AzNnEgGrOePnOi: Here's my next update! I certainly appreciate all the
great reviews you have given me thus far.
Shlee Verde: I love developing the characters of Boromir, Faramir, and Denethor, and I wish I could see more of them besides what is in LOTR. As far as your question about Harad....well, it will be answered very soon...
_______________________________________________________
In the monthes following the brother's encounter with Bardok, Gondor seemed to rest upon shaky ground. Though the lands between the mountain and the sea were not engaged in any battle with Harad, a cloak of evil appeared to be spreading. News came to Minas Tirith of the Haradrim, creating newly forged alliances with the dark Uruks of Mordor.
Mordor. It was a land of terror known to Gondor, for, many generations of men ago, a great battle was fought upon the slopes of its great mountain. However, most people could remember little of such past events, save the names of Isildur and Sauron, and now the people of Minas Tirith knew little of the area. They were only familiar with some of the evils it spewed out, like the Uruks, and terrible shadowed horsemen that were occasionally sighted along the borders.
When the people of Minas Tirith heard even the slightest rumors of a Harad- Modor alliance, their faces grew grave, and their hearts dark. For awhile, they had dared to imagine that the ongoing conflicts might be over, that peace might reign. Now, they often gazed out to the south and east, ever watchful.
********
A few weeks after the tenth birthday of Faramir, both brothers were sitting in their room, talking. Earlier that day, they'd been wandering around Minas Tirith, practicing their sword fighting skills against some of the other boys. Faramir had considered the words of Boromir concerning fighting, given to him many monthes ago, and no longer felt quite as opposed to the idea. Though he firmly resolved to never become a "murderer", as he called Bardok, he still took part in mock battles with the others. Now, Faramir recalled his encounter with Mergil that afternoon, in which he'd given the older boy.
"He really seemed distracted," noted Faramir, as he carefully ran his fingers along the flat side of his sword, a metal one now, for he was too old for the small wooden one he had recieved earlier.
"Perhaps you simply have superior skills to him, brother," answered Boromir. "After all, you have been practicing a lot lately." He paused for a second before adding, "But I daresay I'd still be more than a match for you."
Faramir ignored the slight prideful jest by his brother, for he knew the other intended no ill of it, and it was indeed, a truthful fact. "I still think he was distracted. He fell so easily today."
"Perhaps he was thinking about other things." Boromir himself had spent a lot of time comtemplating a possible war with Harad or Mordor. He had noticed the grave looks upon the city peoples' faces lately, the grim look that Denethor seemed to wear almost constantly now days, the fortifications being added to some of the city walls. Occasionally Boromir shared his thoughts with Faramir, but not often, for he was painfully aware of the fact that his younger brother was precisely that: young.
Boromir's thoughts were interrupted by Faramir. "Was he thinking about war?"
"What?!" Boromir was startled.
"War. I know it's coming. The men are thinking about it all the time; I see their faces. And you are thinking about it too; but you never talk about it."
Boromir hated the idea of his brother being worried about war, whether it was coming or not. Couldn't he simply be able to enjoy his childhood, like he himself had (at least up until recently)? "Don't worry about the war," Boromir said, despite the traces of anxiety visible in his eyes. "Everything will be fine. Perhaps we may have problems with Harad, but they will not attack us, up here in the high tower."
"You're lying." Faramir looked ill at ease, though it was impossible to tell whether it came from his slight annoyance at being lied too, or his fears at the idea of an attack.
"Why would I be lying?" questioned Boromir, attempting to distract his brother. "Men of Minas Tirith are truthful, so why shouldn't I be?"
"You are afraid, and you want to hide it from me."
The words struck Boromir hard, because he was unable to deny the truth in them. Though he admired the battle stories of old, about heros defending their lands and people, he himself had never seen such a fight. Boromir liked to consider himself fearless; yet, if war did indeed come, he wasn't sure if he could live up to the courage of the mighty men before him. Still, he did not like the fact that he was so affected by Faramir's words. "I am not afraid!" he replied, raising his voice slightly. "How dare you say that!"
Faramir realized immediately that his words had injured Boromir's pride. "I am sorry-" he began.
Boromir however, did not hear the rest of his brother's words. Unhappy and unable to express his true feelings, he stormed out of the room.
********
Faramir sighed as he watched Boromir leave. He admired his brother dearly, and hated to insult him in any way, but he wasn't sure how to react to the anxiety he noted in his face and actions. Boromir enjoyed fighting, in a way his brother never quite did; this Faramir understood. However, Faramir knew that Boromir had never really been tested in battle, and for his older brother, the thought of actually being at war was a little unnerving.
"He should be afraid," thought Faramir. "But why does he try to hide it from me? I can see it in his eyes."
Faramir knew his brother very well, perhaps better than anyone else. But now, he did not understand the way in which Boromir was acting lately. He needed time to think.
"I'll go talk to the guards by the first gate," Faramir finally decided. "It's still early enough, if I hurry. They seem to be worried a lot about the war too, so maybe they will undersand Boromir better than I."
He quickly sheathed his sword to carry with him, retrieved his cloak, and slipped, unoticed, out of the great hall of the tower.
********
Boromir walked swifty towards the stairway, to the pinnacle of the white tower. He now spent a good deal of time there, when he was not with Faramir, for he enjoyed simply gazing out upon the land that was Gondor. Now, Boromir sought out the tower to escape the anxiety that seemed to plague his thoughts.
He climbed the stairs in a matter of minutes, and soon stood at the very top. There was a slight breeze as the sun began to slowly set in the orange sky of the west. Boromir sighed as he saw the sky, then he diverted his eyes towards the south. There, dark clouds were visible; a reflection of the darkening thoughts of the people of Gondor.
"I have always dreamed of becoming a great fighter," Boromir mused aloud, "greater than any that ever was before in Minas Tirith. All men would respect me, and after a huge battle I would always ride home to the cheering crowds. But now, it appears as though war truely is upon us. And it is true; I am a bit nervous, for I have never been in a battle any more serious than a mock fight with Mergil!"
He paused, his mind racing with a thousand different thoughts. Was he truely brave enough to live up to the great men of the past, or would he quail at the sight of a battle?
"I am not afraid!" Boromir suddenly stated, as if he were trying to convince himself of this very fact. He pulled out his sword quickly, and swung it about, feeling the weight of the weapon in his hands. "I am not afraid!"
Suddenly, as if in answer, there was an earsplitting noise from the city below; the sound of a great horn echoed across the stone walls. Great lights were lit upon the main city gate, blazing like giant orange fireballs in the slowly darkening sky. The clouds of the south appeared to be approaching, yet, now as Boromir studied them more closely, he saw that they were not clouds at all. Instead, he saw a great cloak of dust rising from the dry land, emitting from a massive black shape.
Boromir stepped back from the edge of the tower, gripping his sword tightly in his shaking hand. The black shape that was now swiftly moving towards Minas Tirith was a giant formation of men. Evil men from Harad, bearing dark shields, long spears, and swords.
War was coming.
Boromir tore his gaze from the approaching army, and bolted back towards the stairs. He half ran, half slid down them, ending up in an ungainly heap at the bottom. Straightening himself as he got to his feet, he saw Denethor running by, towards the door to the hall. The Steward was in his usual clothes, yet underneath them, the boy caught a glimpse of chain mail.
"Boromir!" Denethor uncharacteristicly shouted as he saw his older son. "Come with me! We must make sure Minas Tirith is prepared for attack! The Haradrim defeated some of our men in South Ithilien, and they are marching as we speak towards the city."
"Aye, they were visible from the white tower Father," replied Boromir, attempting to hide any traces of possible fear.
"You saw them? They must be closer then I believed. We must hurry!" The Steward stopped for a second. "Where is your brother?"
A slight shadow flickered over Boromir's face as he remembered the previous conversation with his brother. "He was in his room not long before."
"Find him quickly, then, and then follow me to the city. I understand you have tried to conceal the threat of war from Faramir (though I doubt your success), but now, he will learn about such things whether we wish it or not. War is here, and none can hide from it!"
With that, Denethor left the hall, most likely to meet up with some of his guards who were waiting outside in the courtyard.
Boromir watched him leave, then ran to the room he and Faramir still shared. "Faramir!" he said, opening the door quickly, "We must go with Father now, into the city! Grab your sword and come with me!"
He stopped, noticing that the room was vacant. "Faramir?" He looked around, as if he expected his brother to suddenly appear. "Faramir? Where are you?"
Boromir groaned. "He must be somewhere else in the tower! But I don't have time to go searching for him. I guess he will simply have to meet up with us later."
With that, he turned around, and left the room, heading towards the entrance to the hall.
********
Faramir was nowhere near the tower; however, he had not yet reached the main gate when the tremendous blast of the horn sounded. His hands flew to his ears at the harsh sound, waiting for it to fade. "What was that?" he wondered, for he was not familiar with the horn cry that alerted the city to an enemy approach.
He saw people stop suddenly at the sound, looking around quickly. Then, more noises filled the streets. Women ran inside their houses, taking young children with them. Those who remained in the streets, the older children and most of the men, ran towards the city gate, taking up their swords as swiftly as they could find them. Some even put on chain mail, or bore shields, as if they had been anticipating the possiblity of the horn call. They had not been idly waiting for battle.
Faramir did not go unoticed, caught up in a swarm of people heading towards the gate. One man suddenly stepped up to him, saying, "Aren't you coming? You look old enough."
Faramir was startled. "What? Come where?"
"There's a war coming! All of us are to meet along the first wall of the city, near the gate! Surely you have heard this news?"
"But-"
"Come on now! I've an extra helmet if you want it; my son's grown to big to wear it." The man handed Faramir a small helm, and helped him put it on. "Now then! Let's go!"
"But-" Faramir found himself being taken towards the main gate, unsure of what he might find there.
Shlee Verde: I love developing the characters of Boromir, Faramir, and Denethor, and I wish I could see more of them besides what is in LOTR. As far as your question about Harad....well, it will be answered very soon...
_______________________________________________________
In the monthes following the brother's encounter with Bardok, Gondor seemed to rest upon shaky ground. Though the lands between the mountain and the sea were not engaged in any battle with Harad, a cloak of evil appeared to be spreading. News came to Minas Tirith of the Haradrim, creating newly forged alliances with the dark Uruks of Mordor.
Mordor. It was a land of terror known to Gondor, for, many generations of men ago, a great battle was fought upon the slopes of its great mountain. However, most people could remember little of such past events, save the names of Isildur and Sauron, and now the people of Minas Tirith knew little of the area. They were only familiar with some of the evils it spewed out, like the Uruks, and terrible shadowed horsemen that were occasionally sighted along the borders.
When the people of Minas Tirith heard even the slightest rumors of a Harad- Modor alliance, their faces grew grave, and their hearts dark. For awhile, they had dared to imagine that the ongoing conflicts might be over, that peace might reign. Now, they often gazed out to the south and east, ever watchful.
********
A few weeks after the tenth birthday of Faramir, both brothers were sitting in their room, talking. Earlier that day, they'd been wandering around Minas Tirith, practicing their sword fighting skills against some of the other boys. Faramir had considered the words of Boromir concerning fighting, given to him many monthes ago, and no longer felt quite as opposed to the idea. Though he firmly resolved to never become a "murderer", as he called Bardok, he still took part in mock battles with the others. Now, Faramir recalled his encounter with Mergil that afternoon, in which he'd given the older boy.
"He really seemed distracted," noted Faramir, as he carefully ran his fingers along the flat side of his sword, a metal one now, for he was too old for the small wooden one he had recieved earlier.
"Perhaps you simply have superior skills to him, brother," answered Boromir. "After all, you have been practicing a lot lately." He paused for a second before adding, "But I daresay I'd still be more than a match for you."
Faramir ignored the slight prideful jest by his brother, for he knew the other intended no ill of it, and it was indeed, a truthful fact. "I still think he was distracted. He fell so easily today."
"Perhaps he was thinking about other things." Boromir himself had spent a lot of time comtemplating a possible war with Harad or Mordor. He had noticed the grave looks upon the city peoples' faces lately, the grim look that Denethor seemed to wear almost constantly now days, the fortifications being added to some of the city walls. Occasionally Boromir shared his thoughts with Faramir, but not often, for he was painfully aware of the fact that his younger brother was precisely that: young.
Boromir's thoughts were interrupted by Faramir. "Was he thinking about war?"
"What?!" Boromir was startled.
"War. I know it's coming. The men are thinking about it all the time; I see their faces. And you are thinking about it too; but you never talk about it."
Boromir hated the idea of his brother being worried about war, whether it was coming or not. Couldn't he simply be able to enjoy his childhood, like he himself had (at least up until recently)? "Don't worry about the war," Boromir said, despite the traces of anxiety visible in his eyes. "Everything will be fine. Perhaps we may have problems with Harad, but they will not attack us, up here in the high tower."
"You're lying." Faramir looked ill at ease, though it was impossible to tell whether it came from his slight annoyance at being lied too, or his fears at the idea of an attack.
"Why would I be lying?" questioned Boromir, attempting to distract his brother. "Men of Minas Tirith are truthful, so why shouldn't I be?"
"You are afraid, and you want to hide it from me."
The words struck Boromir hard, because he was unable to deny the truth in them. Though he admired the battle stories of old, about heros defending their lands and people, he himself had never seen such a fight. Boromir liked to consider himself fearless; yet, if war did indeed come, he wasn't sure if he could live up to the courage of the mighty men before him. Still, he did not like the fact that he was so affected by Faramir's words. "I am not afraid!" he replied, raising his voice slightly. "How dare you say that!"
Faramir realized immediately that his words had injured Boromir's pride. "I am sorry-" he began.
Boromir however, did not hear the rest of his brother's words. Unhappy and unable to express his true feelings, he stormed out of the room.
********
Faramir sighed as he watched Boromir leave. He admired his brother dearly, and hated to insult him in any way, but he wasn't sure how to react to the anxiety he noted in his face and actions. Boromir enjoyed fighting, in a way his brother never quite did; this Faramir understood. However, Faramir knew that Boromir had never really been tested in battle, and for his older brother, the thought of actually being at war was a little unnerving.
"He should be afraid," thought Faramir. "But why does he try to hide it from me? I can see it in his eyes."
Faramir knew his brother very well, perhaps better than anyone else. But now, he did not understand the way in which Boromir was acting lately. He needed time to think.
"I'll go talk to the guards by the first gate," Faramir finally decided. "It's still early enough, if I hurry. They seem to be worried a lot about the war too, so maybe they will undersand Boromir better than I."
He quickly sheathed his sword to carry with him, retrieved his cloak, and slipped, unoticed, out of the great hall of the tower.
********
Boromir walked swifty towards the stairway, to the pinnacle of the white tower. He now spent a good deal of time there, when he was not with Faramir, for he enjoyed simply gazing out upon the land that was Gondor. Now, Boromir sought out the tower to escape the anxiety that seemed to plague his thoughts.
He climbed the stairs in a matter of minutes, and soon stood at the very top. There was a slight breeze as the sun began to slowly set in the orange sky of the west. Boromir sighed as he saw the sky, then he diverted his eyes towards the south. There, dark clouds were visible; a reflection of the darkening thoughts of the people of Gondor.
"I have always dreamed of becoming a great fighter," Boromir mused aloud, "greater than any that ever was before in Minas Tirith. All men would respect me, and after a huge battle I would always ride home to the cheering crowds. But now, it appears as though war truely is upon us. And it is true; I am a bit nervous, for I have never been in a battle any more serious than a mock fight with Mergil!"
He paused, his mind racing with a thousand different thoughts. Was he truely brave enough to live up to the great men of the past, or would he quail at the sight of a battle?
"I am not afraid!" Boromir suddenly stated, as if he were trying to convince himself of this very fact. He pulled out his sword quickly, and swung it about, feeling the weight of the weapon in his hands. "I am not afraid!"
Suddenly, as if in answer, there was an earsplitting noise from the city below; the sound of a great horn echoed across the stone walls. Great lights were lit upon the main city gate, blazing like giant orange fireballs in the slowly darkening sky. The clouds of the south appeared to be approaching, yet, now as Boromir studied them more closely, he saw that they were not clouds at all. Instead, he saw a great cloak of dust rising from the dry land, emitting from a massive black shape.
Boromir stepped back from the edge of the tower, gripping his sword tightly in his shaking hand. The black shape that was now swiftly moving towards Minas Tirith was a giant formation of men. Evil men from Harad, bearing dark shields, long spears, and swords.
War was coming.
Boromir tore his gaze from the approaching army, and bolted back towards the stairs. He half ran, half slid down them, ending up in an ungainly heap at the bottom. Straightening himself as he got to his feet, he saw Denethor running by, towards the door to the hall. The Steward was in his usual clothes, yet underneath them, the boy caught a glimpse of chain mail.
"Boromir!" Denethor uncharacteristicly shouted as he saw his older son. "Come with me! We must make sure Minas Tirith is prepared for attack! The Haradrim defeated some of our men in South Ithilien, and they are marching as we speak towards the city."
"Aye, they were visible from the white tower Father," replied Boromir, attempting to hide any traces of possible fear.
"You saw them? They must be closer then I believed. We must hurry!" The Steward stopped for a second. "Where is your brother?"
A slight shadow flickered over Boromir's face as he remembered the previous conversation with his brother. "He was in his room not long before."
"Find him quickly, then, and then follow me to the city. I understand you have tried to conceal the threat of war from Faramir (though I doubt your success), but now, he will learn about such things whether we wish it or not. War is here, and none can hide from it!"
With that, Denethor left the hall, most likely to meet up with some of his guards who were waiting outside in the courtyard.
Boromir watched him leave, then ran to the room he and Faramir still shared. "Faramir!" he said, opening the door quickly, "We must go with Father now, into the city! Grab your sword and come with me!"
He stopped, noticing that the room was vacant. "Faramir?" He looked around, as if he expected his brother to suddenly appear. "Faramir? Where are you?"
Boromir groaned. "He must be somewhere else in the tower! But I don't have time to go searching for him. I guess he will simply have to meet up with us later."
With that, he turned around, and left the room, heading towards the entrance to the hall.
********
Faramir was nowhere near the tower; however, he had not yet reached the main gate when the tremendous blast of the horn sounded. His hands flew to his ears at the harsh sound, waiting for it to fade. "What was that?" he wondered, for he was not familiar with the horn cry that alerted the city to an enemy approach.
He saw people stop suddenly at the sound, looking around quickly. Then, more noises filled the streets. Women ran inside their houses, taking young children with them. Those who remained in the streets, the older children and most of the men, ran towards the city gate, taking up their swords as swiftly as they could find them. Some even put on chain mail, or bore shields, as if they had been anticipating the possiblity of the horn call. They had not been idly waiting for battle.
Faramir did not go unoticed, caught up in a swarm of people heading towards the gate. One man suddenly stepped up to him, saying, "Aren't you coming? You look old enough."
Faramir was startled. "What? Come where?"
"There's a war coming! All of us are to meet along the first wall of the city, near the gate! Surely you have heard this news?"
"But-"
"Come on now! I've an extra helmet if you want it; my son's grown to big to wear it." The man handed Faramir a small helm, and helped him put it on. "Now then! Let's go!"
"But-" Faramir found himself being taken towards the main gate, unsure of what he might find there.
