Uncertain Fates

As Boromir heard the guards leave, he wanted nothing more than to burst out of his hiding place and expose his father's sins. But he knew that if he wanted to find and save Faramir, he would have to wait and listen to get an even better grasp on what was happening.

Within a few moments he could hear a guard enter—and by the sound of it, he was alone.

"My lord," he began. "I have just received word that Captain Faramir has returned."

When Boromir heard those words, he was joyful but at the same time he couldn't have been more terrified; what would they do to him now that he was accused of desertion?

0-0

Denethor rose from his seat. "What did you say?" he asked in shock.

"I said, my lord that Captain Faramir has returned to the city," the guard repeated.

At that moment, Gelidir entered. "You asked to see me, my lord," he stated.

"Yes," Denethor said weakly; and then turning to the guards. "Leave us."

The guards turned and left.

The moment the large double doors closed, Denethor began to speak frantically; so frantically, that Gelidir could hardly make out what the distressed Steward was saying.

"…And now he has returned; if I do not make him pay for desertion I will seem like an unjust Steward, sparing him simply because he is my son. And yet, now that I think about it, how could I consent to my own flesh and blood suffering a painful execution!"

Gelidir was quiet in thought for a moment, and then he turned his attention back to the Steward. "Perhaps you do not have to, my lord," he simply said. "I do believe that there is a way for him to suffer a painless execution."

Denethor's eyes bored into his advisor. "What sort of execution are you talking about?" he asked sharply.

Gelidir cleared his throat before speaking again and shifted somewhat uncomfortably under his weight as his right hand rested above his left and under his chin. "Decapitation."

"Decapitation?" Denethor wasn't completely pleased with the idea.

"Yes; it is the most painless that I can think of," the advisor conceded.

Denethor sighed. "I believe that you are right, Gelidir."

"And then what are we to do with him—until…until?" he knew that he didn't even have to finish his sentence for Denethor to understand.

"He is going where all criminals are taken—the dungeon," Denethor answered wearily.

0-0

Boromir was about to burst in, but when he heard where Faramir was headed, he knew that his father would just have to wait; as he turned to flee the narrow passageway, his sheathed sword scraped across the aged wall, creating an alarming screeching sound. Boromir closed his eyes in frustration; he had to leave the secret passage…and quickly.

The son of the Steward wasted no time navigating the labyrinth-like tunnels; he had traveled through them more than once and was more familiar with them than most.

He could hear footsteps in the near distance; he guessed that it was Gelidir. But Boromir was still at an advantage, for as far as he knew, Gelidir had never been into the passageway before.

Relief swept over Boromir as he turned the last corner. Once out of the tunnel, he closed the door, preventing Gelidir from entering.

"That was too close," he thought to himself; but he did not dwell on his thoughts for long, because he was too busy running out of the Citadel, on his way to the dungeon.

000

"Where are you taking me?" a weak voice asked.

"You of all people should know—we citizens of Gondor look to you to uphold the laws not break them!" Hiram retorted

"Where are you taking me?" Faramir demanded; he had been blindfolded upon their return to Gondor which he still didn't understand why.

"You shall see soon enough…Captain."

Faramir could hear the commotion all around him. The commotion of citizens who saw the son of the Steward led to the dungeon like a criminal. But by the grim looks that the soldiers wore, they knew better than to interfere.

0-0

The dungeon of Minas Tirith was situated on the second level; all criminals whether they be sentenced for minor crimes or sentenced to die, were brought there.

The very smell of the place gave Faramir terrible anxiety. He had kept his emotions composed thus far, but now he had lost all hope. The air was musky and the smell of death was faint, but obvious enough to be noticed. The guards formerly led Faramir down a long hall until they came to a lone cell at the far end; Faramir could hear it opened, and then his blindfold was removed before he was shoved in and the door was locked behind him.

Faramir could hear the groans and shouts of the other prisoners; the dungeon was dark but not completely, there were a few candles at the far end so that the guards could occasionally pick one up to check on the prisoners.

Faramir's legs were so tired that he feared they would collapse beneath him; the only thing for him to sit on was an elevated wooden plank—intended to be his bed. The floor was hard and dirty and the more Faramir looked around his small dwelling place the worse he felt.

000

Boromir raced through the streets of Minas Tirith, hoping to reach his brother; he couldn't believe that Faramir had been accused of desertion without him knowing. People stared at him as though he was crazy as he raced to the second level; to the dungeon.