Boromir, Thou Shall Live

By Priscilla Stafford

Author's Note: I updated and uploaded my new chapter! My second semester of college has been tough with my taking six classes, including a writing intensive course; but I'm finally in my spring break right now and was able to finish this chapter up! In the meantime I've had over 4,000 more hits for my story! Woohoo! It's great to know that people are still reading my story; keep up with the reviewing, too, please!

I'm not quite sure how everyone is going to take this chapter; I'm hoping you guys will like it. Involved all of my favorite characters: Boromir, Faramir, Pippin, and Bawuer. Well, gonna keep this short so you can continue on for chapter forty-four!

Chapter Forty-four: The Hidden Past and Unclear Future

Faramir felt his eyes once again drawn to the Halfling who stood behind Mithrandir's chair. They had yet to be properly introduced though Faramir overheard the wizard whispering to the Halfling before entering the Steward's private champers.

Pippin Took, a halfling of the Shire…

Already Faramir perceived that this one was different from Frodo and Sam; there was an almost child-like quality to this one, aside from his height though he still seemed taller than the two he had met in Ithilien. The Halfling's eyes, eager and curious, were ever roaming between the three other people in the room; mostly on Mithrandir and trying very hard not to catch Denethor's eyes.

Well, Faramir could not blame him. He, too, wished he was anywhere but here under his father's watchful gaze.

As he concluded on his report of Ithilien and the movements of the Enemy and his allies, Faramir looked on Mithrandir's face and saw that the wizard appeared almost bored and uncaring of what was being said. Inwardly, Faramir smiled. He knew very well just how attentive the Maia actually was. Even he could tell that Gandalf was gripping the arms of his chair slightly in some sort of anticipation.

And Faramir knew exactly what was on the wizard's mind; he knew exactly what news the other wanted to hear very dearly…

Though the Ithilien Captain had been observing the hobbit, careful only to watch him out of the corner of his eyes, for the first time he put his gaze fully on Pippin's face. This seemed to startle the little one as they held each other's gazes. Faramir was surprised to see that there was something in the way Pippin was looking at him… almost as if he knew Faramir already…

Faramir spoke, mulling over the fact that the hobbit still held his gaze without any indication of him being unnerved by the Gondorian's steady gaze. "But now we come to strange matters, for this is not the first halfling that I have seen walking out of northern legends into the Southlands."

Before entering the citadel, Faramir had already revealed to Gandalf and Pippin of these findings so the two of them took his words calmly and seriously. However, Faramir noted that there was no hiding the eagerness in Pippin's manner of wanting to know more of what Faramir knew of Frodo and Sam.

There was also no hiding the fact that Denethor had seen something in the others' faces, nodding his head as though to sign that he had read much there before it was spoken.

Faramir knew without a doubt that Gandalf and Pippin knew of Frodo's errand… they knew of the Ring. There was a look of urgency on Mithrandir's face which spoke more than could be put to words.

However, he wasn't sure how much his father knew and a choice had to be made. Should Faramir consider keeping secret the object which Frodo carried around his neck?

Struggling with such questions to which there was no right answer or path laid before him, Faramir decided to begin his tale. Still unsure of how much he should say, Faramir for the most part spoke, his eyes on Gandalf. There was a certain openness in Mithrandir's face which prompted Faramir to reveal all that he knew, knowing it was perhaps best not to seek his father's wrath.

While he spoke of Frodo and Sam, the Gondorian's gaze also strayed to Pippin, refreshing his memory of others that he had seen. Same yet so different…

He became aware that Gandlaf's hands were trembling as they clutched the carven wood of his chair. Faramir almost stumbled over his words as he realized that the trembling came from a sense of… could it be fear?

As the Ithilien Captain began speaking of his parting with the travelers, and of their resolve to go to Cirith Ungol, he faltered and his voice fell. Looking down at the ground, he shook his head and sighed. As he had been talking about the decision to let them go, a renewed sense of guilt filled him. He shouldn't have let them go…

Mitrhandir suddenly sprang up. "Cirith Ungol? Morgul Vale? The time, Faramir, the time! When did you part with them? When would they reach that accursed valley?"

Faramir knew that depending on his answer, the wizard was ready to bolt from the room right then and there if he could somehow get to the two hobbits. However, Faramir knew it to be impossible and spoke in a low tone. "I parted with them in the morning two days ago. It is fifteen leagues from there to the vale of the Morgulduin. If they went south that is; in any case, then they would be still five leagues westward of the accursed Tower. At swiftest they could not come there before today, and maybe they have not come there yet."

Wearily, Faramir raised his eyes to meet the wizard's. "I see what you fear. But the darkness is not, cannot be due to the travelers. The darkness began last evening, and all Ithilien was under shadow last night." He chanced a look at his father who was watching him closely. Faramir dared to try to explain what he had come to conclude that morning. "It is clear to me that the Enemy has long planned an assault on us. And its hour had already been determined before they even left my keeping."

At this, Gandalf began to slowly pace the floor; eyes downcast and eyebrows furrowed in deep thought. "The morning of two days ago, nigh on three days of journey!" he said, almost speaking to himself. "How far is the place where you parted?" he asked Faramir.

Taking a moment to think, Faramir answered, "Some twenty-five leagues as the bird flies." With that answer, Faramir earned a hard look from the wizard and the Gondorian sighed. "I could not come more swiftly. Last evening I was at Cair Andros, the long isle in the River northward which we hold in defense. As the dark drew on I knew that haste was needed, so I rode immediately with three others that could also be horsed. The rest of my company I sent south to strengthen the garrison at the fords of Osgiliath."

Looking at his father, Faramir saw that Denethor was almost lazily keeping his eyes on the wizard. Surprised by the almost inattentive manner in his father's face and body language, Faramir softly asked, "Have I done ill?"

After all these years, Faramir should have known better.

Denethor changed so suddenly that Faramir berated himself for thinking that his father was being in any way inattentive to what was going on: the Steward's head raised, shoulders straightened, his lips curled in a manner of complete disgust. But what made Faramir cringe more than anything was the flashing eyes and his tone.

"Ill?" Denethor spat the word out in annoyance. "Why do you ask? The men were under your command." He sneered at his son. "Or do you ask for my judgment on all your deeds?"

The Steward narrowed his eyes and Faramir felt that he could not feel any lower than at that moment under his father's look. "Your bearing is lowly in my presence, yet it is long now since you turned from your own way at my counsel. See," Denethor waved his hand to gesture the room, "you have spoken skillfully, as ever. But I, have I not seen your eye fixed ever on Mithrandir, seeking whether you said well or too much?"

Giving a sharp bark of laughter without so much a hint of humor, Denethor spoke with a pointed look at the wizard who had ceased pacing. "He has long had your heart in his keeping."

At the harsh words, Faramir felt the familiar stirrings within himself; the stirrings of unease and discomfort whenever his father found something, anything to put him down.

"My son, your father is old but no yet dotard," Denethor continued, leaning forward from his chair so that anything save turning completely away could keep Faramir from having to meet his face. Yet there was no way he could do that… "I can still see and hear. Little of what you have half said or left unsaid is now hidden from me. I know the answer to many riddles."

Denethor suddenly slumped back, a faraway look in his eyes. "Alas, alas for Boromir!"

Boromir…

The mention of his brother caused Faramir to close his eyes as a wave of loneliness hit him. He had for a while avoided thinking of his brother; successfully, too. Yet now, here in his father's presence, bearing the brunt of his father's mutterings over his incompetence, Faramir wished for the tall, familiar figure sitting or standing across from him, offering support and a calming word.

Yet here, there was nobody…

Faramir realized that Pippin had a lost look on his face, as if trying desperately to understand and take everything in. But when realizing that he was being watched, Pippin met Faramir's gaze and offered a small smile; not quite reaching his eyes, but in that expression conveyed a wish to ease Faramir's tension.

And to his amazement, it seemed to be working. Faramir was able to take a deep breath, releasing some of the tension which had built up inside. He was surprised that when he spoke, his words his tone was quiet and respectful. "If what I have done displeased you, my father, I wish I had known your counsel before the burden of so weighty a judgment was thrust on me."

If he sensed the quiet turmoil in his son's head, Denethor made no reaction to it. "Would that have availed to change your judgment? You would still have done just so, I deem. I know you well. Ever your desire is to appear lordly and generous as a king of old; gracious and gentle." Mentioning the word king caused Denethor to grimace in distaste. "That may well befit one of high race, if he sits in power and peace. But in desperate hours gentleness may be repaid with death."

The meaning was all too clear and Faramir worked hard to still the trembling in his hands. Would he always be the one to disappoint his father, no matter what he did? Faramir used to think that Denethor's only reason to put his youngest son down was to lift the elder son. But Boromir wasn't here, and Faramir still had to endure…

Defeated with that thought, the thought that there was no way to find favor in Denethor's eyes, Faramir quietly said, "So be it."

"So be it!" Denethor said in a deadly whisper. The room was silent for eternal moments before Denethor finally spoke up again. "But not with your death only, Lord Faramir: with the death also of your father, and of all your people, whom it is your part to protect now that Boromir… is gone."

Faramir, startled, caught a fleeting look of worry in the Steward's face. Was it just his imagination, or had his father actually hesitated? Hesitated when he spoke of Boromir… being gone… that in itself was significant though Faramir could not fathom as to how and why…

He knew not why but Faramir saw Pippin shift at his place next to Gandalf's chair. The hobbit seemed as if he wanted to speak yet at the same time wanted very much to hide. Faramir felt very sorry for him, having to be in the midst of a crusty, powerful Steward, a pacing, worried wizard, and…

As for himself, Faramir could only think ruefully of himself as 'the lowly bearing man' in mockery of Denethor's words.

Then suddenly, a thought hit him as to why the Steward had seemed uncertain in his words as to Boromir's state of absence.

Tentatively he whispered, "Has there been word of my brother?"

The reaction on everyone's faces confirmed his belief. There was news of his brother!

Faramir could not speak for a few moments, the implication of there silence meaning more than so many words. There was something not right in the way that none of them offered to speak up, the way the Steward's face darkened as the skies outside, the way Gandalf seemed to glare daggers at Denethor. Were they afraid to tell him? What if… oh, Valar, what if it was confirmed that Boromir would never return home?

In the midst of two such powerful forces in the state they were in, Faramir ignored them and spoke solely to the Hobbit, willing his voice to be steady despite the turmoil of emotions he was feeling. "Please, Master Took… Pippin," Faramir asked almost pleadingly, "I must know…" I must know the truth no matter how painful it may be…

Pippin hesitated, peering at Gandalf and after receiving some sort of silent signal, eagerly turned his face to Faramir. "Boromir is alive and well, my Lord Faramir."

Alive and well…Faramir closed his eyes and relief washed over him. Praying a silent prayer of thanks to the Valar, Faramir continued to listen with a much more elated spirit as Pippin continued. "I know he would wish for you to not worry for him, for he is on his way here even as we speak."

With the news, it took all of Faramir's willpower to stay where he was instead of running to one of the lookouts, perhaps to find a glimpse of his returning brother. "Could he not come to Minas Tirith with you?"

Here Pippin winced and Mithrandir spoke. "Pippin and I needed to get to Minas Tirith as fast as Shadowfax could take us." There was an almost apologetic, embarrassed look in Pippin's face which made Faramir wonder just what the reasons were for their swift journey to the Gondorian city.

Before he could ask, Gandalf continued, "But that is a story for another time. Be at peace with the knowledge of your brother's safety."

At this, Denethor growled. "You would wish me to take your word that Boromir is safe and on his way here?" The Steward suddenly stood up, eyes flashing again, his anger directed at the wizard. "Since your arrival, you have tried to keep things hidden from me. You offer no information save assurance as to my son's well being."

"You are calling me liar?" Mithrandir's voice was a whisper but his implications were as clear as a bell. Faramir willed himself not to interfere, knowing that it would only the worsen the situation; no matter what he said, Denethor would take it as Faramir's taking the wizard's 'side'.

It was Denethor who finally grunted and sat down though he still fixed Gandalf's with a hard look. "You are not a liar, Mithrandir. Yet I would not put it past you to hide facts and keep from letting me know the whole truth."

Mithrandir did not answer and Faramir wondered if what his father said was indeed truth. From a very young age, the Steward's youngest son knew that Denethor possessed a special gift, knowing what passed in the minds of men. Could Denethor perhaps perceive that all was not right in the fact that Boromir was still gone, not yet returned home?

The more he thought about, the more Faramir felt apprehension course through him. Perhaps Gandalf was hiding something… what would he want to hide from Boromir's own father and brother?

"You are wise, maybe, Mithrandir," Denethor continued to speak, though he appeared calmer and more composed, "yet for all your subtleties you have not all wisdom. Counsels may be found that are neither the webs of wizards nor the haste of fools. I have in this matter more lore and wisdom than you deem."

Faramir felt himself go pale at what his father had just said. How could he say such words, and to Gandalf? For all Gandalf may keep hidden, that was no excuse for what his father said. Wishing desperately to speak to finally stand between the two, he stopped when Mithrandir asked quietly of Denethor, "What then is your wisdom?"

"Enough to perceive that there are two follies to avoid. To use this… thing is perilous." Here the Steward hardened perceptively. "At this hour, to send it in the hands of a witless halfling into the land of the Enemy himself, as you have done, and this son of mine," Denethor gave Faramir a sharp glance, "that is madness."

"And what would you have done?"

"Neither, that is for certain. But most surely not for any argument would I have sent this thing on a fool's hope towards the Enemy himself, risking our utter ruin if ever it was recovered by the Dark Lord. Nay, it should have been kept; hidden, hidden dark and deep Not used, I say, unless at the very end of need, but set beyond his grasp, save by a victory so final that what then befell would not trouble us, being dead."

Mithrandir sighed and shook his head. "You think, as is your want, my lord, of Gondor only. Yet there are other men and other lives, and time still to be."

"And where will other men look for help, if Gondor falls?" Denethor spat out. He sank back into his chair. "Gondor is in need of her Captain."

Faramir lowered his head, tired beyond reason with the full meaning of his father's words being quite clear to him. That the Steward and Gondor was in need of Boromir… and had no need for anyone else.

Least of all a worthless son who could never live up to his father's expectations.

Hating his father for never just saying it, Faramir asked, "Do you wish then that our places had been exchanged?"

And how he hated even more that there was no hesitance as Denethor replies, "Yes, I wish that indeed. For Boromir was loyal to me and no wizard's pupil. He would have remembered his father's need, and would not have squandered what fortune gave." The Steward looked down his nose at Faramir, disgust apparent in his very expression. "He would have brought me a mighty gift."

Any restraint Faramir might have had in keeping from talking back to his father disappeared as his frustration towards Denethor reached the point where he could stand it no longer. "I would ask you, my father, to remember why it was that I, not he, was in Ithilien," he pointed out in a steely voice. "On one occasion at least your counsel had prevailed, not long ago. It was the Lord of the City that gave the errand to him. Even when I offered to go in his stead."

"Stir not the bitterness in the cup that I mixed for myself," the Steward said hotly. "Have I not tasted it now many nights upon my tongue, with the thought that something terrible would come about from it? As now indeed I find it has. Would it were not so! Would that this thing had come to me!"

Before Faramir could retort, Gandalf stepped forward, his eyes stern and hard as they regarded Denethor. "Comfort yourself! In no case would Boromir have brought it to you. He has suffered and endured the testing of his lifetime; we may all thank the Valar that nothing came about through a moment of weakness. Yet you deceive yourself. He would have stretched out his hand to this thing, and taking it he would have fallen. He would have kept it for his own, and when he returned you would not have known your son." Quietly, almost under his breath, Mithrandir whispered, "It never happened, in that may we find hope."

Stunned by the wizard's words, Faramir's mind was reeling with what Gandalf had revealed. Denethor's reply was lost to him as Faramir desperately tried to make sense of what he had just heard. It never happened, in that may we find hope… Did that mean that it had been very close to have become a reality?

No, Faramir firmly told himself. It could not have happened; as Gandalf said, it never did happen.

…that nothing came about through a moment of weakness… Again Faramir was plagued by even more questions. Questions as to what 'moment of weakness' had Boromir experienced and more importantly, why did Gandalf appear to be so secretive about the whole matter?

Faramir wrenched himself away from his thoughts to catch that words of a sensitive nature must have been exchanged by the way Denethor was glowering at Gandalf. The air was tense and Faramir wondered what Gandalf could have said to have made his father angry.

But just as suddenly, Denethor relaxed and grew cold again, the heated and burning look in his eyes merely smoldered away to icy steel. He shrugged his shoulders and spoke with a disinterested wave of his hand. "If I had, if you had. Such words and ifs are vain. It has gone into the Shadow, and only time will tell of what doom awaits for it as well as for us. It will not be long…"

Denethor leaned forward in his chair to emphasize his next words. "In what is left, let all who fight the Enemy in their fashion be as one, and hold one to hope while they may… and after hope still the hardihood to die free." At this the father turned to his son. "What think you of the garrison at Osgiliath?"

The Ithilien Captain shook his head. "It is not strong," Faramir said. "I have sent the company of Ithilien to strengthen it. As I have said."

"Not enough, I think." Denethor thoughtful leaned back into his chair, elbows resting on the arms of his chair and his hands clasped together. "It is there that the first blow will fall. They will have need of some stout captain there."

Inwardly, Faramir sighed. He had long learned to watch out for his father's subtlety and sublime hints within his words. Yet this was not so subtle and Faramir could only obey. "There and elsewhere in many places," Faramir spoke and as he wished his brother here, he could not stop a sigh from escaping his lips. "Alas for my brother, whom I too love!"

Though the deep seated weariness within his bones had not by far left him after a grueling ride, Faramir forced himself to rise from his stool, careful to plant his feet firmly on the ground. "May I have your leave, father?"

Yet before his father answered, Faramir tried to shift himself to a soldier's attention but found his body unwilling to cooperate. He swayed and only managed to keep himself upright by leaning upon Denethor's chair.

There was a moment's silence as Faramir composed himself. It was Denethor who broke the silence, his tone impersonal. "You are weary, I see. You have ridden fast and far, and under shadows of evil in the air, I am told."

A chill of fear ran down Faramir's spine and he angered by the feeling, bit out, "Let us not speak of that!"

This caused Denethor to look at him; Faramir was stunned to see something in his father's eyes… could it be worry? Was there a softness there, somewhere beneath the depths of Denethor's eyes?

Denethor immediately turned away, however, his jaw tightening into its usual stern expression of immovability. "Then we will not. Go now and rest as you may. Tomorrow's need will be sterner."

It was a dismissal, pure and simple. Any caring he might have seen in Denethor's eyes could only have been an illusion. An illusion of something Faramir would never see from his father. Berating himself for falling for some trick of light, Faramir could only step back, his weariness momentarily forgotten as he bowed slightly to Denethor. Without any other words exchanged between them, Faramir turned and proceeded to walk out of the chamber, once more feelings of frustration and disappointment making him feel sick.

He was so sick of it all. Sick of having to put up with his father, sick of having to deal with the constant berating and disapproval.

More than anything, he was just very, very tired.

Hearing footsteps following him out the door, Faramir passed in the hallway to look behind and see that Gandalf and the hobbit had followed him out. Before Faramir could speak, Gandalf shook his head sternly and motioned that they should travel further down the hall. Guessing that whatever the wizard wished to say needed to be out of earshot of his father, Faramir obeyed unquestioningly.

Finally reaching a point where they both knew they would not be overheard by Denethor or passersby, Gandalf reached into his cloak and took something out which he offered to the Gondorian. Faramir upon one quick glance saw that it was a letter. Hoping against hope as to who it was from, Faramir needed only to look into the wizard's kind eyes to know that it was from none other than his brother.

"Your father was also given a letter," Gandalf explained in a low voice. "However, since the author wished for yours to be given without Denethor's knowledge, I assume there are certain details he wished to be only read by your eyes."

Faramir could only whisper a quiet thanks, fingers burning to open the letter. "There are so many things I wish to know – "

"He is on his way, traveling with all possible speed," Gandalf interrupted. "And his story is one too long to be told tonight as you are weary and need your rest."

Though hating the truth in the wizard's words, Faramir still could not help but urge for more news on Boromir. There was still that little voice inside of him, reminding him how Gandalf seemed to be hiding something about Boromir… "Where did you last leave him?"

"In Edoras, just five days ago." It was Pippin who spoke up, looking eager to be helpful. Or perhaps just eager to speak freely after being in such a tense atmosphere. And if it were so, Pippin had all of Faramir's sympathy. "I have longed to meet you for a long time for Boromir has spoken much of you."

Seeing the hobbit's eager face when he spoke of Boromir, Faramir was reminded of a conversation with Frodo soon after they had first met. He remembered him asking Frodo whether he and Boromir had been good friends; there had been that strange expression on the hobbit's face then the vague answer of, "Yes, I was his friend, for my part."

On a thought, Faramir asked Pippin the same question he had voiced Frodo. "Were you a friend of Boromir?'

Unlike the off guard look on Frodo's face, Pippin only grinned all the more. "Aye, I am honored to be considered a friend to him. In fact, I am even honored to have pledged my service to him."

Caught by surprise with the calm and serious announcement, Faramir could only stare down at Pippin for a few moments before shaking his in silent amusement. Trust my brother to inspire loyalty and devotion in others… "I don't know what to say," Faramir said with a smile.

"Boromir saved my life and that of my kinsman," Pippin explained. "He save our lives and risked his own in the process. I will be forever grateful to him."

"Come Pippin, time for us to allow Faramir to get his rest," Gandalf said, urging Pippin in the direction of their quarters. "I have a feeling that the morning will prove to hold much for all of us."

As Pippin gave Faramir one last grin and began walking the way, the wizard lingered for a moment to whisper to the Gondorian. "Your father may wish to believe that I am hiding something from him and you about your brother. Trust me when I say that some things are better left said by Boromir himself."

As cryptic as the words were, Faramir nodded in acceptance. He had long learned to not question the wizard in anything he said or did; acceptance was the only thing he could, to accept Gandalf as he was. Which would be an enigmatic wizard.

The two of them clasped hands before Gandalf turned away and walked off with the hobbit, leaving Faramir all alone. Remembering the letter in his hands, he itched to read it and placing it inside his vest, walked at a brisk pace to his rooms.

When he finally reached his destination, he didn't even stop to appreciate the feel of being in his room after such a long absence from his home. A light dinner had been prepared for him, waiting to be eaten at the table. However, even as he for the first time acknowledged the faint hunger pangs in his stomach, he ignored the food and took a seat at his desk.

He took at the letter and after bringing an already lit lamp closer, he began to read.

Dearest Faramir,

It has been too long, little brother. That is really all I can say. I have missed you greatly, and hardly a day has passed without my bringing the image of my little brother to mind.

You know more than anyone how much I dislike letter writing. As a man of action, I prefer speaking directly to whomever I wish to talk to, rather than putting my words to writing. Yet two things I must write to you about.

By now you probably know that Mithrandir is in Minas Tirith for it is to him I have given this letter to give to you personally. With him travels the Halfling, Peregrin Took. No, as you are probably guessing, he is not the Halfling from our dreams. That story is for another time, in which I hope to tell you everything in person.

But this Peregrin Took, Pippin as he is called, is one of the two persons I wished to write to you about. As my brother, the one whom I can put all my trust in, I implore you to take care of him. He will need all the friends he can have, for though he is of a stalwart race of beings, he is still very inexperienced in many areas of life outside his home. He has an insatiable curiosity and he always seems to remind me of you when you were younger.

The other subject whom I wished to tell you about is of our Father. You know very well his dislike for Mithrandir, and I am sure that the wizard and his companion, Pippin, will not receive much welcome. Also, I have written him a letter but refrained from telling him much, for I need to speak to him in person. Both of us know very well how Father will not be satisfied with such an excuse. I'm afraid that this alone would not help to improve his mood.

Please look out for both Pippin and Father. Both need someone to keep an eye on them and I am counting on you to do so.

Dearest brother, how I miss you and wish that I did not have to write you this dull letter. Instead I would have wished us to meet face to face and find a secluded room in which we can tell each other all we have gone through since our separation. Duties both you and I have, but promise me that as soon as I am home, we will put them aside to spend time just the two of us.

I shall be home very soon. Until we meet again.

Boromir

Faramir laid the letter down and sat back into his chair, head tilted upwards to stare at the ceiling. He missed Boromir and wished for his older brother's protectiveness. He replayed the meeting that had transpired in Denethor's chambers and felt a red flush creep up his face as he recalled his father's words.

'In desperate hours gentleness may be repaid with death.'

Why could he never seem to receive any respect from his father? He could think of no reason why he should always be the one to suffer his father's ill temper and dissatisfaction. When Boromir was here, such words thrown from their father at Faramir would be softened with a kind or encouraging word. Now, the pain was sharper felt and harder to deflect without the protective covering from Boromir. The letter had helped to ease some of the depression which settled over Faramir's mind; there really was nothing he could do to change his father from who he was.

Faramir wondered if there was any reason to come back to such a homecoming as this. Yet he knew, and feared, that perhaps Minas Tirith was going to be the last defense against the forces of Mordor. He was going to be needed to fight off against such a massive army headed in their direction.

Looking down at the letter again, Faramir's thoughts were taken to the young Halfling. From what he could deduce, Boromir and Pippin shared some sort of special friendship. Faramir smiled at the thought of Boromir watching out for the little one; the letter hinted that in the same way Boromir would watch over Faramir, he had done so for the hobbit.

And now the job had passed on to him.

A sudden thought entered his head and Faramir considered the idea carefully. Coming to a decision, with a smile he pushed himself out of the chair in search of a certain chest full of his old possessions. He was tired and hungry, but this would take only a few minutes and completely worth it.

Bawuer watched Boromir wake up with a start. The Gondorian groaned as he carefully eased up into a sitting position and rub the back of his neck. Boromir turned his head to look at Bawuer who moved to pour him some hot tea.

"How long was I out?" Boromir asked as he gratefully accepted the cup which Bawuer offered.

"Not long at all," Bawuer assured. "You could have slept a little more. We won't be heading out for at least another hour while the men and horses rest."

The Gondorian only nodded and surveyed his surroundings, the men of the Rohirrim army either resting or moving around, carrying out some errand or other. Bawuer wondered at the strange, distracted look in his companion's eyes. Thinking perhaps that the man was in a lot of pain, Bawuer mentioned it, though careful so as not to get the man annoyed as he seemed to get whenever his injuries were brought up. "My mother gave me some herbal medicine for the pain if you would like to have some now – "

"I'm fine, Bawuer," Boromir interrupted. "You don't have to mother me."

"You seemed distracted," Bawuer said with a shrug. "My mother warned you that you might perhaps not be ready for such a hard ride."

"I don't know if I was really asleep or not."

The sudden change of subject, along with the strange remark, caused Bawuer unable to make any sort of comment. Thankfully, it did not take long for Boromir to continue speaking, a distant look in his eyes, looking out past the plains towards the east.

"I remember lying down to get some rest yet as soon as I closed my eyes, a dream came to. Not unlike one I had… a very long time ago." Boromir looked down into his cup, forgotten as he seemed to live his dream again. "I was in the middle of Pelennor fields, amidst one of the fiercest battles I have ever been in my life. Everywhere I looked was more of the Enemy, hindering my path as I struggled to reach the city. Then before my very eyes, the gates of the city were aflame and I knew there was no way in for me.

"Next thing I knew, I was on top of a mountain, looking down upon the city. The flames seemed to spread and even though I was going down the mountain, it was too late." Boromir rubbed his eyes as he said in a whisper, "It was too late and I knew that I had lost someone dear to me. And that's when I woke up."

Bawuer remained silent, knowing it was the best thing to do at the moment; he knew that no amount of words he could say would ease the horror of the dream, or nightmare. Whatever it was, to see your own city, burning, and the thought of losing someone, was an experience that even in dreams was terrible.

But suddenly, Boromir seemed to push the images aside to return to the present. He took a drink from his cup and finally met Bawuer's eyes. The Rohirrim was surprised to see that there was no desperation, no distant look in his eyes; only a thoughtful expression as if the man was coming up with some sort of idea.

"Bawuer, I believe the mountain I was on was Mindolluin."

The younger man nodded slowly, not quite understanding Boromir's train of thoughts. But he went along, agreeing by saying, "That would make sense if you were indeed looking down on the city in your dream. But… what is the significance of that information?"

Boromir gave a small smile as he returned to looking out into eastern sky. "I don't really know. But the dream has given me something to think about." The smile was replaced with a stern expression as he continued, "And I will never allow the dream to come true."

The tone in the man's voice made it all too clear to Bawuer that Boromir was not going to break his vow. He hoped that indeed, it had only been a dream; that Boromir need not have ever thought about having to stop such a terrible occurrence from happening.

Pippin slowly awakened from sleep, savoring the feel of the pillow beneath his head. How happy he was to return to sleeping in a proper bed! He sighed deeply before opening his eyes and sitting up.

Gandalf was nowhere in sight, a fact which did not come to any surprise to the hobbit. He had come to accept the fact that there was no way to keep up with the comings and goings of wizards, or at least it was so in Gandalf's case.

Feeling ready for a nice breakfast, thought it was doubtful whether an actual complete breakfast would have been prepared for him, Pippin out of bed and went to the table. He was surprised to see that next to the tray of food placed on the table for him, there was a folded pile of what seemed to be like clothes and next to that, a helm. On top was a note which he grabbed to read and as he did so, he noticed that on the top of the pile was some kind of black clothing, broidered on the breast in silver with the token of the White Tree.

Puzzled, Pippin read what was written on the note in what appeared to be in Mithrandir's handwriting.

The Lord of the City has summoned the Council in the great hall and I have gone to attend as there are certain matters than needs to be discussed in that meeting. Spend your time wisely until I return perhaps later in the day.

You are wondering of the strange garments laid out for you. Lord Faramir had them sent over this morning with the message from the Steward. He hopes that they make a good fit.

Gandalf

His hunger forgotten with his curiosity, Pippin placed the note next to the food tray and began examining the strange gifts he had received. The clothing on top was a short surcoat; underneath it he found a small hauberk, its rings forged of dark-colored steel, seemingly delicate yet strong. There was also pair of gloves which he tried on. Slightly big but not a problem in any way. Taking them off, he next picked up the helm, fingering the design etched into the metal.

As Pippin surveyed the items, he wondered how there happened to be the livery of the White Tower in such a small size as should fit him. Unsure of what to do, and why exactly Faramir had decided to have this sent over to him, Pippin decided to think it over while eating breakfast.

The loaf of bread, hardly to be enjoyed with such an inadequate pant of butter, was eaten quickly, the cup of sadly thin milk finished within a few sips. Upon reading the note he had already made up his mind to go to the great hall, perhaps maybe to sneak in and listen to the proceedings. He really hoped Gandalf didn't mind. The wizard had not specifically stated that Pippin was not to attend. Therefore, Pippin decided that there really could be no harm in him just going to listen…

Standing up, Pippin eyed the garments for a moment. Should he wear it? It certainly seemed like he should, considering it was a gift from the Lord Faramir.

Thinking of the man, the hobbit wondered if there would be an opportunity for the two of them to have a chance to talk. Maybe over glasses of cold beer, an idea which Pippin quickly warmed up to. He really wanted a chance to have some friendly conversation, to immerse himself into the familiar atmosphere of a small pub and become engrossed into the environment. To go back to a time when he really didn't have a care in the world, a time when the only thing to worry about was having a drunk bump into you and perhaps spill your drink.

To only worry about that and not have to worry about how the outside world was falling apart.

Not for the first time, Pippin wished he could return to the ignorant bliss of the Shire.

Having finished eating his meager breakfast, Pippin stood up and stared at the livery of the Tower. Should he wear, or should he not? Obviously Faramir had sent it over not to be stared at but worn. With that thought, he immediately got changed into his gifts. The sleeves were a bit short though it wouldn't matter when he wore the gloves. Otherwise, the whole outfit was a fairly good fit, surprising him once more how there was a livery his size. Perhaps for a young boy?

Fitting his sword on, cinching the belt comfortable around his waist, Pippin decided to leave the helm and the gloves before setting out from his quarters. There was not a doubt in his mind that his destination was for the great hall. He wasn't sure about whether he was invited to the meeting or not; however, it was worth a try. If not, he could always try to find Beregond or his son.

He reached his destination but hesitated when he saw the guards outside of the large doors. In an instant of indecision, Pippin, slowed his walk, trying to come up with perhaps something to say to the guards.

To his surprise, the guards straightened for a brief moment and opened one of the doors, gesturing for Pippin to enter. Hurrying, not wanting for them to perhaps change their minds in letting him gain admittance, Pippin slid inside.

Pippin was reminded of the Council of Rivendell when he surveyed the Council that now took place in the city of Minas Tirith. Chairs had been brought in, arranged in a circled with Denetho slightly behind so he could survey the men. Pippin saw that Gandalf was seated close by; he also recognized the Prince of Dol Amroth, Imrahil, seated at the Lord of the City's right hand. Faramir was on his father's left.

Nobody seemed to notice his entrance so Pippin decided to stay where he was, slightly off the side and trying to hide in the shadow of one of the great pillars. The Prince was speaking at the moment, grey eyes serious and troubled. "What of Cair Andros? That, too, must be held, if Osgiliath is defended. Let us not forget the danger on our left. The Rohirrim may come, and they may not. But Faramir has told us of great strength drawing ever to the Black Gate. More than one host may issue from it, and strike for more than one passage."

Denethor grimly leaned forward in his seat which silenced Imrahil though he seemed to have more to say. "Much must be risked in war," he said with a grunt. "Cair Andros is manned, and no more can be sent so far. But I will not yield the River and the Pelennor unfought – not if there is a captain here who has still the courage to do his lord's will."

A ripple of discomfort swept those seated, for Denethor's words could only have been aimed at his own son. Pippin looked on wide-eyed as Faramir appeared to be the only one unconcerned with his father's harsh words. How could Denethor doubt Faramir's courage? If Faramir was anything like his brother, the Hobbit could not imagine the younger man ever being accused of cowardice.

After a long silence, Faramir finally spoke, his voice soft but loud enough for even Pippin to hear from where he stood. "I do not oppose your will, sire. Since you are robbed of Boromir, I will go and do what I can in his stead." There was a short pause before Faramir spoke again to ask, "If you command it."

"I do so," Denethor said without even giving Faramir a glance.

Faramir stood up as soon as Denethor's words were out of his mouth, unhurried yet obedient. "Then farewell," he said with a short bow to the Council then gave one last look to his father. "But if I should return, think better of me." Pippin winced at the slightly mocking yet strangely enough, pleading, undercurrent in the Gondorian's voice.

Even as he turned to leave the room, Denethor answered back. "That depends on the manner of your return."

The young man's steps faltered before he resumed his steady walk out of the great hall. Pippin wondered if he should say or do something as the young man walked by; however, he was saved from having to make a decision as Faramir's eyes caught the hobbit's. Faramir gave him a small smile and gestured for Pippin to come along with him.

Obeying, Pippin followed and the two of them walked out into the courtyard, stopping in front of the Tree. Faramir was quietly observing the Tree, a thoughtful expression on his face. Realizing just how much he resembled Boromir with that look on his face, Pippin smiled.

As if sensing the cheery thoughts from the hobbit, Faramir looked down at him quizzically. Pippin just shrugged and explained. "You and your brother have the same expression on your faces when you're thinking deeply."

Faramir chuckled and shook his head. "You seem to have gotten to know him well."

"Aye," Pippin said. He shifted from one foot to another then was reminded of his new attire. "I want to say thank you for your gift you sent over this morning," the hobbit said, looking down at his own symbol of the White Tree upon his breast, identical to the one on Faramir's leather surcoat.

"I only thought it befitting for one in the service of my older brother."

Pippin was now glad that he was wearing it, for Faramir seemed to have given it great thought in finding the garments for him. "I did not think they would find any livery that would fit me."

"It once belonged to a young boy of the city," Faramir said, turning away from the White Tree to look Pippin up and down. "A very foolish one who would prefer hiding away in the library than having to study battle tactics."

The wistful smile on Faramir's face was an obvious hint as to who he was talking about. "This was yours," Pippin said more than asked, sure of what the answer was already.

"Yes, this was mine. My father had it made for me." At the mention of Denethor, Faramir frowned slightly, making Pippin immediately speak up to take it away if he could.

"Well, I am taller than you were then," the Hobbit said, indicating the sleeves. "Though I'm unlikely to grow any taller. Except sideways."

Faramir laughed out loud, any earlier trace of melancholy disappearing. "Never fitted me either." The man sighed, a quiet sadness returning in his eyes. "Boromir was always the soldier. They were so alike, he and my father. Proud, stubborn even." He suddenly smiled though, in a proud manner, as he added, "Proud, stubborn… but strong."

"I think you have strength of a different kind," Pippin said. "And one day your father will see it." He suddenly realized that maybe he shouldn't have been so bold as to say that. They were barely acquainted and even as a friend he may have crossed a line.

However, Faramir accepted the words with a serious expression. "Perhaps."

Wishing to change the subject, Pippin asked about whether Faramir was leaving or not. The Captain of Ithilien nodded and answered with an affirmative. "My father commands me and I must obey. I need to be leaving as soon as possible." Yet the man seemed loath to leave, once more looking at the Tree then scanning his surroundings, drinking in the stillness in the air.

Faramir suddenly put his gaze on Pippin. "I must prepare to leave. However, I wish to ask whether you would kindly join me and tell me the details of how you would come to offer your services to my brother. And perhaps begin from where Frodo and Sam's account finished with your parting."

The request made Pippin smile broadly. "I would like nothing better."

"Well then, shall we?" The two walked down the pathway towards Pippin believed was the direction to the Gondorian's rooms.

"It all began with our traveling group from Rivendell coming under attack from countless Uruk-Hai, and before I knew it, Merry, who is my cousin and kinsman, a wonderful fellow I wish you would get the chance to meet, were surrounded with no hope of getting away…"

Author's Note: So, what do you think? Pretty good? Terrible? Great? Not so great? Sorry if the Boromir part seemed a bit short; that part was added in on a sudden idea which I decided to incorporate in the story. A hint of what's to come… but that's all I'm giving away!

Thanks again to my faithful readers! The reviews are always such a joy to receive; keep them coming! Also, I'm going to instead from now on reply to reviews just before I update the new chapter. So for chapter 45, if you receive a reply to a review from me, that means I'll be putting it up in no time!

Till next time! I will try to have a new chapter up soon… Next chapter will prove to be very… interesting. :P From now we'll be taking a step away from events happening in Minas Tirith and will very much be concentrating on the Rohirrim army heading towards the Gondorian city. Meaning you guys should expect lots of Boromir!

Next Chapter: Boromir's tale will be moving along as we'll be going ahead a few days to when the Rohirrim army will be camped under Minrimmon. A hint… imagine how things would have been different with Boromir being alive.