"I fear your Princess will be displeased with you, Captain."
Faramir smiled ruefully at the sentry, one of his Rangers from the old days. "We are facing a war, Andvir, there is much to be done and most of it seems to fall to the Steward."
"You should be less capable, Captain." "I would certainly get to my bed earlier." Faramir agreed. He clapped the Man on the shoulder and strolled away from the White Tower towards the Steward's House.
A figure hunched on a bench in a corner of the tiny courtyard before his home caught Faramir's eye. It was Boromir, posture and face eloquent of distress. Faramir stopped, heart aching with sympathy, then moved quietly to stand over him and said gently. "Boromir, haven't our people convinced you yet that your 'failings' matter far less to them than they do to you?"
His brother looked up at him blankly for a moment, then the corner of his mouth quirked in faint grimace. "I'd forgotten all about that."
Faramir blinked and sat down beside him on the bench. "Then what is troubling you, my Brother?"
"Faramir -" he hesitated for a long moment then with one of the sudden, reckless impulses Faramir remembered so well, blurted: "What did you see in the Hall this morning?"
"At first, nothing unusual." he answered slowly. "There was, perhaps, a certain sense of unease from the mace - or more likely from the presence of Herumor's creatures. Then I heard you call 'Hold!'" and Faramir had to stop a moment, still shaken by the memory of what he'd Seen next. He recovered himself and continued: "I Saw you, as a figure of shining light, approach the mace and only then did I See the Shadow rising from it like smoke," he raised his eyes to look steadily at Boromir, "and I saw it driven back as you stretched your hand over it."
It was Boromir who looked away. "That's what Sam said." he drew a deep, shaken breath. "I don't understand."
"Don't you?" Faramir asked gently. "Surely, Brother, you realize that no Man could pass through the trials you have endured and emerge unchanged."
"But changed into what?" Boromir asked painfully.
"Perhaps the Man you should have been." Faramir answered quietly. "Could have been if duty and our father hadn't forced you into the warrior's mold."
His brother's eyes flashed up at that. "I am a warrior, Faramir." he said sharply. "It is my nature, as well as my training." he added more quietly. "My skill at arms and at strategy I can trust. But I do not trust myself in matters of Power, I haven't the strength or the wisdom for such things - as we both know!"
Faramir closed his eyes in pain. This doubt was his doing as much as their father's. "But you have power, Boromir," he reminded, "we have seen it.
" "I know." was the strained answer. "That is why I am afraid."
--
"You look tired."
Boromir smiled down into the worried face of the Master of Buckland. "Yesterday was a hard day, followed by a too short night."
"Sam did say you were up till all hours talking to that Esarhael and the like." Pippin observed, panting, then spoke past Boromir to Merry: "Maybe he can take a nap this afternoon."
"I will do no such thing!" the Man declared laughing. "When are you two going to stop nursemaiding me?"
"As soon as we're convinced you're fit to look after yourself." Pippin replied.
"Which isn't likely to be any time soon." Merry added dryly. And Boromir shook his head in mock despair. The three of them were climbing the White Tower's narrow, winding privy stair in single file with Merry in the lead.
The Master pushed open the door to the second floor corridor and held it for his companions. At least Boromir looked more like himself, he reflected, Ranger leathers replaced by crimson velvet and violet satin glistening with gold thread. The Hobbits themselves were dressed quite differently from their usual fashion. As he was attending this Council in his capacity as a Knight of Rohan Merry had put on a coat of scaled Rohirric armor and a gold bordered green cloak with a sword at his side. The children had been very impressed - taking some of the sting out of Estella's ill-suppressed fit of giggles. He glanced at Pippin, resplendent in the black and silver livery of the Kings, and admitted ruefully to himself that the two of them did look a bit foolish by Hobbit standards, but he knew very well that the Men on the Council wouldn't agree and shrugged mentally. When in Minas Anor do as the Gondorim do! that was plain Hobbit sense and courtesy too.
The first thing Boromir saw when he entered the Council Chamber was his uncle, the Prince of Dol Amroth, talking to Legolas. Their eyes met and Imrahil stopped conversations and turned heads all over the room with a cry of "Boromir!" He engulfed his nephew in a warm embrace, then stepped back but retained a tight grip on his as if to prevent an escape. "Boromir! I don't know whether to laugh with joy or roar with rage. When were you going to tell me you were alive? Has an uncle no rights?"
"I was going to visit you, Uncle, just as soon as it could be arranged." Boromir answered apologetically. "And I am sorry for the secrecy. But I've already been told several times that I've been a fool and would greatly appreciate not hearing it again."
His uncle gave him one of his piercing, searching looks then laughed. "Very well I will spare you. It is good to have you home, my nephew."
"Thank you."
At that moment the great double doors opened and Aragorn came in with his Queen on his arm, followed by Faramir and the nineteen year old Princess Aredhel, heiress presumptive to the throne. The company straightened from their bows and headed for the high backed seats around the council table.
Boromir moved automatically towards his accustomed place, to the right of the great chair at its head, yhen hesitated remembering the Stewards no longer ruled and he was no longer Steward's Heir. Aragorn caught his eye and nodded towards the chair. Boromir obeyed and sat, though not without inner qualms. This seat was meant for the King's Heir or his Steward and he, Boromir, was neither.
Uncle Imrahil sat at Aragorn's left hand with Faramir beside him, then Eowyn and Merry. Pippin was next to Boromir and Queen Arwen at the far end of the table with Legolas at her right hand. Arandil, Faramir's heir, and the young princess both sat on stools behind their fathers.
Boromir listened closely as his brother crisply set out the strategic situation. Conditions here in the South had changed almost as drastically as those in the North in the twenty years since the War of the Rings. Not only had Ithilien been repopulated, by both Men and Elves but long barren Harondor as well. For though Aragorn had killed their Orc overseers and granted Sauron's slaves the land of Nurn many had preferred to leave the place of their servitude and settle in nearby Harondor. Fiercely loyal to the Crown of Gondor they were just as fiercely hostile to the Southron and Easterling kin who had sold them into slavery. Umbar too was now in Dunedain hands, ruled by another of Aragorn's cousins, but surrounded by enemies in Near and Far Harad it seemed likely that Prince Sorondur would be to hard pressed himself to come to Gondor's aid.
The list of their enemies, enumerated by Captain Turgon, was depressingly familiar; the Kingdoms and Principalities of Near and Far Harad, the Khand, and the Tribes of Rhun. But at least they no longer faced them alone. Now, in the twentieth year of the Fourth Age, Gondor had a full quiver of allies beginning with their kin in the North and the everfaithful Rohirrim. Followed by the Men of the Greenwood, the Beornings, the Princes of Rhovanion and the Kingdom of Dale, the Elven realms of Lorien and the Great Greenwood, and the Dwarf realms of Erebor and Moria and Gimli's Glittering Caves.
"But can we expect help from the Kings of the North ?" Herendil of Lebennin asked. "Should we even ask given their recent troubles?"
"Boromir?" He looked at his king, startled. Aragorn stared back pointedly, silently commanding he answer the question. "The North is secure." he assured the council. "Without Draugoth to lead them the Shadow things have crept back into their holes. The Hill Men and the Dunlendings have been badly worsted. They will risk no further hurt without some great advantage to themselves which Herumor cannot provide." he turned to Pippin. "Wouldn't you agree, Thain?"
"Eh? Oh yes, absolutely. The Master, Mayor Gamgee and I wouldn't have left our people otherwise."
"Of course you would not, forgive me Sir Peregrine." Herendil apologized. "I should have known better then to ask."
"Herumor must cross Harondor to reach us." Boromir mused, his eye went to the Captain of the Ithilien Rangers. "Hathaldir, What kind of warriors are these new Harondorim of ours?"
