Disclaimer: Although I write it all, I own nothing. That's just a sad fate.

Chapter Three: The Light of the Storm

Thormir looked on in horror and disbelief as Elendacil drew her sword. Before one clash of metal on metal rang out, the approaching guard collapsed in between Alaksul and Thormir's steed, falling as though he had been knocked unconscious from behind. The other three guards gazed at him, confused, trying to comprehend the event. The one nearest Thormir moved first, putting his hand to his sheath, but before he could draw, he too fell, his helmet landing on the foot of Thormir's steed. The stallion reared up in surprise, distracting the two remaining guards so that Alaksul reared up and knocked them unconscious. Just then, Elendacil felt a shadowy hand rest on her left leg in the darkness.

"Follow me," whispered a voice. Then the hand left her leg and went to guide Alaksul. In the dim light of the nearby lantern that now lay on the ground, Thormir could see the silhouette of Alaksul. Although he had no idea what had just happened or where they were now going, he turned his steed to follow his companions into the darkness of the night.


Faramir lay awake in his bed, choking back tears. He was desperately struggling not to give in to despair, but as the hours passed without any news or signs of hope, it became increasingly difficult to do so. Knowing he would be incapable of sleeping until he received word from Elendacil, for good or ill, he rose and began to wander, unconsciously placing one foot over the other. Before he realized where he was going, he had arrived in Boromir's quarters. They were just as they had been only a short time ago, when Faramir had last been in here to help his brother prepare for duty on the borders. The blue-grey sheets on the bed were unkempt and a pillow was left on the floor. Faramir gazed down beneath him, where there were footprints from dirty boots, full of days of outdoor adventures. A picture ran through Faramir's mind of the last time Boromir had left his room, this room. He had been wearing his full suit of armor, save his helmet, which he held fondly in his left hand, and his sword. He had been standing in front of a mirror, admiring his reflection, a serious, yet pleased look on his face.

"If you stand there much longer, you'll turn into a statue," Faramir had said. His brother had turned to face him and smiled affectionately.

"Then you can put me in the library with your beloved books," he joked. "You'll always be able to find me, then. Come, or we will be late." Boromir had started to the door, leaving traces of dirt everywhere. Faramir had begun to follow, but saw his brother's sword in its sheath, lying on a table near the window. He picked it up and hurried to Boromir's side.

"Don't forget this."

"Thank you, little brother," Boromir said. And then, thoughtfully, "Take care of father while I'm gone, just like we take care of each other."

"You have my word." They embraced, both smiling broadly and left the room.

Faramir felt a cold breeze bring him back to reality. He started, trying to find its source. His eyes darted to the window, which was ajar just enough to let a breeze in. Boromir must have opened it the morning he left so that he could smell the scent of the dewy morning of Minas Tirith once more before going to his duty. Faramir went to close it, but thought better of it just as he had his hand on the wooden slide. He would leave it as his brother had. He sat down on the bed, trying not to move the sheets, savoring his brother's familiar scent. Somehow, breathing in the air of the room, he felt as though Boromir was much nearer, which brought him some peace, regardless of what it might mean. The aroma made Faramir drowsy and, although he did not fall asleep, a sort of trance came upon him. His mind was lost in thoughts and memories of his brother for as far back as he could recall. Every day of his life seemed to flash slowly before his eyes. When he emerged, it seemed like hours, but it may have been mere minutes, Faramir rose and slowly left the room. He was heading for the lookout post, prepared for whatever fate lay ahead.


The sky had clouded over and freezing drops of rain and hail fell on the company. Boromir shivered under Elendacil's cloak, which she had removed to keep him warmer. Alaksul followed the lead of the figure ahead of her, who still remained in the shadows. Not far behind, Thormir kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, wary of an ambush, and turned his head this way and that, although he could see nothing. He had been following Alaksul by the sound ofher hoof beats, but now they had been silenced. A light suddenly flickered on from up ahead on the right. Thormir started in surprise and drew his sword. Hoof beats! They were approaching from the direction of the light. The soldier frantically darted his head every which way, trying to guess where this mysterious person would strike. The hoof beats halted, surely only a few feet away from him, yet he could see no one. He was certain he could feel the hot breath of some monster on the back of his neck. He braced himself for the end.

"Thormir," hissed Elendacil beside him. Thormir turned fearfully. "Come, we have found shelter." Keeping his horse very close to Alaksul, the soldier followed. He couldn't help repeatedly glancing over his shoulder, however futile he knew it must be. They went toward the light and in its glow, Thormir saw Elendacil dismount. She ducked into the doorway of the building and Thormir hesitantly followed suit. Boromir lay inside, the perspiration and raindrops on his face lit by the lantern light. Beside him was a dark-haired man, whom Thormir distrusted immediately from his looks. He appeared extremely shabby and Thormir wasn't willing to credit the rain alone for this. He had a look in his eyes that Thormir didn't like, but Elendacil clearly trusted him enough to have left him alone with the unconscious son of Denethor. The man must have been aware that he was being watched, for he raised his eyes from Boromir to meet those of Thormir. They held each other's gaze for what were the longest and most awkward moments of Thormir's life before he managed to brake free of the trance of the dark man's icy blue eyes and stare down at the ground instead. He now felt increasingly uneasy, despite Elendacil's confidence. She was now squatted on the far side of the man, near Boromir's head, and spoke to him in such hushed tones that Thormir couldn't understand a word they said. He looked uneasily out into the night past the doorway. The sky was unrelenting in its battle against the earth, hurling sleet and rain ever more viciously. The loud pounding as the precipitation collided with the pavement was by now a constant booming. Above it, a clap of thunder raised its voice and lightning pierced the darkness. Tethered to the pole outside, Thormir's stallion, Rumil, whinnied with fright, while beside him Alaksul stood motionless, her eyes turned as though she was watching what was happening in the house, which, glancing about him, Thormir now realized was really a vacant barn. There was soft, dry straw everywhere, but Thormir supposed he had been too preoccupied with the other man to have noticed this earlier. He grabbed two handfuls of straw and fed it to the horses.


A sharp clap of thunder jolted Denethor awake. He was in his throne in the vacant throne room. He sighed and strode to the doors, for no reason in particular. He opened one of them, the left one, and peered out to see the storm. Hailstones bounced off the white tree of Gondor and knocked some of the lighter branches fromits frail trunk. The wind blew violently toward him and tossed his hair every which way. Another flash of blinding light sliced through the dark, damp, sky. The steward forced the door closed.

"The storm has come," he declared, speaking to the airy emptiness of the throne room.


At that very instant, Boromir opened his eyes. He shivered and blinked rapidly, then focused his gaze on a familiar face.

"My lady," he whispered.

"Hello, my captain," she replied.

"Stay still," the dark man ordered as he massaged something on Boromir's neck and removed the armor so he could reach the wound on Boromir's shoulder where the arrow had pierced the skin.

"Who is he?" Boromir asked, wincing in pain, as talking was painful.

"I am Naurmor."

"He helped us find shelter and escape the guards. Your father believes you fell in battle," she explained, practically reading his mind. "I came after you following your supposed death. Faramir is trying to keep both his and your father's spirits up."

"Thank you," the captain of the white tower said.

"Sleep now. You will be all right," Naurmor instructed, a note of tenderness in his voice. Boromir shut his eyes and fell into a peaceful sleep. His breathing was slow and even. Elendacil let out a sigh of relief. Sensing she wanted to tell him something, Thormir stepped further into the barn and the lady came to him.

"He has not been poisoned and the wound is far from mortal. He will be fine in a day or so. Right now, we should all get some sleep." Thormir was about to protest that he didn't want to sleep with Naurmor nearby, but the man extinguished the lantern and all turned to darkness.