A Matter of Trust

Kaleidopy

Chapter Six

Boromir stared at the dagger, contemplating how he would reveal Faramir's revelation to their father. Without the silver dagger, the steward would have denounced Faramir's disclosure as pure speculation, refusing to believe a Swan Knight's honor was questionable. Now with the evidence in his hand, Denethor had no choice but to listen to his son.

"We shall wait in the Great Hall," Boromir stated, tucking the dagger beneath his belt. "If a Swan Knight is behind the slayings in Ithilien, the Steward and council must be made aware. I shall speak with Father concerning this matter."

"Brother," Faramir groaned, rolling his eyes at Boromir's suggestion. "I appreciate your concern. However, it is not necessary." Clasping a hand on Boromir's broad shoulder, Faramir smiled with reassurance. "Tis true, Father and I often disagree but never have I wavered in my duties." The smile disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. "I dread telling Uncle. When this is revealed, the Swan Knights' reputation will be tainted forever."

No words could have been truer. Imrahil, leader of the Swan Knights would take the news hard. A glance at his brother and Boromir contemplated speaking to Imrahil himself but thought better of it. Though he commanded the Gondorian armies, Faramir commanded Ithilien. Never would he consider intervening in his brother's affairs.

"Speak with uncle, alone," Boromir suggested, offering his experience in dealing with their uncle. Imrahil hated surprises, especially those that concerned the Swan Knights and Dol Amroth. "He should be made aware before the council learns of your discovery."

"That is my intention," Faramir answered, listening to the bells chiming in the noon hour. "Though I have been unable to see him. Father and uncle remain in conference until two hours more."

"We have a few hours yet," Boromir placed his arm around his brother's shoulders. "Come. My quarters are prepared. A bottle of wine requires my attention."

"Should I inquire where you got such a bottle?"

"Nay brother, to answer would require information I refuse to disclose, even to you. There are a few secrets I wish to remain mine."

Inside a crowded tavern, on the fifth level, Berethond sat alone drinking from a mug of ale relaxing and enjoying the atmosphere. Soldiers, many he had not seen in years, mixed with the locals, shared stories of war and conquest.

He lifted the mug to his lips, cringing at the horrible off-key song several drunken soldiers attempted to sing.

"Orcs in heat create better music," observed a new voice standing next to his table. Berethond lifted his eyes and found his Lossarnach counterpart staring down at him. "Greeting Berethond. How fare things in Osgiliath?"

"As always, not enough supplies, men and equipment," Berethond answered, motioning with his hand for the captain to sit down. "What brings you to the taverns, Lûthron? When in Minas Tirith, one would expect to find you sniffing behind Arthôn's robe."

"Always quick with the insults, Captain," the Lossarnach captain stated as he dragged a chair from a nearby table and dropped into it. "Arthôn is Lord of Lossarnach. You would do well to remember."

"Arthôn is Lord Forlong's kinsman, thus the reason the pampas ox bears the title," Berethond retorted, wiping away the ale from his upper lip. "Temporary, lord at that."

"Nay, my friend, the foreseeable future," Lûthron replied with assurance. "The family tragedy Lord Forlong's wife suffered has prolonged. Such sadness for the lady. With no male heir to make claim to the inheritance, Lord Forlong must remain to settle the estate. His return is not anticipated for several months. Thus Forlong requests Arthôn to retain his lordship upon his return."

"Why speak this news to me? Lossarnach concerns me not."

Lûthron heaved a heavy sigh. "Enough with the pleasantries. I seek your help."

"Why should I grant such a request?" Berethond asked, watching the man suspiciously. Something was amiss. Lûthron never wanted anything without a price.

"Persuade the captain-general to ease restrictions on my garrison and Lord Arthôn will repay the favor and aid your request for Osgiliath."

Berethond straightened in his chair, finally understanding the true reason behind the visit. Two months ago, a visiting envoy had been ambushed in Lossarnach, though the victims could not identify their hooded attackers, Boromir suspected several senior officers in the Lossarnach garrison, including Lûthron, who had acquired unexplained wealth. With no proof, the war council, under the captain-general's persuasion, ordered every captain in Gondor's military to keep detailed financial accounts until further ordered.

"Convince the captain-general to change his mind? Teaching a warg to fly would have better odds," Berethond snorted, remembering Lûthron's outburst during the war council's meeting. Though many captains objected, Lûthron's voice had been the most vocal. The knight shook his head. "Disagree or naught, the financial report boast Osgiliath's claim for much needed finances. The captains from Ithilien, Dol Amroth, and Cair Andros will support me in this matter."

"Very few. Have you knowledge of the other fiefdom captains?"

"It matters not. Lord Boromir's word is law. Move against him is treason."

Silence drifted between the two men as Lûthron studied the patrons inside the tavern. "Reconsider the offer," the Lossarnach captain suggested, returning his attention back to his counterpart. With a sly grin, Lûthron added, "Decline and regret your decision."

"You dare threaten me?" Berethond snapped, climbing to his feet to confront the man. With the council meeting hours away, he needed an excuse to release his pinned-up anxiety.

"Peace." Lûthron held up his hand, halting the knight from striking him. "Would evidence proving Madril lied concerning your brother's fate change your mind?"

Berethond stared dumbfounded, unable to vocally respond to Lûthron's claim. Slowly Berethond returned to his seat, unsure what he felt.

"Change our captain-general's mind and the evidence is yours," Lûthron vowed before leaving the tavern.

Berethond watched the man leave the tavern, contemplating Lûthron's tempting offer. For years, his fight for justice had been in vain, and now without trying, it falls in his lap. However, he now faced a challenging dilemma. Was revenge worth the price if it meant risking a lifelong friendship?

His dilemma was forgotten when an esquire rushed into the tavern, calling his name. A soldier pointed the young boy in his direction and Berethond waved the esquire to his table.

"Sir, a dispatch from the lieutenant," the young boy stated, saluting the superior officer before giving a sealed letter to Berethond. "My instructions were to deliver the message with haste and urgency. Once you have read the letter, I am to await your orders."

Berethond opened the letter and started reading. His lieutenant's words scribbled in such haste it took Berethond a few minutes to read the message. "Go to the citadel. Report to Lord Boromir," the knight ordered, climbing to his feet as he folded the letter. "Inform the captain-general that I have business in Osgiliath. If all goes well, I shall return before the council meeting and reveal all."

"Aye sir," the escort again saluted before leaving the tavern to obey Berethond's order.