during that war," Cersei said suddenly, everyone in the room looked to her shocked, but she was still staring into her cup. "An immortal warrior beyond any man and still cut down…" She looked up at the sudden quiet and realized everyone was looking at her. "I've been doing some reading on elves," she sighed. "Father, they are immortal as well, beings of light and splendor… of power and magic."

Denethor frowned, "If I may ask, why do the elves interest you so Lady Cersei?"

"Cersei-" Boromir began, but it was too late.

"My betrothed goes to treat with them," she replied, "Faramir seeks Elrond of Rivendell. I can only imagine it has something to do with this war."

Denethor nodded, "I'd thought as much… pass the wine." Cersei did so, standing up and bringing him the pitcher, he held out a glass as she poured it to the brim. He took a long drink then sighed with satisfaction, "The wizards and the elves keep each other's counsel."

"If need be we can offer these elves anything they could desire, gold, lands-" Tywin started.

"They care little for such," Denethor replied dismissively, "They are different spirits from men. If it were a matter of paying them for their help I would have done so long ago."

"Then what hope do we have?" Tywin replied angrily, "I will not lay back and accept that we are doomed to be worn down until we fall!"

"There is one weapon that may avail us," The steward drained the rest of his wine, "The One Ring, that foul concentration of all his cruelty and malice… it could be destroyed… or used against him in the right hands."

"Where is this ring?" Tywin asked, suddenly interested.

"Lost long ago," Denethor replied sadly, "though with the hosts of Mordor moving again I am sure that wherever it is the ring moves as well."

Tywin stroked his chin, "Perhaps if we assembled parties to search for it-"

They were interrupted by Kevan Lannister entering the room suddenly, "Tywin I-" he looked around the room, seeing Jaime and Boromir. "News has come from Casterly Rock," he said slowly, "This may be something to discuss in private."

"There are pressing matters we must deal with brother, whatever else there is to be done-"

"Tywin," Kevan cut him off, "This cannot wait."

Tywin raised an eyebrow, "Let me see the letter and I will decide."

Kevan produced a scroll canister of the type usually used by messenger ravens, he stepped past Denethor with a polite nod and handed it to Tywin, who opened it and poured out the rolled paper. He unfurled it and his eyes quickly darted across the page. Boromir saw his eyes grow wide, then the corner of his mouth began to twitch as a furious expression came over his face.

"Lady Loreth, Maester Laren, please leave the room," he said with a forced calm. The two of them, who had so freely ordered him about minutes before, now saw his face and quickly gathered their things and exited the room.

Boromir looked to Denethor uncomfortably and then to Tywin, "Lord Tywin should we-"

"Stay for a moment, as our allies in this war you should be aware that our homeland has come under attack."

"What!?" Boromir exclaimed, he saw from his father's expression that this was a shock to him as well.

"Yes, an army of perhaps fifty thousand orcs has assailed our Northern Border. They have taken the Banefort, though it is said the Baneforts fought valiantly in it's defense. An army of five thousand men ready for battle near the Crag under the command of Prince Eomer of Rohan, who has rallied my people in my absence. He came to the aid of the Banefort and through his efforts many were able to escape." Tywin spoke emotionlessly, reading plainly from the scroll in front of him.

"Surely there are more men available to counter this threat?" Denethor asked.

"The orcs…" Tywin sighed rubbing his temples, "This will come out in any event…" he muttered to himself. "They claim to march under the banner of King Joffrey Baratheon, ravens were sent out from the Banefort declaring me a traitor unless I go to prostrate myself before him and this "Great Goblin." It seems there are a few foolish enough to have declared allegiance to him."

"They haven't seen the orcs, these fools think this is just another play in some game of succession," Jaime said bitterly, "Who is it? Which houses will suffer for this betrayal?"

"There is a man claiming to be the lost bastard of lord Castamere leading peasant levys from their old lands, Lord Farmon of Faircastle has also declared allegiance to King Joffrey but has not sallied forth from Fair Isle yet."

"This is…" Boromir searched for words, "You have my word that I will do all I can to aid you in this dark hour."

"Mine as well, though what we can spare is limited as you have seen for yourself," Denethor cut in.

"I thank you both," Tywin said nodding, "But for now I would ask that everyone leave me alone that I may speak with my daughter…" All eyes in the room turned to Cersei and she looked to all of them, suddenly looking desperate, her gaze lingering on Jaime, then Denethor, and finally on Boromir. As much as he felt he should stay his father's voice cut through the air.

"Boromir, Jaime, Ser Kevan, I think we should indulge Lord Tywin. Come, we all have much to do in any case." The four of them slowly filed out. Boromir was last and he closed the door. He felt himself jump as the angry roar of Tywin's yelling began to fill the room they'd left. Jaime looked back a moment, and Boromir worried he would kick the door open and rescue his sister from their father's wrath.

"What will you do now Jaime?" He asked quietly.

"Father is wounded, he will not be able to travel nor lead men. I will take a portion of our army back in his stead and end this threat," Jaime's eyes never left the door as he spoke, "A bastard of the Castameres…" he chuckled, "The septons were right, the burden of a man's sins falls upon his children."

Boromir frowned, "What do you mean by that Jaime?"

He sighed, "Nothing… Let's go, your father is right, we have much to do."