A Matter of Trust
Kaleidopy
Chapter Five Minas TirithCheers rose to thunderous ovation drowning out the bells that chimed the tenth hour as two tired road weary riders entered the third level of the city. Word had spread quickly once the watchtower's horns announced the Captain General's arrival to Minas Tirith.
Berethond, Captain of the Osgiliath garrison, waved to the small children who chased behind them, chanting his companion's name in enthusiasm excitement. Women fought for dominance, trying to toss fresh flowers in the path of the Captain General's horse.
The scene repeated itself on every level they passed, but Boromir, Captain General of Gondor's army, only half-heartedly acknowledged the accolades being bestowed on him. Berethond smiled, understanding where his commander's thoughts lay. It had been almost four months since Boromir had last visited the city, and even longer since he had seen his younger brother.
People continued their adoration, oblivious of their hero's distraction. Either they didn't care, or were too ingenuous to notice, but as long as Boromir acknowledged their existence when he rode by, they were contented. Even promises of free drinks from his favorite pub could not lure Boromir away from his planned destination.
The crowds thinned considerably as they approached the sixth level, and only a few followed the two riders as they passed through the opened guarded gate. Respect for the sick and wounded, healing in the House of Healing, prevented the crowds from following their hero any further. The noise diminished significantly, and only the echoing of horseshoes striking cobblestone could be heard.
Moments later, Boromir slowed his horse, and dismounted when he approached the House of Healing. Berethond followed, noticing how quickly the building's windows filled with anxious faces excited to get a glimpse at Gondor's mightiest warrior.
As custom whenever he returned to the city, Boromir visited the wounded, offering words of comfort and encouragement, and thanking each soldier for their service to their country. Family members who kept a silent vigil for their dying loved ones, gladly stepped aside, allowing the steward's heir a moment with the dying soldier. After a few words, Boromir turned to the distraught, and consoled them as best as he could in such a public setting.
By the time Boromir and Berethond left the House of Healing, and mounted their horses, the sun was high in the sky and the temperature had risen noticeably to an unusual but comfortable climate. It wasn't until they approached the great arch that led to the citadel did Boromir command his horse to a quicker gallop.
"Hail the High Warden of the White Tower," a familiar voice yelled from atop the arch. Both men looked upward, smiling at the man bowing impressively with a style of grace the two older men could only envy. Faramir returned their smile, shouting the familiar greeting whenever the brothers met in Minas Tirith. "The heir apparent. The Captain General of Gondor's…"
"And your commanding officer, little brother," Boromir shouted back. Laughter erupted amongst the guards as Faramir disappeared from view. Boromir slung his leg over the side of his horse and dismounted, preparing himself for his brother's arrival. He held the reins, waiting for someone from the stables to take his horse. Berethond had already given the reins to a boy while the exchange between the brothers took place.
"Groom her well, boy," Boromir instructed as another boy approached and took the reins from his hand. He watched the two boys guide the animals to the stables before he and Berethond walked the rest of the way to the Citadel. Rank had its privileges, and those who rode in with the Captain General never had to give a password.
A horn blew announcing the Captain General's arrival in the citadel. Boromir closed his eyes, counting to himself how long before the list of favors started. With the Lords of Gondor in the city, it was only a matter of time before requests were made for his time.
"The city loves her hero," Faramir's welcome voice lured his dark thoughts to the one bright spot in Minas Tirith. "Welcome home, big brother."
Boromir embraced his brother, holding the younger man in his arms; thankful Faramir was once again under his protection. A moment later, the two separated oblivious of those around them. His brother's tired features caused Boromir concern, but voicing those concerns openly would draw unwanted attention. Publicly coddling the Captain of the Ithilien Rangers would be the nightly gossip in the taverns, and Boromir would be safer in Mordor once Faramir sought vengeance.
"Have you not outgrown mud pies, Faramir?" Berethond teased, cupping the younger man's chin to inspect the newly required beard. With a quick wink at Boromir, the knight added with laughter, "You forgot to wash your face."
"Unlike you, Captain, whose last bath, if legend hold true," the younger man sighed, trying to remember the memorable event, "took place during the War of the Last Alliance."
Loud laughter erupted from Boromir, earning the captain-general a glare from the tall knight.
"Boromir, I shall remember this betrayal," Berethond mused, returning his attention back to Faramir. "When next you travel in Osgiliath," he said, releasing the younger man with a subtle shove, "a dunk in the River Anduin will greet you, not the welcome reception you received this morn."
"You traveled through Osgiliath and did not wait for me, little brother?" Boromir asked, moving closer to the two men. He playfully tapped Faramir's cheek. "Avoiding me?"
"You had gone to Amon Dîn, Boromir. I could not wait." The lighthearted tone disappeared from Faramir's demeanor. "My orders were precise. Appear before the steward at dawn. You know Father's…"
"Dawn? He rises not until…" Boromir's voice trailed off, leaving the words unspoken. Unless it involved Gondor's security, there was no logical reason for anyone to be summoned at such an unreasonable hour. His brother must have ridden most of the night to comply with the command.
Lately their father's behavior puzzled him. Perhaps it was the burden of the stewardship, or the increasing threat of Mordor that weighed heavily on Denethor's mind these days.
"Captain Faramir," Mablung's voice called, dragging Boromir's thoughts away from his father. Faramir's trusty lieutenant and another man dressed in ranger gear approached. "Apologies, Captain General," Mablung said, bowing respectfully at Boromir, and ignoring Berethond completely. There was no love lost between the Osgiliath captain and the seasoned ranger. "I would not interrupt if I believe it not important."
"You wish a private audience with your captain?" Boromir asked, undaunted by the lieutenant's urgency. No matter what branch of Gondor's military he dealt with, he wanted his officers to feel comfortable around him.
"Yes, Milord," the lieutenant answered. "Camgond just arrived," indicating the ranger next to him. "He brings urgent word from Madril."
"And what say the old fox this time?" Berethond asked, running his hand through his thick dark brown mustache. His deep voice caught the ranger Camgond's attention, and when the newcomer glanced at him for the first time, Berethond pierced the ranger with a steel glare, intending to leave a first impression the ranger would never forget. Berethond stood a head taller than average and used it as an intimidation weapon. "Does he require more men to hide in the trees?"
Mablung's eyes narrowed, and angrily he stepped forward, ready to confront the much larger knight. Faramir placed a hand on the ranger's shoulder, silencing the lieutenant before an angry word could be uttered.
"Berethond," Boromir growled, reprimanding his childhood friend before his brother had the chance. Infuriating the rangers served no purpose, but Berethond had never been one to listen to reason whenever it concerned Madril or the rangers. The man was a knight, proudly wearing the armor whenever possible. His swordsmanship skills, unparalleled by only Boromir himself, were legendary. Berethond delighted in open warfare, not sneaking around in the woods like scroungers, he deemed the rangers.
"No offense Boromir," the Osgiliath captain stated, pointing to Camgond while he removed his gauntlets. "Here is an example of how our resources are wasted on Ithilien. This one and many others like him would benefit Osgiliath greatly if we only had the manpower. Instead Madril influences those…"
"Madril's counsel has saved numerous lives, including mine and those of my men," Faramir said, stepping away from his brother to confront Berethond. "On several occasions, your own men benefited from Madril's guidance. Perhaps one day you will realize how valuable the 'old fox' is to Gondor." With those last words, Faramir walked away to discuss something privately with his lieutenant.
"My brother looks upon Madril as a…."
"Father! Brother!" Beregond challenged, raising an accusing brow. "Beware Boromir, Madril may replace you in Faramir's eyes."
Camgond cleared his throat, halting Boromir's angry retort. During the conversation the captain-general had forgotten about the ranger. Obviously uncomfortable, Camgond bowed reverently to the superior officers, apologizing for unintentionally eavesdropping on the heated private conversation.
If meeting the captain general for the first time did not create enough anxiety for a soldier, having to withstand the intimidating scrutiny from Gondor's largest knight only added to it. "Your face is familiar to me," Boromir said, offering his hand to the man, attempting to resolve the tension. "Yet, I know not where I have seen you."
"Years I served with the third company of the citadel," Camgond answered, accepting the captain general's hand proudly. "Though the city is beautiful and the citadel guards a desired assignment, one grows tired of the confinement. A few months ago, I overheard Beregond talking about Captain Faramir and the rangers. It was then I asked for reassignment to Ithilien."
"You should be honored, the rangers are a very elite group," Boromir replied, watching in amusement as Berethond's mouth dropped open. "Acquaint yourself with the taverns and beauty of Minas Tirith."
Camgond smiled, grinning like a small child about to receive a well-earned treat. Bowing again, the ranger turned and started towards the gate but stopped in mid stride. A quick glance in several directions, Camgond discovered Faramir and Mablung standing near the Court of the Fountain. The ranger moved in their direction.
Unsure how trustworthy Faramir believed Camgond, Boromir started to warn his brother by mimicking a crow, but Faramir noticed the ranger instantly and signaled the ranger to approach. A brief conversation took place and moments later, Camgond hurried out of the citadel while Faramir and Mablung continued their conversation.
"Faramir has gotten his feet wet, Boromir," Berethond commented, never fearful to express his opinion. "How much longer is this experiment to continue?"
"His wish is to remain in Ithilien," Boromir commented, watching Mablung hand a burlap sack to his brother, who looked inside. Whatever the sack contained, Faramir was clearly shaken. Boromir considered involving himself in the conversation but relented. Faramir would confide in him when time permitted. He turned to his second in command. "Until my brother speaks differently, the rangers are his to command."
"I do not doubt Faramir's leadership abilities, however his talents are wasted in such a forsaken place," Berethond paused, sighing deeply when Boromir glared at him. "With your brother's capability, the rangers permanently placed in Anórien, Osgiliath would strengthen the city's defensives, and Faramir would not be overshadowed by Madril."
"Madril speaks only with admiration for his captain."
"And so little for my brother," the knight hissed. "If not for Madril…"
"Always you fault Madril," Boromir growled, frustrated over the never-ending argument. Seven years had past, and still Berethond refused to believe his older brother had deserted his post and died a coward's death when the Cair Andros garrison was attacked. Instead, Berethond turned his anger on Madril, blaming the ranger for not stopping the orcs before they reached the island. "How long will your eyes remain shut to the truth? If not for the rangers, Cair Andros would have been overrun."
"And always you defend the charlatan," Berethond bitterly replied. The gray eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and concern. "Heed my words least Faramir becomes a causality. Will you then hold Madril in the same regard? I doubt not."
"Hold your tongue!" Boromir hissed, glaring at Berethond with such intensity that one might feel they had overstepped their place. "Though my friend, not even you dare question my motives where Faramir is concerned."
Undaunted, the knight placed his large hand on Boromir's shoulder. "You forget whom you speak. Your brother is no less mine. I speak with only concern. This you know."
"Attempt not my favor. I will not relent."
"Forgiveness, I beg, Lord Boromir," Berethond declared, slowly going down to one knee. "If the captain-general would turn northward, this humble servant's lips would be in the perfect position to kiss his…"
"Enough!" Boromir sighed, rolling his eyes when the knight's lop-sided grin appeared whenever they would have a disagreement. As hard as he tried, he could never stay angry with Berethond. The knight knew him too well. He turned his head to keep from laughing and caught his brother's gaze. Faramir approached, nodding with a slight bob of the head, indicating he wanted a private conversation.
"May I have your leave, Captain General?" Berethond asked, understanding the familiar gesture between the two brothers. "The taverns await my stay."
"Try not escalating your reputation this season, Captain," Boromir replied. Berethond bowed respectfully, and offered to buy several off duty guards a drink at the nearest tavern. Boromir turned eastward, wanting to see the view across the Pelennor Fields. Finding the surrounding area empty, he discovered the perfect place for a private moment between two brothers. "Walk with me, little brother."
Faramir fell in step with his brother, locking his hands behind his back until they reached the stone seat and looked out across the Pelennor Fields. The view alone made the trip to Minas Tirith worthwhile.
Fifteen miles away, Osgiliath, the once proud Gondorian capital city, stood strong against the mighty River Anduin, and the enemy forces that kept trying to bring her down. Though only a fraction of its former glory, Osgiliath still astounded Boromir with its rich history and mythical lure.
Still further, beyond Osgiliath were the thick woods of Ithilien. A place of beauty where fresh air and vegetation were in abundance, and the countless times Gondor's enemies invaded the land, they had yet to diminished Ithilien's beauty.
"It takes your breath away, does it not?" Boromir replied, several minutes later. When no response came, he glanced at his brother, searching for a reason behind Faramir's silence. His brother had a habit of burying his emotions deeper than a dwarf's mine whenever their father was near, or something bothered him. With their father inside the tower, that eliminated Denethor as the cause. "What troubles you, my brother?"
Faramir turned, bright eyes sparkling with concern. Boromir smiled to himself. An elf had a better chance of living in Minas Tirith than his brother had keeping a secret from him.
"Madril's message brings news of another massacre along the shoreline," Faramir said, nervously twisting the burlap sack in his hand. "Boromir, these victims were not soldiers. They were farmers. Why they were in Ithilien, I know not, however they were defenseless against this executioner. I have not the men…"
"Peace, little brother. The Ithilien Rangers bare no blame in this assassin's schemes." Boromir placed a gentle hand on his brother's shoulder. "Nothing you could have done would have prevented the slayings, Faramir. Perhaps, Sauron has created a new creature that …"
"The creature is not of Sauron's making, he's Gondorian," Faramir said, lowering his voice fearful his words might be carried to the lower levels of the city. What he had to reveal, only his brother needed to hear. "The man taunts us, knowing when to strike and where. It is my belief he receives information from someone within Father's court."
"A traitor? What say Father concerning this matter?"
"I have not the chance. Uncle Imrahil arrived, and I was dismissed from Father's council abruptly. Whatever is amidst between the two of them, Father did not want a witness."
Boromir scratched his beard, speculating the secretive nature behind the meeting. "Have you a guess?"
"Uncle mentioned a name, and Father went cold."
"What name could upset our father?"
"Brandir, and he meant not the hero from the first age."
"Then the name, I know not. Have you checked the archives?"
"Many things I am, brother, but foolish I am not. Father has eyes within the city. We both know this. Why risk the Lord Steward's wrath so needlessly."
"I know you well, Faramir," Boromir said, raising an accusing brow. "Like Father, you will not rest until you uncover what you do not know."
"Suppose Brandir is…"
"Faramir," Boromir warned. "Heed my advice. Forget Brandir. He concerns you not."
"Have you a suggestion, Boromir? Perhaps ordering the rangers to grow flowers might discourage this invader," Faramir replied, refusing to relinquish control over the conversation. "Nay brother, Ithilien is under my command. Unless the Lord of the City or the High Warden of the White Tower deem me unfit for duty, I will do everything within my power to bring the slayer of our people to justice. If inconveniencing some is the price I must pay, then so be it."
"Never have you been defiant, little brother. What more have you not said?"
Faramir opened the burlap sack, reached inside, and carefully pulled out a silver dagger. The unique design craved into the dagger's blade caught Boromir's eye. He opened his hand, wanting to inspect the weapon closely, and his brother naturally obeyed.
The white swan embossed within Dol Amroth's flag, revealed who originally owned the weapon. "A Swan Knight," Boromir gasped in disbelief. "Where was this found?"
"Wedged in the chest of one of the victims," Faramir answered with a look of pure disgust. The Swan Knights were an elite military unit with honor and traditions that went back thousands of years. The knights were held in high regard, and for one to betray their oath was unthinkable. "Boromir, I fear the killer is one of Uncle Imrahil's men."