Several days had gone by since that dizzying day when Faramir realized he'd been a madman not to simply ask Éowyn how she felt, rather than relying on gossip. So far Faramir had been dividing his time between his brother and his sweetheart rather evenly. It had been a concern of his that perhaps Boromir would grow miserable again without him around so much, but that proved to be an unnecessary worry. Even without much ability to move, Boromir was healing well in body and mind.
And yet, with all the new joys in Faramir's life, he found himself still running dry on what to do about the Coronation ceremony for his father. Faramir couldn't help but think that it would be much easier if he did not know his ada so well. Every time he found some small segment of one ceremony that might not make his father go running back to the mountains, he realized that something else about it would. Aragorn simply hated pomp and circumstance, and, after all, what was this all about otherwise?
More than that, though, there was the matter of the message he'd received telling him that his beloved family was en route to Minas Tirith. It had to be too early, Faramir thought. He knew that Elladan mentioned that they would probably set out closer to the time of the Coronation. Had that come from Elrohir, he could understand the error in timing, but Elladan was a lot more intuitive about these things than his twin. How, he wondered, could he ever manage to get this city into some kind of order and shape that would make it look presentable to the greatest of the Eldar, not only his daeradar and his father's beloved, but the Lord and Lady of Lórien as well, whom he had been, so far, spared from meeting, but had endured some strange tales of from his dear uncles.
One night Faramir found he was sitting, resting under a tall oak. He didn't exactly remember why he was there, but his mind was tired and he needed the respite and a little seclusion. A mist began to crawl in, but being near the river he thought little of it, there was nothing unusual about it anyway. Only his thoughts seemed to be growing just as foggy. Nothing was clear to him, he could not complete a thought and had only the vaguest sense that something was not right. Faramir could hear shouts in the distance and a roar and crackling that suggested fire. He tried to fight his way through the dense fog, but it was as though he was enclosed and could not escape. The fog was becoming smoke rapidly and stealing the air from his lungs. Faramir stayed close to the ground to try to avoid breathing the deadly smog, but panic hit him when he thought he could hear his father shouting.
Boromir was laying awake that night and heard strange sounds coming from the room adjoining his own. At first he thought that maybe Faramir and that lady he'd been so besotted with had hit it off a little quicker than usual. He'd chuckled over it until he realized that it was obvious that there was not a note of enjoyment next door but fear and danger.
Boromir called out to his brother, just to be on the safe side, but received no response but the continued sounds of distress. Gritting his teeth against the pain still lingering in his ankle, Boromir did the only thing a brother could do: he pulled himself up and climbed awkwardly out of his bed. He had yet to actually attempt to put any kind of weight on the ankle and so he leaned heavily against the nightstand for a moment before taking a hold of the wall and making his way toward the door that joined the two suites. Pushing the door open Boromir found the room completely dark, and groping for something to support him as he tried to get to his brother, Boromir accidentally started to stand on his bad ankle and immediately crashed to the floor with a cry.
Faramir woke with a start at the yell accompanied by a loud thud. For a moment Faramir did not know where he was until he saw his brother laying in a gasping heap upon the floor (the night vision of Rangers being inherently better than that of regular soldiers.) Quickly he lit a candle and went to Boromir who snarled something about next time making it more worth his while than a bad dream. Ignoring his brother's nonsense for the moment, Faramir helped Boromir to stand on his good leg and guided him to lay down on the bed. Rekindling the fire in the hearth that had burned out, Faramir asked his half-brother what exactly it was that he was thinking when he went prowling around on a broken ankle that had been healing nicely.
"I was coming to help you, you are very welcome!" Boromir snapped, hissing and clutching a pillow in agony.
Faramir sighed and apologized. Looking through a pack he found a couple of leaves, one of which he gave to Boromir to chew on, promising it would ease the pain. The other he used to brew a tea for them both, as he was still shaken after that dream. Faramir was beginning to calm down and thinking of how he could go about getting Boromir back into his own chambers in such a way that wouldn't cause him too much pain when someone knocked at his chamber door. For a moment Faramir was terrified to answer it, fearing that a messenger was sent to tell him of a forest fire in Ithilien, he knew well how dreams were often used to reveal things. When he opened the door to see a young lad standing there in the livery of the Citadel his heart nearly stopped.
"Forgive me for wakening you, my Lord," the boy said with a bow, "but I was sent to tell you that watchers have spotted a host approaching from Druadan."
Faramir visibly relaxed at that. But then he began to wonder just what sort of host would approach in the night. Faramir nodded and told the lad that he would be along directly, as soon as he was dressed. Going back to his half-brother, Faramir told him only that there was something that needed to be attended to and that he should just get some sleep until he returned.
Boromir did not seem to be even slightly pleased with that explanation and demanded that his brother be careful. Faramir was hard-pressed to keep from rolling his eyes, what was the first thing anyone learned in weapons training anyway?
Faramir went immediately out to the parapet which was lined with archers awaiting commands. "Dartho!" Faramir called out before he realized that most of the archers stationed in Minas Tirith did not know Sindarin as his Rangers did (it was one of Faramir's first decisions as Captain of the Rangers to institute a more effective code that did not rely on Westron speech.) "Hold," Faramir said, correcting the previous command at the more than several odd looks he received, Faramir walked out along the embrasure, noting the rather heavy guard presence at the main gate.
"Do we know this host to be hostile?" Faramir asked the acting Captain of the Guard.
"No, my Lord, we know them not at all," Boromir's second-in-command replied. "I thought it best, in these days, to call out the guard. The men from the Southern fiefs are at each gate, our own at the main gate."
Faramir nodded and instructed him to give no command unless he signaled. Walking out again along the length of he embrasure, Faramir asked several men to extinguish their torches. It would be so much better for their night vision if they learned to do without light. After a few minutes Faramir was able to see most stars clearly and then he looked out toward the north-west where the forest line could be seen in the distance. It was clear that there was a host approaching, they appeared to be bearing light, and Faramir could not figure out why they did chose to travel during the night. It was entirely possible that this was indeed an enemy force planning a surprise attack while the city was still weakened and vulnerable.
"Do you wish to be armed, my Lord?" the interim Captain asked him.
Faramir, however, declined, though he could not really say why.
"My Lord, if you wait until we know for sure there may not be time to get you into armor, and as you are the standing Steward of Gondor -"
It was then that Faramir realized he now had an obligation to more than just himself and his father and brother to be even more careful than usual. "Just give me a bit longer, Ardan," Faramir said in resignation. "Perhaps you can have the armor brought here?" He just did not have a feeling that whoever was coming should be greeted in plate armor.
As the Captain left to collect what was necessary, Faramir stood upon the battlements staring at the approaching host. There was something strange about the light that the travelers bore and for the briefest moment Faramir thought maybe the armor was a good idea. Then he could have just about slapped himself for living among Mortal Men too long and forgetting where he came from.
Faramir went dashing back toward the tunnel telling the archers to retire for the night, just as he told the rest of the guard, level by level, as he went racing by on horseback. When Ardan came back juggling pieces of plate armor to find all the soldiers dismissed and the Steward riding off across the field he dropped the armor in a pile, swearing that working with the acting Steward was even worse than putting up with Boromir's abnormal ideas.
Faramir was riding fast, eager to see his family again, as he had guessed that odd light to be the light of the Eldar, which he'd nearly forgotten about. It was something that was just a part of the whole environment of Rivendell that one tended not to notice how some Elves glowed. Besides, Faramir had grown up with it and really thought little of it.
He was about 250 or 300 yards from the group when suddenly the light was doused. Faramir immediately signaled his horse to halt. The other company across the field began to advance toward him and Faramir realized in an instant what he'd fallen for. The message announcing that his family was en route and his first thought that it was too early for them to come should have been warning enough, but whoever was now coming toward him had to have known that he would be so eager to see those he loved that he'd fall for it. They had to have known to carry torches behind sheets and stay just barely in eye sight so that the light would look diffused and muted. They had to know that the light would obscure Faramir's vision of them as he neared.
This was set-up exclusively for him and had worked. He was too near them now and too far from the safety of the city to try to turn back and flee, he'd never make it. There was no way anyone would get to him in time. He could not charge and fight against them, he was alone against maybe 100 of them. Faramir kept his head, though, it would do no good to fall apart. There was always the option of negotiation, he dearly hoped, even if it most certainly seemed that these people knew who he was and came specifically for him at a time when Minas Tirith's defenses were low. But who could have known so much about him?
No, there was so sense in fighting back so Faramir dismounted and sent his horse back to the City at a gallop that would rival any speed the Black Riders could have taken. He couldn't shout for help, he wouldn't be heard. He could only hope that someone in that vast city couldn't sleep and just happened to be looking his direction. Faramir kept his ground as the advancing troop moved in. They were within 100 yards when he called out, "What do you want?" as if he didn't know or could stall them now. They only moved faster. They fell upon him and Faramir gave a shout, even though he knew it was useless, before he was quickly rendered unconscious.
As Faramir rode out over the Pelennor toward Grey Wood there were three who were watching him from the City: Éowyn; Ardan, Boromir's pro tem replacement; and Mithrellas, who had come to Boromir's chamber to check in on him, found him in pain in Faramir's chambers, and was quickly told by Boromir that he was fine and what he really needed was someone to go over to the "king's" chambers, which looked out over the whole field, to watch out for his little brother for him. Three people within the White City gasped simultaneously when they saw the light near Grey Wood suddenly go out. When Faramir sent his horse running back at such a speed, all three knew there was trouble. Ardan went to wake Beregond and alert him to the danger that Faramir was in and to call the guard out again. Mithrellas ran back to Boromir to tell him that something was amiss.
Boromir only had to see the worried look that his "second mumma" wore and he was already pulling himself upright, despite the fact that it was not in the least comfortable for him to do so. "Now, Bori', it will not help anything you getting upset," Mithrellas said, trying to calm the man. It was as useless as Faramir's shout. Instead of calming down Boromir shouted for a guard and demanded that the man help him up and get him dressed for a ride.
Mithrellas couldn't believe the nonsense she was hearing out of him and staunchly refused to permit that to happen. "Absolutely not, Boromir. You will lay down and get your rest! If you injure that ankle any further I do not give you much chance of walking again, because I will end up breaking your thick skull trying to get some sense into it!"
However, she underestimated just how devoted to his half-brother Boromir really was. "Listen to me," Boromir said in a tone that sounded uncomfortably like the one Denethor most frequently employed, "that man is my brother, the only other child that my beloved mother bore -" hepaused, looking at the guard who was torn as to whose orders to follow, and, not changing his tone, said, "you will forget that you heard that – and no one upon Arda, Valinor, or out in the Void is going to hinder me from going to his aid."
Before long, Boromir was being helped across the courtyard and toward the tunnel. Someone already had readied his war-horse and walked the animal up to the Citadel as the previously indisposed Captain-General had ordered most vehemently. His ankle was hurting more and more but the pain only served to make him more fierce about this and he would not brook the slightest difference of opinion. He could not mount up on the left of the horse and usually any difference in approach could frighten a horse, but it seemed that even this one picked up that his rider was in a terrible temper and knew it better not to protest about being boarded on the wrong side.
Once in the saddle, Boromir could let the pressure off his ankle and wasn't quite so testy anymore, but his fierce energy hadn't subsided in the least and he ducked his head going down to the sixth level to lead a ride swiftly out of the city.
Just outside the Houses of Healing, however, a young woman, dressed quite strangely, ran up to him and insisted that she be permitted to ride with them. Boromir was perplexed for a half a moment before simply saying, "this is no pleasure ride, girl, get back to your home." He had no idea who he was dealing with.
"I know more danger than you!" she all but shouted. "I slew the Dwimmerlaik, and I will ride to Faramir! You cannot thwart me!"
Boromir sighed, sounding more like a growl, and said, "you must be Éowyn?" At her defiant nod he softened only slightly. "Listen, I have been a soldier for many years. You can do more for him by staying here than going out there."
"What can you possibly mean by -"
"I mean that a soldier has a better reason to hang on if he has a lady waiting for him at home. I know this, I have seen it many times. Brother, father, mother - none of them can get a man to survive long enough to get home the way a lady can. They all want to see her 'one last time,' and if they can hang on until we get them here and we can get them proper medicine, they have a better likelihood of living. If my little brother has a chance of getting back here, you are it."
So it was that Boromir, son of Denethor, had done what no man before him had ever managed: he had reasoned with Éowyn and she had acquiesced. Never mind the fact that he had made that whole thing up as a good reason to get Éowyn to stay in Minas Tirith. Boromir knew damned well (or thought he did anyway) that a man too close to death couldn't be halted on his last journey if he was already on it.
Boromir led the ride at a fast pace, even though the jostling was causing bolts of pain to shoot up his leg and nearly throw him from the saddle. Gritting his teeth against it and turning agony to anger, Boromir charged faster.
It did not take long for the men to catch up to the outlaws. They had gone into the trees with their unconscious hostage, and for all their planning, it was a foolish move, for they had not known of the ancient Woses who dwelt in the Drúadan forest and did not like the presence of treacherous strangers. When the guard moved in on them they were already being blocked by a group of very disturbing looking men. Anyone not native to Gondor, or particularly Minas Tirith, might have thought they were in for double trouble this time. Boromir did not give it a second thought, though, and commanded his troops to "slay all but the leader" and to find his little brother.
The work was quick and the evil-doers were rather easily dispatched. Boromir himself could tell which was the organizer of their attack, he was the one doing his best to get away the fastest. Boromir rode him down though and when the felon turned to raise his sword against the rider, Boromir brought his own sword down in an arc, cleanly removing the hand that once held a weapon. He shouted to one of his men to take that one, bind him, and see that he didn't die… yet.
Boromir saw that the fight was well in hand and allowed himself a moment to breathe. The pain was almost consuming him, though he'd taken no wound in this particular skirmish. He cringed and fought hard against the surge of aching that wouldn't leave him alone.
Someone was shouting for him and his horse moved practically on instinct toward the call. Coming closer he saw Captain Beregond kneeling beside a prone figure. A different, much keener pain started to rush Boromir until Beregond lifted the other man and brought him over to his Lord. "He unconscious, but alive, my Lord Boromir," Beregond said, obvious grateful as well.
"Let me bear him," Boromir said, reaching toward his brother, even though he knew he didn't need the extra weight pressing on his leg. "You did this for me once," he whispered, knowing Faramir couldn't hear him, "now we are even, little brother." Turning to his men, who had completed their mission perfectly, he said aloud, "Get that prisoner and let's get out of here and back into our beds." Boromir was guiding his horse to turn back to the city when something caught his eye further back in the trees. One of the Wild Men who had disappeared when the Gondorians showed up. The Druedan nodded slowly toward Boromir, who stared for a moment, then shifted Faramir's insensible weight off his sore leg, and nodded back to the strange person, conveying the great deal of thanks that he felt for their help.