After bathing and dressing, Boromir made his way to the citadel to meet
with his father. Faramir was not to be found, and the events of the
previous night's councils were weighing heavily on Boromir's mind. The
guards before the large doors of the citadel bowed low, and swung the doors
open. Boromir strode into the grand hall, brow creasing in a frown to see
Faramir by Denethor's side. Denethor looked up, a warm smile spreading
across his face at the sight of his eldest and dearest son.
"We were just beginning to wonder about you, Boromir. Faramir tells me you have had sleepless nights as of late?" Was that amusement in the Steward's eyes? Boromir approached the throne and bowed to one knee.
"Yes, father. Sleep has been evasive as of late." His gray eyes glanced at his brother, who winked, fair face open, pleasant: A good sign that the meeting the previous night had gone well. He glanced back at his father, who leaned forward and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"Well, my son, as you have been sleeping, we have been strategizing." The smallest amount of condescension was in Denethor's voice. Boromir smiled.
"Strategizing? Without the Captain-General of the armies of Gondor?" Boromir joked, shooting his younger brother a look.
"Gondor does not rest upon you alone, brother" Faramir replied, standing and stretching his back. Boromir stood as well, bringing his brother in for an amicable embrace.
"That is what you think."
"Now, now." Denethor sighed, glancing from youngest to eldest. "Matters in war are serious." The two became somber immediately, and turned to face their father. "And we have much to be concerned with in regards with the enemy gaining numbers and strength in the east." Denethor continued, face drawn and grave. "Both you and Faramir shall lead a company to reinforce the bridge at Osgiliath." The brothers regarded each other before turning back to their father.
"Would not our leadership be more useful divided? Spread among the weak points that border upon Mordor?" Faramir asked, taking his seat once more beside Denethor's throne. "What is the urgency at Osgiliath?"
"Rumors of fell riders, stories of a darkness that we have not yet witnessed have been spreading through the troops." Boromir paced, his voice low, thoughtful. He glanced at Denethor, who was watching him with approval. "If the bridge is taken…" Boromir trailed off, looking at Faramir. "Gondor would never be able to withstand attack." Denethor was beaming at his eldest son. Faramir looked away. "When would you like a company gathered, father?" Boromir asked.
Denethor rubbed his face tiredly and sat back in his throne.
"It will take a few days to muster soldiers… We are loosing many. The Easterlings and the Haradrim have joined with Mordor, and there is no telling when their siege upon us shall reach its full strength." Denethor looked old, tired. Boromir approached his father and knelt beside the throne.
"Gondor shall be safe, father, as long as we are here to keep it thus." He looked to Faramir, who nodded. "We will gather the troops and head out as soon as we are ready." He got to his feet and bowed to his father before making for the door.
"Boromir!" His brother's voice halted him in the corridor leading from the citadel. He waited as his brother ran to catch up with him. Faramir slung his arm around Boromir's shoulders, and they walked slowly out to the court of the fountain and the tree. "I meant to see you after father and I met, but I felt that you must have been tired, just returning from Cair Andros." He said softly. Boromir sighed, looking into the face of his brother that was much like his own.
"I thought I was tired, Faramir. I don't know what has come over me as of late." They sat together, watching the sparkling fountain in the afternoon sun. Faramir's face was concerned.
"You haven't been dreaming have you?" Was that a tone of accusation Boromir heard in his brother's voice?
"No! Nothing discernable." He spoke in half-truths. He kept his dreams to himself, because on the most part they weren't discernable, a jumble of images that he often discarded at the moment of awakening. "I worry for our fair city."
"As we all do. The rest of us, however, don't get to have drinks with random women as we worry." Faramir teased. "Who is she? And what is she doing with YOU?" Boromir laughed.
"Her name is Ariadne, daughter of one of the guardsmen. We met that very night on the walls. I was sleepless and needed air, and there she was!" He ended, toying with a scrap of leather dangling from his wrist guards.
"Would that we were all so lucky with the fairer sex." Faramir laughed.
"I never said it was luck." Boromir smiled, smoothing back an errant lock of dark hair.
"You must be famished. Join me for a meal before organizing the company?" Faramir stood, looking down at his elder brother. Boromir nodded and got to his feet as well.
~
Boromir started up from his bed; sweat dripping from his brow and into his eyes, trembling and fearful.
"Help me…" He gasped into the empty, cold room. He placed his face in his hands and wept silently, attempting to shake the remaining tendrils of his dream from him. The sky outside was pale in the early morning sun, wrought with clouds that threatened oncoming rain. The troops would soon be ready for the journey to Osgiliath. Boromir arose and prepared for war, armoring himself with fingers that trembled.
"We were just beginning to wonder about you, Boromir. Faramir tells me you have had sleepless nights as of late?" Was that amusement in the Steward's eyes? Boromir approached the throne and bowed to one knee.
"Yes, father. Sleep has been evasive as of late." His gray eyes glanced at his brother, who winked, fair face open, pleasant: A good sign that the meeting the previous night had gone well. He glanced back at his father, who leaned forward and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"Well, my son, as you have been sleeping, we have been strategizing." The smallest amount of condescension was in Denethor's voice. Boromir smiled.
"Strategizing? Without the Captain-General of the armies of Gondor?" Boromir joked, shooting his younger brother a look.
"Gondor does not rest upon you alone, brother" Faramir replied, standing and stretching his back. Boromir stood as well, bringing his brother in for an amicable embrace.
"That is what you think."
"Now, now." Denethor sighed, glancing from youngest to eldest. "Matters in war are serious." The two became somber immediately, and turned to face their father. "And we have much to be concerned with in regards with the enemy gaining numbers and strength in the east." Denethor continued, face drawn and grave. "Both you and Faramir shall lead a company to reinforce the bridge at Osgiliath." The brothers regarded each other before turning back to their father.
"Would not our leadership be more useful divided? Spread among the weak points that border upon Mordor?" Faramir asked, taking his seat once more beside Denethor's throne. "What is the urgency at Osgiliath?"
"Rumors of fell riders, stories of a darkness that we have not yet witnessed have been spreading through the troops." Boromir paced, his voice low, thoughtful. He glanced at Denethor, who was watching him with approval. "If the bridge is taken…" Boromir trailed off, looking at Faramir. "Gondor would never be able to withstand attack." Denethor was beaming at his eldest son. Faramir looked away. "When would you like a company gathered, father?" Boromir asked.
Denethor rubbed his face tiredly and sat back in his throne.
"It will take a few days to muster soldiers… We are loosing many. The Easterlings and the Haradrim have joined with Mordor, and there is no telling when their siege upon us shall reach its full strength." Denethor looked old, tired. Boromir approached his father and knelt beside the throne.
"Gondor shall be safe, father, as long as we are here to keep it thus." He looked to Faramir, who nodded. "We will gather the troops and head out as soon as we are ready." He got to his feet and bowed to his father before making for the door.
"Boromir!" His brother's voice halted him in the corridor leading from the citadel. He waited as his brother ran to catch up with him. Faramir slung his arm around Boromir's shoulders, and they walked slowly out to the court of the fountain and the tree. "I meant to see you after father and I met, but I felt that you must have been tired, just returning from Cair Andros." He said softly. Boromir sighed, looking into the face of his brother that was much like his own.
"I thought I was tired, Faramir. I don't know what has come over me as of late." They sat together, watching the sparkling fountain in the afternoon sun. Faramir's face was concerned.
"You haven't been dreaming have you?" Was that a tone of accusation Boromir heard in his brother's voice?
"No! Nothing discernable." He spoke in half-truths. He kept his dreams to himself, because on the most part they weren't discernable, a jumble of images that he often discarded at the moment of awakening. "I worry for our fair city."
"As we all do. The rest of us, however, don't get to have drinks with random women as we worry." Faramir teased. "Who is she? And what is she doing with YOU?" Boromir laughed.
"Her name is Ariadne, daughter of one of the guardsmen. We met that very night on the walls. I was sleepless and needed air, and there she was!" He ended, toying with a scrap of leather dangling from his wrist guards.
"Would that we were all so lucky with the fairer sex." Faramir laughed.
"I never said it was luck." Boromir smiled, smoothing back an errant lock of dark hair.
"You must be famished. Join me for a meal before organizing the company?" Faramir stood, looking down at his elder brother. Boromir nodded and got to his feet as well.
~
Boromir started up from his bed; sweat dripping from his brow and into his eyes, trembling and fearful.
"Help me…" He gasped into the empty, cold room. He placed his face in his hands and wept silently, attempting to shake the remaining tendrils of his dream from him. The sky outside was pale in the early morning sun, wrought with clouds that threatened oncoming rain. The troops would soon be ready for the journey to Osgiliath. Boromir arose and prepared for war, armoring himself with fingers that trembled.