A/N: Very sorry about the long wait. It was a major pain in the ass to write. So much so that we concluded on actually titling it PITA. Hopefully the next update isn't so long in coming.
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Chapter 33
TA 3019 March 13 – Evening
Minas Tirith
Boromir may have been more terrified than he had ever been in his life, but one would never have guessed by looking at him. It was probably one of his best skills as a soldier and a leader, his ability to hide what he was really feeling from his men.
Therefore, the soldiers saw only a man and a wizard who encouraged them to keep fighting despite the boulders flying toward them and the Nazgul swooping from above and flinging men to their death. Gandalf may have been the more powerful of the two leaders but it was the sight of Boromir fighting on tirelessly, without pause that gave the men the strength and resolve to keeping fighting on as well.
Boromir ordered every man in the city who was left, whether they be soldiers or not, to join in the fight. Every man had been in the army...and in battle...at one time or another anyway. He then ordered a few soldiers, as many as he dared considering they were grossly outnumbered, to start evacuating the women and children from the city through the tunnels. And even though he made the order to call the Citadel Guard to fight without hesitation, he winced inside at the thought of sending his little Pip out. But, if the battle kept going the way it was, the little hobbit would have to fight eventually anyway.
Boromir and Gandalf somehow got separated once the orcs' siege towers reached the wall and hordes of the creatures swarmed into the city so when Pippin managed to find his way down to the fighting on the second level he saw only Gandalf, who still remained unaware of the order to call out the Citadel Guard.
"Peregrin Took, go back to the Citadel!" Gandalf shouted at the hobbit.
Pippin stared at Gandalf, dazed from the fighting going on around him and confused with the conflicting orders, "They called us out to fight."
Gandalf fought off a couple orcs heading toward Pippin before saying almost desperately, "This is no place for a hobbit!"
The wizard was then pulled back into fighting. In fact, he was swarmed by so many orcs that he failed to notice the one coming up behind him.
But Pippin did. Not taking the time to think he ran forward and stabbed upward just as Gandalf turned around to see what a close call he'd had.
"Guard of the Citadel, indeed," Gandalf said, smiling down at Pippin.
"I learned from the best," Pippin said in admiration for Gondor's Captain-General, very proud of the skills Boromir had taken the time to teach him and Merry.
"Indeed." Gandalf repeated, "Now back to the Citadel with you. Now."
Pippin nodded eagerly before turning and running back up to the seventh level.
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House of Healing
As Boromir had ordered, Faramir had been brought to the House of Healing and left in the care of the head physician, Derian. The man had done what he could to ease Faramir's suffering, even going so far as to use a mild sedative to put the patient into a deeper slumber where pain could not reach him.
Believing it was already too late to save their beloved Lord Faramir the healers' intentions to make his last moments as painless as possible were honorable...but foolish. Having done all they thought possible to do for a dying man they left Faramir in peace, none able to bear the thought of watching their lord breathe his last.
Then, as those who'd been injured in the battle raging in the lower levels of the city were brought in, Faramir slipped to the backs of their minds, overburdened as they were by the sheer magnitude of wounded men, women and children. Faramir remained oblivious to it all in his drug-induced slumber, never knowing he'd been left to an avoidable death.
In the chaos of the wounded being brought in and the healers working frantically to save them no one noticed when Denethor entered his son's room followed by two of his more loyal guards. A fact which they would later lament.
Motioning to the guards to remain back by the door Denethor approached Faramir's bed on deceptively silent feet. Upon reaching the bed he sat down on the edge and lovingly brushed back the unruly bangs that always hung in Faramir's eyes. It was an instinctive fatherly touch Denethor hadn't bestowed on his younger son since before Finduilas had died.
"Ah, my little Faramir, my last tether to this world. Gone to a madman's whim." Denethor whispered, his shattered sanity failing to register that it had been his order that had sent Faramir to retake Osgiliath. All that registered was that his little boy, just like Boromir and Finduilas, was dead.
Leaning down Denethor pressed a gentle kiss to Faramir's brow and whispered, "Leave me not behind, little jewel. Wait for me and we shall meet Boromir and Fin beyond the veil together."
Another light kiss to Faramir's forehead and Denethor stood up to make his way out the door, telling the guards as he passed, "Bring him."
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Escape tunnels of Minas Tirith
Farothen held his torch higher and studied the wall in front of him. It was irrefutable. Utterly and totally undeniable. The tunnel had closed to them in a dead end.
Beside him Haldir sniffed, "You got us lost again."
"I did not!" Farothen argued, "You are the one who said to go right last time and left this time."
Haldir shrugged nonchalantly, knowing Farothen spoke true but not about to admit it, "You are the prince of this city. Is it my fault that you do not know your way around these tunnels?"
"I may be the son of Gondor's absentee king...absentee being the operative word here...but I have never been to this city in my life. How am I supposed to know these tunnels?" Farothen replied snippishly, "Besides, what about you Mr. 'I am an elf of the Galadhrim and never get lost'?"
"I am not going to dignify that tone with a reply." Haldir sniffed again in his airy, arrogant way.
He truly enjoyed baiting the quick-tempered young half-elf. As luck would have it, Farothen's pregnancy made him even more quick-tempered so Haldir was having twice the fun.
"Of for...of all the blond-haired, blue-eyed, conceited, egotistical...elves...why did Ada have to burden me with you?!" Farothen grumbled, quickly losing patience with being trapped inside dark tunnels made of stone. And Haldir's tendency to be annoying (on purpose...he was sure of it) was not helping matters any.
Haldir affected a perfect wounded pout and murmured, "That was not very nice."
Releasing a small moan Farothen rolled his skyward, gave a small shake of his head and spun on his boot heel to stalk back the way they'd come. Behind him Haldir chuckled as he followed.
"You definitely did not get your short fuse from Aragorn. He is nearly impossible to annoy."
"Haldir," Farothen growled over his shoulder.
"Yes?"
"Nadinen!"
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March 14 – Dawn
Minas Tirith
While his husband was busy getting lost in the mountain tunnels Boromir was heading down to the lower levels of the city along with Gandalf and a couple hundred soldiers. Although, since they were on horseback, Boromir and Gandalf were somewhat ahead of the soldiers.
Luckily there was already a group of soldier at the gate, though, because from the looks of things it was about to be broken down. The armies of Mordor had brought out their famous battering ram: Grond.
Boromir raced ahead of Gandalf as they neared the gate, ordering his soldiers away from the gate and into fighting positions. There was no way they would be able to save the gate, so they were left no choice but to hold the enemy back themselves.
Boromir instinctively made the decisions quickly and with confidence, but in reality he was in complete disbelief. Inside he felt numb, because for all the battles he had fought in Gondor's name, he had never fought one so close to home. He certainly had never believed he'd be fighting within his own city walls. He remained where he was for a moment, paralyzed in shock, as he saw Grond's nose burst through the gate.
"Snap out of it, Boromir!" Gandalf yelled as he rode past the Captain-General, "The lives inside these walls are more important that the fortress itself!"
Boromir's response was to snarl and pick up a spear. At the threat of fighting on his home turf Boromir went into full warrior mode and it was left to Gandalf to calm down the suddenly nervous men.
"You are soldiers of Gondor." Gandalf reminded them, "No matter what comes through that gate you will stand your ground."
Split seconds after the wizard's declaration the gate splintered under the constant ramming and several trolls came storming through. Gandalf stared in disbelief, momentarily wondering if he could get away with disobeying his own order to stand his ground.
"Good call, old man." Boromir muttered dryly as he heaved the spear he held at the first troll. The spear went straight through the troll's head and the creature dropped on the spot, dead before it hit the ground with a sickening slap. The other trolls paused momentarily while Boromir yelled at his men up on the battlements, "Half of you turn and aim for their heads! Volley! Take them down!"
Boromir's voice broke all the men out of their fear induced daze and they all fought back with renewed strength and courage. After thinking their Captain-General dead they were more than willing to fight for him now, and did so with more resolve than ever before.
Meanwhile, Gandalf still sat atop Shadowfax in complete astonishment. Not at the trolls, but at Boromir. He'd thought he'd seen this warrior of Gondor at his best, but now he fought like one possessed. He fought as if he believed he could take on Sauron himself and win.
Saruman had said to Gandalf at one point when they were still on friendly terms, that you never saw completely what a warrior was capable of until you saw him fighting for what he loved best.
'He must have had Boromir in mind when he said that,' Gandalf thought, 'Valar help any who make Boromir their enemy and fall on the receiving end of his sword.'
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Meanwhile – In the higher levels
Pippin slowly and silently made his way toward the Citadel to wait out the battle, somewhat dejectedly. When he saw Lord Denethor leading two of the tower guard, who carried a litter bearing Lord Faramir between them, away from the palace he decided to follow, his Took curiosity getting the better of him.
Denethor led the way into some type of hall, carelessly throwing the doors open, and walked toward a large raised dais mumbling, "No tomb for Denethor and Faramir, no long slow sleep of death embalmed. We shall burn like the heathen kings of old." He turned to the guards, "Bring wood and oil."
By the time Pippin reached the doors of the hall the pyre was built and the two guards were gently settling Faramir atop it. Denethor bent over his son and lovingly held the younger man's face between his hands.
"The house of his spirit crumbles," the steward murmured, "He is burning, already burning."
Realizing what Denethor intended to do Pippin rushed forward without thought and desperately tried to dismantle the pyre, shouting, "He's not dead!"
"No!" Denethor growled, grabbing Pippin by the back of his cloak and dragging him toward the doors, "Hear this, halfling, my end is mine to choose. Faramir awaits me, he and I shall join Boromir beyond the veil...and your lies will not delay me!"
"But he's not dead!" Pippin shouted again, trying to get lose from Denethor's iron grip.
Ignoring him Denethor continued dragging him to the doors and threw him to the ground outside them, "Go now and live or die as you see fit. Gondor has no need of you."
That said he turned back to face the pyre and the guards surrounding it, shutting the doors behind himself, "Pour oil on the wood!"
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Pippin got stiffly to his feet as Denethor's last order, muffled though it was by the doors, echoed through his head. A rush of panic filled him.
Denethor was burning Faramir alive. He truly had gone insane.
"Find Boromir and Gandalf, fool of a Took," Pippin muttered to himself, heading for the gate to the lower levels, "Before it's too late."
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Boromir by no means had the gift of healing like Aragorn, or the mental abilities of his father or brother, but he had his own Numenorean gift. His was the ability to sense danger, to know when something was wrong and the ability to almost feel and sense what his brother was thinking and feeling. This was how the sons of Denethor were able to share a vision or two. They shared a connection that no one else in Gondor completely understood.
Once, when Faramir was six, he'd had a nasty fall and cut himself from his wrist to his elbow. Boromir, who'd been in a classroom on the fifth level, had suddenly jumped up from his desk and run up to the palace. He'd held Faramir's hand while the wound was stitched up. Boromir had never been able to explain how he knew that something had happened to Faramir that day.
Now, as the orcs started moving up into the second level of the city, Boromir couldn't explain how he suddenly knew his little brother was in trouble yet again. All he knew was that he felt the hair on the nape of his neck stand on end and he swore he could hear Faramir's voice inside his head.
'Boromir...please help...'
"Little one?" Boromir whispered.
'Hurts...suffocating...'
"Everyone make for the third level and bar the gates!" Boromir shouted to the soldiers around him. Then, without waiting to see if anyone followed his order, he spun Roch around and started galloping toward the sixth level.
He was in such a panic that he barely registered the soldiers running past, or the horn sounding in the distance, signally the arrival of the Rohirrim. In fact, he wouldn't even have stopped if Roch hadn't suddenly pulled up on him.
"Bloody beast! Why are you stopping?!"
Farothen and Haldir appeared from in front of the horse.
"He does not wish to tramp......My jewel, what is wrong?!" Farothen exclaimed once he saw Boromir's pale complexion and panicked expression.
"Faramir is in trouble!" Boromir gasped, I cannot delay!"
Realizing that now was not the time to argue with his husband, Farothen jumped up onto Roch's back behind Boromir while Haldir ran back the way Boromir had come.
"Do not bother waiting for me," the elf shouted, "I smell a battle this way!"
Boromir may as well have not heard Haldir, for all he reacted; he simply spurred Roch on after Farothen had settled himself.
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Meanwhile, in the Hall of Kings, Denethor was close to fulfilling Boromir's worst nightmare by pouring oil over himself and Faramir as he stood atop the pyre above his younger progeny. Faramir's face twitched in his sleep as the oil hit him, but Denethor was too far gone to notice.
Letting the empty oil urn slip from his grasp, not caring whether or not it was caught, Denethor held his arms out like a sacrifice to the gods and quietly ordered the surrounding guards, "Set a fire in our flesh."
Just as the guards stepped forward with lit torches the double doors of the hall flew open and Gandalf rode in on Shadowfax, yelling, "Stay this madness! Fools!"
Denethor glared at the wizard defiantly and grabbed one of the torches from a startled guard. Without hesitation he dropped it on the oil soaked wood. In the space of a heartbeat Gandalf reacted by grabbing a spear from the nearest guard and kicking Shadowfax into motion, knocking Denethor off the pyre. As the steward fell Pippin jumped onto the pyre and tried desperately to roll Faramir off.
They hit the floor hard and Pippin immediately began to beat out the flames on the man's clothing. At the same time Denethor pushed himself up and dived at Pippin, unwilling to let this halfling separate him from his only remaining son. Neither hobbit, nor man, noticed Gandalf riding forward again.
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Boromir reined Roch to a halt just inside the Hall of Kings in time to see Gandalf urge Shadowfax to rear and kick Denethor backward, away from Pippin. The steward landed hard on his back on the burning pyre.
The next few moments passed almost in slow motion for Boromir as Denethor peered down at his younger son through the flames and murmured almost hopefully, "Faramir?"
In the next second his clothes caught fire. Screaming in fear and pain he leaped from the pyre and rushed out of the hall, oblivious to Boromir in his maddened state. Boromir sat, momentarily frozen in shock, on Roch's back barely noticing when Farothen slid to the ground and ran to Faramir's side.
"So passes Denethor, son of Ecthelion." Gandalf said, pulling Boromir from his stupor.
Throwing a withering glare at the wizard Boromir spared Faramir a glance to make sure Farothen was taking care of him then reined Roch around roughly and rode after his father. Knowing his brother was in good hands he set his mind on saving the elder Hurin.
Fully in healer mode, Farothen was aware of none of this as he took control of the situation and motioned a couple guards over, "We must get him to a place of healing...quickly."
When there was a hesitation Farothen lost his temper and snapped, "Now! Or your Lord Boromir will have your heads if his brother dies!"
As the guards rushed to do his bidding Farothen ignored the niggling rebuff of his conscious that reminded him he had no clear idea whether Boromir would kill these guards if they failed to help him with Faramir. All he knew for sure was that his husband would be heartbroken if his little brother were to die. That knowledge alone let him believe his actions were perfectly rational. Faramir needed help and Farothen would see that he got it...no matter who he had to boss around.
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Boromir knelt dangerously close to the gap in the stone wall bordering the 'ship's keel' courtyard of the Citadel palace. Tears rolled freely down his face as he dealt with the guilt of arriving mere seconds too late to save Denethor. He'd been treated to the horrifying sight of his father hurling himself over the edge and falling seven stories to his death.
The House of Hurin had never produced very close families as far back as Boromir's great great grandfather. The interactions of father to son had always been said to border on outright hostility and Denethor and his two sons were definitely not the exception. Yet always, somewhere under the surface, there had been love. A son must always love his father...and grieve his death. But never should he have to witness his father's death by the man's own actions. Nor should he have to deal with the knowledge that he...as the son...had arrived too late to save the father.
'No,' Boromir thought as his mind's eye replayed the last few moments before Denethor's flight from the Hall of Kings, 'Denethor had not taken his own life; he had not jumped willingly back onto the pyre. The wizard had urged Shadowfax to rear and kick the steward back onto the pyre, heedless of the flames blazing on the wood.'
Boromir may not know horses very well, but he wasn't totally ignorant. He knew a horse would not rear like that unless his rider ordered it to do so. Boromir had seen Gandalf give the wordless command that had caused Shadowfax to rear against his father.
'Murderer,' Boromir's mind whispered as anger overwhelmed grief, 'My father did not merely die. He was killed.'
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Farothen worked desperately to save his husband's brother, all the while cursing the healers of Minas Tirith for the 'bloody fools' they were. Had they done their job correctly in the first place Faramir would not be as bad off as he currently was.
The man had been hit by two arrows, one dangerously close to his heart, but not so close he couldn't be saved, and one just above his right hip. Both wounds were infected, making Faramir's already spiking temp rise even higher.
Farothen's first priority was too clean and rebandage the wounds properly so he'd sent an old battle-axe of a woman named, Ioreth, to mix up a fever reducing elixir while he did so since he couldn't very well do two things at once and he knew the elixir would be needed. Already he'd taken care of the shoulder wound, knowing that, given it's proximity to Faramir's heart, it was the more dangerous of the two. He was now rebandaging the hip wound, having already cleaned it to the best of his ability. Hoping his tending was good enough, and wishing hopelessly that his ada was there, Farothen spared a thought as to where old Ioreth was with the fever-reducer, as he pressed gently to make sure the bandage on the hip wound was secure.
As his touch ghosted over Faramir's lower belly some faint...presence of some sort caught Farothen's attention and he pressed his hand flat. Closing his eyes he reached out with his senses as Elrond had taught him, searching for the cause. He had his suspicions of what he would find though.
Almost immediately he found what he was looking for. A slow smile crossed his lips and he chuckled, "Well, hello, pentithen. Does Daddy know about you?"
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Elvish translation...
Nadinen! – Be silent! (It was supposed to be 'Shut up' but I couldn't find the Elvish word for 'shut'.)
Pentithen – Little one
I think that's all the Elvish we used, but if I missed something let me know.
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Replies to reviews...
QueenCria – First of all, welcome to the slash world. Also, thanks for the applause. Secondly...or would it be third?...we'd tell you how many babies there will be by the end of this but...sadly...we've lost count. Suffice it to say...it will be extensive for the simple reason that we find it vastly amusing to torture the men of Middle-Earth in this way...and it amuses others to read it.
ak-stinger – As for your questions...in a way Farothen DID se Denethor before he died but it wasn't exactly the best time...if you know what I mean. We had several ideas about how to do this (one being a seen where Denethor does find out about Farothen and the baby) but we always planned on killing Denethor (oh, that sounds mean) in some way. This way was just easier for us to deal with at the moment.
Starr Light1 – Well, it seems you got your wish for the scene with Denethor...it was just a little different from the movie version. Hope you liked it.
PeachyKay – No, we're still among the living...technically. Rumor has it that I (Becky) killed Brina in seventh grade Health class, but she's refuse to go until she takes me with her and I refuse to go period so we'll both be hanging around for a while longer, I promise.
Angel of the Night Watchers – Finding out what's wrong with Eomer will take a little while longer. Sorry.
As for everyone else (well...all of you actually), thanks for hanging around this long and hope to see...read...you later.
Becky and Brina