Here we go again. Third chapter is finally here!
Before we continue, I would like to state that I still don't own any of the characters.
I translated the dialogue of the books on some places so forgive me if these aren't exactly the correct words :)
Also THANKS to all my reviewers :))
-to twin03: thanks for taking the time to review and give tips, they're much appreciated :))
-collegetwin: thanks for the offer, but MS Word has already offered to help me :)
-to everybody else, thakns as well :)
Here we go:
Chapter 3: Not all that glitters...
On the fourth day off their march, they could no longer see the Orcs in the distance. Correction, Boromir thought to himself, Legolas could no longer see their nemesisses. It mattered little though, for Aragorn led them without faltering from the trail. The Ranger was the first in the row, stooping sometimes to better read the clues the Uruk-Hai had left. He had found Pippin's brooch on a sidetrack and this revelation had strenghtened them all to continue on their trail.
The sun was already high in the sky, shining down on the four who stood on a hilltop, when Legolas asked them to be quiet for a while. Aragorn cast himself on the ground, listening to it's vibrations. "Riders!" he said as he straightened himself. "Aye, riders," Legolas agreed as he sheltered his eyes with one hand. Boromir beside him could only see a moving spot in the distance, but he trusted his friends.
"They must be of Rohan, if they ride these fields so openly." He reasoned. Aragorn nodded. "Those were my thoughts as well." he replied, then, turning towards Legolas, "Can you see how many there are and how far away?" The Elf made a quick count. "I see a hundred and five horses. My guess is that they are still five miles away." "Five miles," Gimli grumbled, "and we've no place to hide."
Boromir shook his head. "We don't have to hide, they will not harm us. The people off Rohan are honourable, although a little weary of strangers." "And even more so now, I would think." Aragorn said, "They are trapped by Saruman. Even if they don't know the cause off it yet, I suspect they have encountered some trouble already. We better be cautious, or our friends are lost or at least beyond our help." "Then let us descend from this hill, where we stand out too much." Gimli suggested.
Moving down the hill, they crouched in the high grass at it's foot, drawing their cloaks around them for more protection against prying eyes. As the riders drew closer, the beating off the hooves grew until it was audible for eveyone. Gimli tensed at the sound, but Boromir put a comforting hand on his shoulder, keeping the Dwarf down. Although he was familiar with some of the Rohirrim, he knew he would have to let Aragorn speek for them, since his aura would persuade them more then he could. And besides, Aragorn would be King of Gondor soon, he would have to deal with these people who protected one off his borders and had an ancient agreement with the rulers of the White City.
So they sat in silence as the company of riders drew closer. Even when the first had already passed them by ( and Boromir thought he had recognized their leader as the cousin of the King) they did not move. As the last riders passed them , Aragorn suddenly rose to his feet, crying "What news, riders of Rohan?"
As fast and easily as could be expected from people who have handled horses their whole lives, the riders turned their horses and, though no word was spoken, they formed a perfect circle around the four friends. Boromir noted that it was indeed, as he had guessed, Eomer that was leading the armed party. The blond man sat proudly on his horse, eyeing them wearily but also a little curiously.
They halted suddenly, spears jutting out towards the 4 at regular intervals, some barely a foot away from their chests.
At his side, Boromir could hear Gimli's low rumble of discontent.
"Who are you?" Eomer asked, moving his horse a little further in their direction, "And what
bussiness do you have in these lands?"
Aragorn lowered his hood before he answered. "I am called Strider. We came from the North and
are hunting Orcs."
Eomer jumped down from his horse and handed his spear to one of his companions. He then pulled
his sword out of it's sheat and stood right in front off Aragorn, eyeing him closely, though
Boromir thought he saw curiosity flash in the other's eyes for a short while.
"I nearly mistook you for Orcs, but now I see that you at least are not one." Gimli jerked
under his hand at the insult, but Boromir clamped his hand more tightly around the Dwarf's
shoulder, knowing better than to interrupt the conversation between the two leaders.
"You do not know much about Orcs if you are persuing them in this manner. They were fast and
well-armed, and there were many of them. You would have gone from Hunters to Prey if you had
ever caught up with them." Eomer fixed his clear eyes back on Aragorn. "But there is
something about you, Strider. This is not the name of a Human that you give, and your clothing
is strange as well. Have you grown from the grass? How did you escape our watch, unless you
are Elves?"
A strangled sound came from Legolas' direction, as if the Elf was trying to hold back his
laughter at the last statement. Boromir too felt compelled to laugh, despite the seriousness of
the matter at hand. "I don't think Gimli will take that as a compliment." The soft words were
nearly lost before they reached Boromir, but it was enough to bring a clear grin on his face.
"Nay," Aragorn answered, a smile in his tone, "only one of us is." He indicated Legolas with
his hand. "But we came through Lothlorien and the gifts and favour of the Lady accompany us."
Eomer's look hardened, though someting of the curiosity Boromir had seen before flashed again.
"So there is a Lady in the Glden Wood, like the old stories tell us!" he said. "Few escape her
nets, people say. These are strange times! But if you are indeed in her favour, then perhaps you are also wizards and weavers of nets." Then he turned cold eyes on the rest. "And why do you not speak?"
That was the drop for Gimli. The Dwarf wrenched himself free from the Gondorian and pulled out his axe, his eyes full of fire. "Tell me your name, Horsemaster, and I will tell you mine, and more." he snarled, setting his feet apart to better balance his weight in case he needed to strike.
Eomer looked down on the Dwarf, angering him further. "It is costum for the stranger to give his
name first, but I am Eomer, son of Eomund and am called Third Marshal of the Riddermark."
"Well, Eomer, son of Eomund, Third Marshal of the Riddermark, let Gimli, son of Gloin, warn you of foolish words. You speak ill of what is far beyond the reach of your thoughts, and only a small amount of wits could excuse you." Gimli said, with a burning audacity.
Eomer'seeyes flashed in rage and his men mumbled as they came closer around the Dwarf, sticking out their spears.
"I would cut your head off with beard and all, 'master' Dwarf, if it were a little further of the
ground." Eomer sneered back.
Boromir moaned inwardly, knowing what was aboat to follow. He knew the Elf was a gentle being, but the most sure way to anger him was to threaten one of his friends. And surely the Elf had drawn his bow and nocked an arrow faster than Boromir could finish his thought. How in Valar's name Aragorn was going to get them out of this one, he had now idea.
"He stands not alone," Legolas said, his voice holding a sharp edge, "You would fall before your strike toutched home."
Eomer lifted his sword, making things look absolutely grim, when Aragorn intervined. "Mercy, Eomer." the man shouted, "When you know more, you will understand why you have angered my companions. We do not wish evil on the Mark, nor on it's inhabitors, be they man or horse. Would you not listen to our story before you strike."
"Aye, i would." eomer replied, lowering his sword, "But wanderers in the Mark do well these days to talk less haughtily in these times of uncertainty. But first, tell me your true name."
"First tell me who you serve." Aragorn said, "Are you friend or enemmy to Sauron, Dark Lord of Mordor?"
"I serve only Theoden, King of the Mark, son of Thengel," Eomer replied. "We do not serve the Power of the Black Land, far away, but neither are we in open war with him. If you are running from him, you would better leave this country. We have trouble at all our borders, and we are threatened, but we desire only to be free, and to live like we always have. To keep what is ours and not to serve a outlandish ruler, for good or evil. In better times we give our guests a
friendly welcome ("Imagine that", Gimli huffed, but only Boromir and Legolas heard.), but in these times uninvited strangers find us hard and hot-headed. Come now. Who are you and who do you serve? On whose order do you hunt Orcs in our territory?"
"I serve nobody," Aragorn answered, "but the servants of Sauron I persue where-ever they go. There are few mortal beings who know more about Orcs, and I do not chase them like this with pleasure. They have captured two of our friends. In such a need, some-one who does not posses a steed goes on foot, and he does not ask leave to follow the trail. He does not count his adversaries either, except with a sword. I am not unarmed."
Boromir considered Aragorn in those moments. What the man said seemed so right to him. They had know they would be outnumbered, but his guilt and a small amount of pride had not allowed him to think about it. Those things would be taken care of once they had reached their prey. Hearing Aragorn state the exact way he felt, made Boromir realise that their minds seemed to work along the same patterns sometimes. He wasn't against Aragorn anymore, not like he had been at the Council anyway. The Ranger had shown him respect, although he had not really done anything to deserve it. And during his near-death experience, Boromir had known that cristal-clear that he would have followed his King-to-be gladly. So when Aragorn unsheathed Andùril and proclaimed himself to be Isildurs Heir, Boromir stepped forward when he detected the disbelief in Eomer's eyes.
Lowering his hood and drawing his power as oldest son of the Steward of Gondor around him, Boromir looked Eomer straight in the eyes until he saw that the younger man recognised him. "I can confirm this," Boromir said, his voice reaching all those gathered there, "on my honour as son of the Steward of Gondor."
"Lord Boromir," Eomer exclaimed, "I am sorry, I did not recognize you. Boromir swept his eyes round, then fixed them on the rider before him again. "I vouch for my King-to-be. Aragorn has proven himself to me on numerous times. Gondor will thrive under his reign." From the corner of his eye he saw Legolas smile at him, content with the action he had taken.
Eomer returned his attention to Aragorn. "These are truely wondersome times. Tell me, my lord, what brings you here. What doom do you bring us?"
"The doom of choice." the Ranger said, "This you may tell Theoden: open war awaits you, whith Sauron or against him. Nobody can live now like they used to, and few will keep what they deem to be theirs. But for now, I would only wish for news. You have heard that we persue Orcs, who have captured our friends. What can you tell us?"
"That you do not have to chase them any further." Eomer replied strongly, "The Orcs have been destroyed."
"And our friends?"
"We have found only Orcs." Boromir felt a stab of dissapointment and despair at this statement.
"This is really strange," Aragorn said thoughtfully. "Have you searched the fallen ones? Where there no other bodies than those of the Orcs? They would be small, no more than children in your eyes, unshoed and clad in gray."
"There were Dwarves, nor children."
"We do not speak of children," Gimli cut in, "our friends were Hobbits."
"Hobbits?"
Gimli explained the curiosities of their little friends, but Boromir barely heard. How could the riders have missed the little ones?
During his thoughts, he felt Legolas place a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Do not despair yet, my friend. We may yet find them. They may have missed them with their cloaks on. The little ones can be very clever at times, I'm sure they found a way out."
Aragorn talked a little more with Eomer, who by then had sent his men further back to have some privacy. He heard the ranger mention Gandalf, and another stab of loss went through him. He missed the old Wizard.
"I will lend you three horses, for that is all I have. If I cannot convince you to go back with me to Edoras, I would ask you to bring back the horses if you are no longer in need of them, for that would prove to my King that I have judged you rightly."
"We will," Aragorn answered while he mounted, "until then, farewell Eomer of Rohan." Boromir mounted another horse, and Legolas and Gimli took a third one, who's saddle and briddle (much to the Dwarf's dismay) had been removed as the Elf had asked.
As they galloped away and Aragorn bent once again to the trail, Boromir looked back at the Riders whishing he would soon go back home again as well.
**************************
Minas Tirith:
Large steps carried him through the corridors of the palace. The peolpe that saw him threw him concerned glances. It was a rare sight indeed to see the youngest son of the Steward with such a grim face. Normally, Faramir was the gentlest person in his family, being calmer and less interested in his own pride. But today an inner turmoil was tearing him apart and his composedness was nowhere to be found. Arriving at the large Hall where his father held audiences and debated with his coucil, he asked the guards to announce him. The young man looked quite meiserable when he explained that the Lord Denethor ad forbidden them to let anyone enter during this meeting, even his own son.
Sighing, Faramir accepted defeat and seated himself on a bench where he could see if the assembly ended. He should have expected this, considering his fathers behaviour towards him these last few days. He had been treated like a total stranger, leaving him to wonder what it was he had done that displeased his sire so.
He was confused at this, so confused indeed that sleep had eluded him these last nights. Felling restless and trapped in the great city, he had offered to take on a part of the nightwatch their people set at the river Anduin. He had found a little peace during those quiet, moondrenched moments, but that had been abruptly splintered this night.
On the stream, floating towards him as if destiny wanted it thus, was the Horn of Gondor. With trembling hands, he lifted it from the stream, holding the two pieces in the clear moonlight.
His mind whirling, he had leapt onto his horse, charging back towards the City. He couldn't help but feel that if he presented the broken heirloom to his father, Denethor would explain everything to him.
He would tell him what it meant for his brother.
Boromir had been gone a long time now and only one message had they received that spoke of his well-being. And now he sat one the bench in the light of the noonhour, being jarred from his worried thoughts by the opening of the heavy doors, the shards laying swathed in his cloak on his lap.
When the councilers had left, Faramir entered the now emptied room, finding his father at the head of the table, going through some papers.
"Father." Faramir said after waiting a few moments for the Steward to aknowledge his presence. Denethor looked up, seemingly annoyed, raising an eyebrow in question.
"Father, I need your council on something the River has brought to our shores. You know many things that are far off, perhaps you can solve this riddle." And with that he unpacked his precious burden and placed it on the papers in front of the Steward.
Pale but still fairly composed, Denethor outstretched a hand to rest lightly on the artefact that he himself had once carried with great pride. Under his calm exterior, rage welled up once more. It was not right: his favourite son died miles away, abandoned and friendless, and his youngest, the one that felt more for an Istari than for his father, survived. And now Faramir stood there, daring to present the signs of his brothers death.
'Would that he had died in Boromirs place.' he thought, rage and grief consuming the love he held for his youngest.
"You should go pack or rest, if you were on watch at the River." he said, his tone emotionless, masking his true feelings, "Your company leaves for Ithilien an hour before the next sunrise."
"Father, please, ..." Faramir started to plead fervently, but trailed off when Denethor returned to his papers. His father knew something, something serious, but he would not share it with his son. He had seen this mood before and knew that prodding would only anger the stoic man before him even more.
He bowed and left the room.
Early the next morning, Faramir received the ritual blessing from his Lord and father before leading his warriors to Ithilien. And though his outer behaviour did not betray him, the heart of the youngest son of Denethor was weighed down by both sorrow over his fathers coldness and by despair.
For Faramir was afraid that the broken Horn heralded the death of his beloved brother.
Silently, the company began their march towards the looming Shadow.
*****************************************
So that's it for this time, hope you enjoyed.
Review please!, (pretty please?)
Before we continue, I would like to state that I still don't own any of the characters.
I translated the dialogue of the books on some places so forgive me if these aren't exactly the correct words :)
Also THANKS to all my reviewers :))
-to twin03: thanks for taking the time to review and give tips, they're much appreciated :))
-collegetwin: thanks for the offer, but MS Word has already offered to help me :)
-to everybody else, thakns as well :)
Here we go:
Chapter 3: Not all that glitters...
On the fourth day off their march, they could no longer see the Orcs in the distance. Correction, Boromir thought to himself, Legolas could no longer see their nemesisses. It mattered little though, for Aragorn led them without faltering from the trail. The Ranger was the first in the row, stooping sometimes to better read the clues the Uruk-Hai had left. He had found Pippin's brooch on a sidetrack and this revelation had strenghtened them all to continue on their trail.
The sun was already high in the sky, shining down on the four who stood on a hilltop, when Legolas asked them to be quiet for a while. Aragorn cast himself on the ground, listening to it's vibrations. "Riders!" he said as he straightened himself. "Aye, riders," Legolas agreed as he sheltered his eyes with one hand. Boromir beside him could only see a moving spot in the distance, but he trusted his friends.
"They must be of Rohan, if they ride these fields so openly." He reasoned. Aragorn nodded. "Those were my thoughts as well." he replied, then, turning towards Legolas, "Can you see how many there are and how far away?" The Elf made a quick count. "I see a hundred and five horses. My guess is that they are still five miles away." "Five miles," Gimli grumbled, "and we've no place to hide."
Boromir shook his head. "We don't have to hide, they will not harm us. The people off Rohan are honourable, although a little weary of strangers." "And even more so now, I would think." Aragorn said, "They are trapped by Saruman. Even if they don't know the cause off it yet, I suspect they have encountered some trouble already. We better be cautious, or our friends are lost or at least beyond our help." "Then let us descend from this hill, where we stand out too much." Gimli suggested.
Moving down the hill, they crouched in the high grass at it's foot, drawing their cloaks around them for more protection against prying eyes. As the riders drew closer, the beating off the hooves grew until it was audible for eveyone. Gimli tensed at the sound, but Boromir put a comforting hand on his shoulder, keeping the Dwarf down. Although he was familiar with some of the Rohirrim, he knew he would have to let Aragorn speek for them, since his aura would persuade them more then he could. And besides, Aragorn would be King of Gondor soon, he would have to deal with these people who protected one off his borders and had an ancient agreement with the rulers of the White City.
So they sat in silence as the company of riders drew closer. Even when the first had already passed them by ( and Boromir thought he had recognized their leader as the cousin of the King) they did not move. As the last riders passed them , Aragorn suddenly rose to his feet, crying "What news, riders of Rohan?"
As fast and easily as could be expected from people who have handled horses their whole lives, the riders turned their horses and, though no word was spoken, they formed a perfect circle around the four friends. Boromir noted that it was indeed, as he had guessed, Eomer that was leading the armed party. The blond man sat proudly on his horse, eyeing them wearily but also a little curiously.
They halted suddenly, spears jutting out towards the 4 at regular intervals, some barely a foot away from their chests.
At his side, Boromir could hear Gimli's low rumble of discontent.
"Who are you?" Eomer asked, moving his horse a little further in their direction, "And what
bussiness do you have in these lands?"
Aragorn lowered his hood before he answered. "I am called Strider. We came from the North and
are hunting Orcs."
Eomer jumped down from his horse and handed his spear to one of his companions. He then pulled
his sword out of it's sheat and stood right in front off Aragorn, eyeing him closely, though
Boromir thought he saw curiosity flash in the other's eyes for a short while.
"I nearly mistook you for Orcs, but now I see that you at least are not one." Gimli jerked
under his hand at the insult, but Boromir clamped his hand more tightly around the Dwarf's
shoulder, knowing better than to interrupt the conversation between the two leaders.
"You do not know much about Orcs if you are persuing them in this manner. They were fast and
well-armed, and there were many of them. You would have gone from Hunters to Prey if you had
ever caught up with them." Eomer fixed his clear eyes back on Aragorn. "But there is
something about you, Strider. This is not the name of a Human that you give, and your clothing
is strange as well. Have you grown from the grass? How did you escape our watch, unless you
are Elves?"
A strangled sound came from Legolas' direction, as if the Elf was trying to hold back his
laughter at the last statement. Boromir too felt compelled to laugh, despite the seriousness of
the matter at hand. "I don't think Gimli will take that as a compliment." The soft words were
nearly lost before they reached Boromir, but it was enough to bring a clear grin on his face.
"Nay," Aragorn answered, a smile in his tone, "only one of us is." He indicated Legolas with
his hand. "But we came through Lothlorien and the gifts and favour of the Lady accompany us."
Eomer's look hardened, though someting of the curiosity Boromir had seen before flashed again.
"So there is a Lady in the Glden Wood, like the old stories tell us!" he said. "Few escape her
nets, people say. These are strange times! But if you are indeed in her favour, then perhaps you are also wizards and weavers of nets." Then he turned cold eyes on the rest. "And why do you not speak?"
That was the drop for Gimli. The Dwarf wrenched himself free from the Gondorian and pulled out his axe, his eyes full of fire. "Tell me your name, Horsemaster, and I will tell you mine, and more." he snarled, setting his feet apart to better balance his weight in case he needed to strike.
Eomer looked down on the Dwarf, angering him further. "It is costum for the stranger to give his
name first, but I am Eomer, son of Eomund and am called Third Marshal of the Riddermark."
"Well, Eomer, son of Eomund, Third Marshal of the Riddermark, let Gimli, son of Gloin, warn you of foolish words. You speak ill of what is far beyond the reach of your thoughts, and only a small amount of wits could excuse you." Gimli said, with a burning audacity.
Eomer'seeyes flashed in rage and his men mumbled as they came closer around the Dwarf, sticking out their spears.
"I would cut your head off with beard and all, 'master' Dwarf, if it were a little further of the
ground." Eomer sneered back.
Boromir moaned inwardly, knowing what was aboat to follow. He knew the Elf was a gentle being, but the most sure way to anger him was to threaten one of his friends. And surely the Elf had drawn his bow and nocked an arrow faster than Boromir could finish his thought. How in Valar's name Aragorn was going to get them out of this one, he had now idea.
"He stands not alone," Legolas said, his voice holding a sharp edge, "You would fall before your strike toutched home."
Eomer lifted his sword, making things look absolutely grim, when Aragorn intervined. "Mercy, Eomer." the man shouted, "When you know more, you will understand why you have angered my companions. We do not wish evil on the Mark, nor on it's inhabitors, be they man or horse. Would you not listen to our story before you strike."
"Aye, i would." eomer replied, lowering his sword, "But wanderers in the Mark do well these days to talk less haughtily in these times of uncertainty. But first, tell me your true name."
"First tell me who you serve." Aragorn said, "Are you friend or enemmy to Sauron, Dark Lord of Mordor?"
"I serve only Theoden, King of the Mark, son of Thengel," Eomer replied. "We do not serve the Power of the Black Land, far away, but neither are we in open war with him. If you are running from him, you would better leave this country. We have trouble at all our borders, and we are threatened, but we desire only to be free, and to live like we always have. To keep what is ours and not to serve a outlandish ruler, for good or evil. In better times we give our guests a
friendly welcome ("Imagine that", Gimli huffed, but only Boromir and Legolas heard.), but in these times uninvited strangers find us hard and hot-headed. Come now. Who are you and who do you serve? On whose order do you hunt Orcs in our territory?"
"I serve nobody," Aragorn answered, "but the servants of Sauron I persue where-ever they go. There are few mortal beings who know more about Orcs, and I do not chase them like this with pleasure. They have captured two of our friends. In such a need, some-one who does not posses a steed goes on foot, and he does not ask leave to follow the trail. He does not count his adversaries either, except with a sword. I am not unarmed."
Boromir considered Aragorn in those moments. What the man said seemed so right to him. They had know they would be outnumbered, but his guilt and a small amount of pride had not allowed him to think about it. Those things would be taken care of once they had reached their prey. Hearing Aragorn state the exact way he felt, made Boromir realise that their minds seemed to work along the same patterns sometimes. He wasn't against Aragorn anymore, not like he had been at the Council anyway. The Ranger had shown him respect, although he had not really done anything to deserve it. And during his near-death experience, Boromir had known that cristal-clear that he would have followed his King-to-be gladly. So when Aragorn unsheathed Andùril and proclaimed himself to be Isildurs Heir, Boromir stepped forward when he detected the disbelief in Eomer's eyes.
Lowering his hood and drawing his power as oldest son of the Steward of Gondor around him, Boromir looked Eomer straight in the eyes until he saw that the younger man recognised him. "I can confirm this," Boromir said, his voice reaching all those gathered there, "on my honour as son of the Steward of Gondor."
"Lord Boromir," Eomer exclaimed, "I am sorry, I did not recognize you. Boromir swept his eyes round, then fixed them on the rider before him again. "I vouch for my King-to-be. Aragorn has proven himself to me on numerous times. Gondor will thrive under his reign." From the corner of his eye he saw Legolas smile at him, content with the action he had taken.
Eomer returned his attention to Aragorn. "These are truely wondersome times. Tell me, my lord, what brings you here. What doom do you bring us?"
"The doom of choice." the Ranger said, "This you may tell Theoden: open war awaits you, whith Sauron or against him. Nobody can live now like they used to, and few will keep what they deem to be theirs. But for now, I would only wish for news. You have heard that we persue Orcs, who have captured our friends. What can you tell us?"
"That you do not have to chase them any further." Eomer replied strongly, "The Orcs have been destroyed."
"And our friends?"
"We have found only Orcs." Boromir felt a stab of dissapointment and despair at this statement.
"This is really strange," Aragorn said thoughtfully. "Have you searched the fallen ones? Where there no other bodies than those of the Orcs? They would be small, no more than children in your eyes, unshoed and clad in gray."
"There were Dwarves, nor children."
"We do not speak of children," Gimli cut in, "our friends were Hobbits."
"Hobbits?"
Gimli explained the curiosities of their little friends, but Boromir barely heard. How could the riders have missed the little ones?
During his thoughts, he felt Legolas place a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Do not despair yet, my friend. We may yet find them. They may have missed them with their cloaks on. The little ones can be very clever at times, I'm sure they found a way out."
Aragorn talked a little more with Eomer, who by then had sent his men further back to have some privacy. He heard the ranger mention Gandalf, and another stab of loss went through him. He missed the old Wizard.
"I will lend you three horses, for that is all I have. If I cannot convince you to go back with me to Edoras, I would ask you to bring back the horses if you are no longer in need of them, for that would prove to my King that I have judged you rightly."
"We will," Aragorn answered while he mounted, "until then, farewell Eomer of Rohan." Boromir mounted another horse, and Legolas and Gimli took a third one, who's saddle and briddle (much to the Dwarf's dismay) had been removed as the Elf had asked.
As they galloped away and Aragorn bent once again to the trail, Boromir looked back at the Riders whishing he would soon go back home again as well.
**************************
Minas Tirith:
Large steps carried him through the corridors of the palace. The peolpe that saw him threw him concerned glances. It was a rare sight indeed to see the youngest son of the Steward with such a grim face. Normally, Faramir was the gentlest person in his family, being calmer and less interested in his own pride. But today an inner turmoil was tearing him apart and his composedness was nowhere to be found. Arriving at the large Hall where his father held audiences and debated with his coucil, he asked the guards to announce him. The young man looked quite meiserable when he explained that the Lord Denethor ad forbidden them to let anyone enter during this meeting, even his own son.
Sighing, Faramir accepted defeat and seated himself on a bench where he could see if the assembly ended. He should have expected this, considering his fathers behaviour towards him these last few days. He had been treated like a total stranger, leaving him to wonder what it was he had done that displeased his sire so.
He was confused at this, so confused indeed that sleep had eluded him these last nights. Felling restless and trapped in the great city, he had offered to take on a part of the nightwatch their people set at the river Anduin. He had found a little peace during those quiet, moondrenched moments, but that had been abruptly splintered this night.
On the stream, floating towards him as if destiny wanted it thus, was the Horn of Gondor. With trembling hands, he lifted it from the stream, holding the two pieces in the clear moonlight.
His mind whirling, he had leapt onto his horse, charging back towards the City. He couldn't help but feel that if he presented the broken heirloom to his father, Denethor would explain everything to him.
He would tell him what it meant for his brother.
Boromir had been gone a long time now and only one message had they received that spoke of his well-being. And now he sat one the bench in the light of the noonhour, being jarred from his worried thoughts by the opening of the heavy doors, the shards laying swathed in his cloak on his lap.
When the councilers had left, Faramir entered the now emptied room, finding his father at the head of the table, going through some papers.
"Father." Faramir said after waiting a few moments for the Steward to aknowledge his presence. Denethor looked up, seemingly annoyed, raising an eyebrow in question.
"Father, I need your council on something the River has brought to our shores. You know many things that are far off, perhaps you can solve this riddle." And with that he unpacked his precious burden and placed it on the papers in front of the Steward.
Pale but still fairly composed, Denethor outstretched a hand to rest lightly on the artefact that he himself had once carried with great pride. Under his calm exterior, rage welled up once more. It was not right: his favourite son died miles away, abandoned and friendless, and his youngest, the one that felt more for an Istari than for his father, survived. And now Faramir stood there, daring to present the signs of his brothers death.
'Would that he had died in Boromirs place.' he thought, rage and grief consuming the love he held for his youngest.
"You should go pack or rest, if you were on watch at the River." he said, his tone emotionless, masking his true feelings, "Your company leaves for Ithilien an hour before the next sunrise."
"Father, please, ..." Faramir started to plead fervently, but trailed off when Denethor returned to his papers. His father knew something, something serious, but he would not share it with his son. He had seen this mood before and knew that prodding would only anger the stoic man before him even more.
He bowed and left the room.
Early the next morning, Faramir received the ritual blessing from his Lord and father before leading his warriors to Ithilien. And though his outer behaviour did not betray him, the heart of the youngest son of Denethor was weighed down by both sorrow over his fathers coldness and by despair.
For Faramir was afraid that the broken Horn heralded the death of his beloved brother.
Silently, the company began their march towards the looming Shadow.
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So that's it for this time, hope you enjoyed.
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