Yes, finally, a new chapter. A special thank you to Pipkin S. for her extreme patience.

Return to Gondor

Once more Boromir felt a horse beneath him and the wind in his hair, and thought he was reliving the journey north. Then he felt the malice of the Nazgul biting into him, and realized that Faramir was returning to Minas Tirith again in his dreams.

He felt the Ring weighing on the chain around Faramir's neck, burning like a disk of fire against his chest. His blood went cold. The Nazgul poison was still working on his brother's mind. Then he saw Frodo's face in his brother's thoughts, living, grim and determined, and felt Faramir come into himself again; weary and hunted, held upright by adrenalin and will-power alone, but free of the taint of the Ring. The hunting cry of the Nazgul rang in his ears. It took two deep breaths before Faramir found enough air in his lungs to wind his horn, and inside his head he could hear the horn of the eldest son blowing in despair with only the yelling of the orcs in response. His eyes were fixed on the highest walls of the tower, straining to find the place were he had stood to bid his brother farewell, as if he would find some echo of Boromir still standing there.

The sound of his men murmuring to calm their nervous mounts brought him back to the present. . In front of Faramir's eyes the Nazgul wheeled suddenly and began to fly straight toward them, growing larger with breathtaking speed. Behind him the other horses bolted, throwing their men, who had no will to control them in their growing terror.

With great effort Faramir turned his own horse. He could see the unreasoning terror in the eyes of his men, and feel it pounding against his back. His horse was frozen. He could only turn his head and see the winged beast stooping toward him. He struggled to raise his bow, but his arms would not obey him. Boromir willed Faramir to move, to defend himself, but he was watching a memory he was unable to change.

With stunning suddenness the great creature wheeled, veering north. For a moment Faramir could only gasp, stroking his horse's mane to calm both her and himself. He raised his head slowly and saw a figure approaching with supernatural speed; a white figure on a white horse with a white light around him. Light leaped from the figure like a spear and the Nazgul fled, vanishing into the dark clouds with a last bone chilling wail.

He turned his mount toward the newcomer in a daze. His heart felt very young in his chest. It could not be. He had fallen. Frodo had seen him fall. The brilliant light faded as he watched, and he could see the riders face clearly. He might have slipped from his horse then if Mithrandir had not reached his side at that moment and held out a hand to stop him.

It was Gandalf. The Grey Pilgrim was back, all in white now, with light shining through him like a bright candle glowing through a sheltering hand. Boromir's own mind reeled. Faramir's voice came to him like and echo of his own.

"You were dead. He told me you were dead."

Gandalf's glance was sharp, but his voice was calm. "Yes. Yes I was, but I am here now. Your men are coming. We must get to the city. The Steward will be waiting."

Faramir's men slowly regrouped themselves, and slowly stumbled forward to be met by the crowd that swept out of the gates and carried them like a tide back into the city. Boromir's thoughts rode with them, rubbed raw by fear and wonder and hope. For a moment Faramir was quite content not to think about where he was going as the wave of humanity made its way slowly up the winding streets. Gradually his tight grip on his horse loosened and he sat up straighter in the saddle, drawing strength from the white stones of the city and the white figure that rode beside him.

When they reached the top of the hill Faramir found that his legs would support him when he slid down off his horse, and that his voice remained steady as he exchanged formal words with the guard at the gate. He had been aware of the crowd calling his name since he entered the city, but he heard it only as a dull murmur in the back of his mind. Now a new voice, close at hand, rose above the others, and he looked down startled. A halfling, and in the uniform of the Tower Guard! A nightmare vision came to him of Frodo lying in a pool of blood, his throat slit, but before he could grasp at its meaning or remember where it came from, his sight went black, and he felt only pain in his belly, and fire in his lungs; and then the walls of Minas Tirith were around him again, it's cobbled street beneath his feet, and Gandalf's hand was on his arm. As Gandalf led him away, with Peregrin Took, soldier of Gondor trailing behind them, Faramir was certain he saw his brother's face, reflected in the wide eyes of the Ringbearer's young cousin.