Chapter 5

Denethor knew what was keeping Boromir from the dining table this morning, though he didn't wish to dwell upon it. Surely Faramir had been found by now. The Steward of Gondor sighed ruefully at his own attitude at dinner the night before. He was uncertain how he had allowed that horrible sort of mood to overtake him, and he wondered now if he would ever be able to make it up to Boromir or Faramir.

On a whim, he sent the servant who was standing nearby waiting to clear the dishes to find and bring his oldest son to him, demanding haste from the man. Only a few minutes later, which seemed like an agonizingly long time to Denethor, Boromir entered the dining hall, looking very tired and disheveled, wearing the same tunic and leggings that he had on last night.

After bowing before the steward and kissing his ring, the warrior stood expectantly, looking warier than his father could ever remember seeing him. Denethor, sensing he might have trouble with his son, broke the silence.

"Good morning, Boromir." Denethor smiled slightly, trying to be pleasant.

Boromir coldly inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Father."

"I am surprised to see that you yet remain in the city. I thought you might disobey me." Denethor cleared his throat as Boromir remained silent. The steward rose from his seat at the table, moving closer to the windows, away from the accusatory glare of his oldest. "I have done some thinking during the night, my son." His words faltered as he looked out over the Pelennor, as he thought of his callousness toward his youngest. What a fool he had been! Faramir, the one who reminded him so much of his beloved Finduilas, so much that often he could not bear to look upon his son's face, was missing, his riderless horse arriving at the gate. And Denethor had been too stubborn and stupid to have a care for him. He needed to amend his mistake quickly.

"Yes, Father?" Boromir finally prompted impatiently.

Without looking away from the fields below, the steward said, "Your brother is in need of you. Go to him."

The very atmosphere in the room changed as Boromir's immediate frustration disappeared. Breathlessly, he thanked his father and ran from the hall twice as fast as he had the evening before. There was nothing else in his mind but getting properly armed and dressed and taking the fastest horse that he could find to Ithilien.

Hold on, Fara! I am coming!

Within minutes Boromir was dressed and racing on horseback across the Pelennor, praying that Faramir had already been found. It was nearly an hour before he met the captain of the rangers upon the road, who seemed surprised to see the oldest son of the steward, but efficiently gave him a thorough report of all that had been learned about the missing younger son, which in the end amounted to nothing.

Boromir contemplated the captain's words, how his company was searching north of the road, and he decided that he would search south of the road, just in case something had been overlooked by mistake. Meneldil agreed with the soldier, and they parted ways, the captain with pessimism in his heart, and Boromir with hope in his own.

Noticing that his mount seemed quite jumpy, Boromir eased the stallion from the road and into the underbrush, whispering soft words of encouragement into his horse's ear as he kept all of his own senses alert in the darkness of the forest. Though it was now midmorning, very little light penetrated the dense growth of the woods here, and he grew more nervous the deeper he went in.

Without warning, Boromir was knocked from his saddle by a strong blow that fell upon the metal plate armor hidden beneath his cloak, landing him upon his front in the leaf litter, as his horse bolted. Somewhat stunned, he still drew his sword and turned in time to parry a blow that would have killed him, the hideous face of the uruk above him, sending a chill through him. He rolled away and gained his feet almost effortlessly, keeping his blade before him as the creature attacked again. Though the uruk-hai was strong and had the element of surprise on its side, Boromir quickly dispatched it. He thought it odd that there was only one of the beasts that had attacked him, but though he was now ready in case any others decided to assail him, he met no others.

It was nearly frightening how quiet the forest had become, and Boromir quickly moved in the direction from which the uruk-hai had come, both hoping and dreading that it might be the direction where he would find Faramir.

Faramir knew that his death would probably come soon now. Ever since the uruk had discarded him, deciding that it would receive no information from this Man, the other orcs had not ceased their torturing of him for even a moment, erroneously thinking that they might gain some bit of knowledge from him that might raise their status in the eyes of their betters. Faramir's health had become very fragile indeed. He could barely see with his stormy-grey eyes nearly swollen shut from the repeated beatings that he had sustained. His ears were ringing from his being hit in the head so many times. The worst of it was the difficulty that he was having while trying to breathe now. Between his mass of bruised and broken ribs and the blood that still dripped from his broken nose, he was choking upon his own blood. Trying to remain face down had become his focus, since every time he was tossed onto his back, he thought that he might drown. And as if this was all not enough, one of the vile monsters had recently crushed his left hand with a mace, and Faramir cradled his wounded appendage close to his body now, hoping in vain that the orcs might stop concentrating their efforts upon his greatest current source of agony.

His body shuddering with the effort, Faramir painfully tried to drag himself through the dead leaves of the forest floor, ignoring the nearly paralyzing pain in his arms, praying that he might be able to escape into some underbrush and avoid some of the blows that were raining down upon him. But it was no use. His weak movements only seemed to excite the orcs further, and one of them began to kick him in his broken ribs again. It was more than Faramir would accept, and he grasped the orc's foot with his good hand, his anger giving him the strength to hold on despite the pain, causing the creature to fall down into the leaves beside him. As it squealed in protest, one of its fellows quickly avenged it.

Faramir heard the sword as it was drawn from its sheath, he felt the cold, sharp metal drive down into his back, through his body, and into the muddy ground beneath him. The pain was blinding, but there was little more that he could do than sigh softly in relief, whisper his brother's name one last time and then die.