Disclaimer: Same as previous chapters.

Author's Note: I am so sorry this is late… Summer is insane.

Ordeal

The Steward's dining chamber was considered to be something of an anomaly amidst the characteristic austerity of the Citadel. Though the walls and floor were of the same impassive white stone as the rooms around it, generations of Steward's wives and daughters had draped the frugality with bright, warm tapestries and banners. A soft, inviting rug shielded small feet from the cold stone floor, and the dais and door were carefully carved cherry wood. One magnificent window was set into the wall behind the Steward's place, lending light and a splendid view to all who repasted there.

But on this night, the chamber was heavy with gloom and foreboding. The window had been obscured with heavy drapes, shunning the last of the sunset's illumination and spilling motes of dust into the air. Two small torches had been lit to alleviate the darkness, but they provided less light than shadow. Denethor sat like a regal, tempered thunderstorm at the head of his table. Boromir, the eldest, sat on his right, Faramir at his left. All three clasped clenched hands upon the table, waiting in harsh, unyielding silence.

Faramir sat frozen with dread, though his face yielded no clue to his thoughts. Across the narrow table, Boromir struggled mutely to catch his brother's eye, but Faramir dared not raise his gaze from his fists. He felt the iron fury building inside his father as though it were a physical presence that fed on fear and silence. An image came to him of waves like daggers, roiling and thrashing in a wild, sterile tempest. He was a raft upon that deadly sea, and struggle though he might, he could not imagine any escape from the crushing death that pounded all around him.

The chamber door opened with an ominous creak. Asëa, freshly clad in clean white robes, cheeks bright pink from hurried scrubbing, stumbled into the room as though from behind she had been given a slight, anxious shove. She approached her father and kissed his extended hand, though Denethor did not look at her.

Given no further sign, Asëa hesitantly took her accustomed place besides Faramir. Her brother could feel her trembling beside him, could see the tears in her eyes without looking at her face. He knew she was biting her lips to keep silent, to restrain the apologies and pleadings and wails thrashing inside her. But Faramir did not turn his head to share her torment, did not dare even acknowledge her fragile presence.

It was a decision that would haunt him long past that night, far into years and a future he could not yet imagine.

The clatter of knifes and dishes, the crack of pits and bones echoed tauntingly in the long, angry chamber.

For Boromir, a man who despite his relative youth had seen and served in several clashes of arms, it was a cacophony more terrible than any battle. He had returned from an unusually long day spent in rigorous combat training, arriving at his chambers in the Citadel bruised and sweating but euphoric at the day's success. He was late for the evening meal, but reasoned hazily as he eased into a scalding soak that his father would surely pardon his tardiness as he recounted the adventures of the afternoon.

Boromir had not felt the fearful hush pervading through the Citadel, nor had he seen the worry creasing the faces of the serving-men. He winced now, recalling his jovial words of apology as he had entered the dining hall, remembering the look of shock and violation on Denethor's face as his exclamations reverberated on the pale stone. Faramir's back was rigid, Asëa nowhere to be seen, the table bare. Boromir sat stiffly, anxiety cresting within him, and waited for an explanation that was never offered.

Now he ate mechanically, his concentration focused on each of his younger siblings in turn. Why would they not meet his eyes? Why was Faramir's posture so grim, and why did Asëa's fingers tremble so on her knife? What could have possibly occurred to elicit such a reaction? Searching his memory, Boromir could not recall so oppressive and terrible a meal since the time of his mother's death, and the realization stabbed an icy dagger of fear and foreboding into his heart.

Boromir was not a man accustomed to emotions related to cowardice, and the shock of such feeling sparked a flame of indignation. He set down his utensils and turned to his father, ready to demand, if not a halt, a credence for this unnatural and unnerving behavior. Before he had opened his mouth, however, Denethor turned sharply to his younger son and acknowledged his presence for the first time that evening. His voice was cold as death, as hard and cruel as the mountain passes over Imladris. Despite himself, Boromir shuddered at the sound of that ruthless tone.

"Well, Faramir," his father said, words measured and even, and falling like lead into still water. "By accounts, you have been strangely occupied this day."

Faramir did not flinch from Denethor's gaze, but he did not respond.

"I have heard that you went out to the Pelennor. I have heard that you left your lessons to pursue…" Here, the Steward paused. He seemed to weigh his choice of words, to select the most delicately cruel phrasing he could conjure. "To pursue entertainments in the fields." Boromir looked sharply at his brother, but still Faramir did not appear to react.

Asëa however, could no longer restrain herself. Tears spilled over from brimming eyes, and her voice cracked with terror and desperation. "Please, Father! Please, it- it was my error. I asked him to take me to the plain, I begged him, he didn't want to, I-"

Denethor raised an unquestioned hand, his eyes not leaving Faramir. Asëa fell silent, gulping her words, though she did not stop her tears and her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

"Faramir," Denethor continued as though there had been no interruption, though an edge of impatience that only his children would recognize now lined his words. "Did you go to the Pelennor today?"

This time, Faramir answered. "Yes, Father."

"And why did you go out?"

"I… Dasean has been stiff of late, Father. I wanted to give him a proper exercise."

"I see. And did you speak to the horsemaster on this matter? Or do you consider your own opinion more shrewd than that of this man of Rohan, who has lived his life among horse-kind and likely has more than a drop of stallion blood in his veins?"

Boromir flinched at this display of crudity in Asëa's presence, but he dared not speak. He saw his brother swallow, but his voice was steady as he answered. "With all respect to Master Édeos, Father, I know my horse very well. Édeos knows this, and I did not think he would object."

There was a pause as Denethor took a sip of wine. His eyes closed, and he seemed to savor the taste for several moments before swallowing. Boromir risked a swift, questioning glance at Faramir; Faramir responded with a look of warning and a tiny shake of his head before snapping his gaze back to the Steward.

Boromir was entirely perplexed. Faramir had abandoned his lessons for an excursion- that much was clear, but it did not explain Denethor's fury. Boromir had run off himself from time to time, to visit the city or relax on the Pelennor, but his father had never bothered himself with such petty misdemeanors. If Asëa had indeed gone out with Faramir a reprimand would be understandable, but if she was well enough to attend evening meal, surely no harm had been done. Studying his sister with concern, Boromir rather thought that the state she had worked up to now was more detrimental than a jaunt on the plain, but he was no healer and kept his thoughts to himself.

And as for Denethor's insinuations against Faramir regarding their sister, Boromir refused to consider them. He knew his brother, better perhaps than anyone else, and that was enough.

Boromir was snapped from his contemplation as Denethor spoke again. "So you have no witnesses to prove that the intention of your excursion was solely to exercise your horse."

"No, Father. I do not."

"And were you alone, on this remedial trip of yours? Or were you accompanied by a…

friend?"

For the first time, Faramir hesitated. Boromir could sense him thinking frantically, weighing his options. Lie, brother, he willed. Tell him Asëa wasn't there, that she was trying to protect you. She'll follow you, and he won't punish her. Just this once, lie…

But Faramir had taken a breath to steel himself, and spoke. "I was not alone Father, no. I took Asëa with me." Asëa gave a small whimper. Denethor raised his eyebrows in a silent, mocking question, and Faramir plunged on "She seemed restless. I know she isn't allowed out in spring, but the day was so mild I thought it harmless. She and Dasean get on very well, and I… I hated to see her so ill at ease…" He trailed off, waiting for the storm to break.

Denethor smiled thinly and turned to his daughter. "Is this so, Asëa? Does your brother speak the truth?" His voice was soft and mild, but danger lurked behind it like a snake among flowers. Asëa, wisely, did not look at Faramir for encouragement, but instead nodded once. "Yes, Father,"she whispered. Her face was dry now, but drawn with deep weariness and her eyes were rimmed with scarlet.

Boromir took quick stock of the fragile situation. A pause seemed to have been reached- surely they could end this now. If Denethor found it necessary, he could continue his interrogation the next morning, when perhaps his cold temper had subsided. For now Asëa her eyes glazed and heavy, should certainly be put to bed. But once again, Denethor began to speak before Boromir could voice his thoughts.

"What did you do on the plain, Asëa?"

She blinked sleepily. "Father? We… we rode Dasean. Faramir and I."

"Is that so? It seems to me that two riders would overburden for horse in need of a good run."

"Father, Asëa couldn't burden a new calf-" Faramir began, but Denethor thundered "Silence!" and he stopped.

"You were found splayed on the fields, sleeping." Denethor breathed, the furnace of his fury at last coaxed to its incendiary peak. "Sleeping! Like animals." He spat out the word, staring unblinking at his younger son. His words were not directed at his daughter- indeed, he seemed to have forgotten she was present- but she shuddered at every syllable, flinching as though lashed.

"Have you any explanation? Any excuse for your vile behavior, your violations on my daughter? Speak!"

A stunned silence fell in the chamber as Denethor's wild echo faded. He was breathing heavily, sweat glistening on his brow.

"Father," said Faramir hoarsely, voice shaking with grief and the effort to remain calm. "I have never touched her."

There was a long, terrible pause in which the world seemed to shrink down to this small, dark scene. The air was thick. Without warning, Denethor rose and left the room, the lovingly carved door slamming shut behind him. Boromir, Faramir and Asëa sat in empty silence.

The last torch guttered out.

To all reviewers: Thank you so much for your kind words. They spur me like you can't even imagine. I know I have taken certain liberties with Tolkien's timeline, customs, etc, but please bear with me- this started as a little fact-less daydream, and though I have tried to adjust things so that they align properly with canon, some have to be sacrificed for this story. Aside from Asëa, it hasn't been too great of a difference, has it?