Chapter 9

Boromir smiled when it was his brother he saw when he awoke.

"Boromir!" Faramir exclaimed. His gag was removed. Boromir saw small cuts around his face.

Boromir cried, "Oh, you're alright!"

Boromir sat up, ignoring the pain all over his body, the chains around his wrists, and he brought his brother, who was also chained, into his arms. Faramir hugged his brother with all of his might. Boromir hugged all the tighter, not willing to let the brother he loved to death out of his sight.

"Faramir!" Boromir cried as they embraced. "Oh, you're safe! Thank goodness you're safe! I've never been happier to see you in my life, brother! Thank goodness!"

"I missed you, Boromir!" Faramir moaned. His voice suddenly kindled with hope. "I knew you'd come. I'm only sorry you're here with me."

Boromir released his brother. They untangled the chains and Boromir examined his brother. "Are you hurt at all? They didn't…they didn't hurt you? If they did I swear to you, I will…"

"Boromir, I'm not hurt, just sore."

"Do you promise?"

"I promise."

Boromir nodded, tears coming.

Faramir gasped. "Boromir?"

Boromir wiped his tears off his cheek. "Yes?"

"I've…never seen you cry before."

Boromir laughed. "I'm just happy you're all right! I've never been so happy in all my life!" Boromir again embraced his brother, holding him close. Nothing would tear them apart again. "I love you, brother! We're going to get out of this, I promise. I promise."

"I know," Faramir said, "but...I won't lie, Boromir, I'm scared."

Boromir chuckled lightly enough to cheer the mood. "I am too." Boromir kept Faramir in his arms.

Boromir thought of something. He didn't know how Faramir would react, but he tried anyway.

"How do you spell "extraordinary"?"

Faramir froze. Then he laughed. His brother did love him. And he would get them out of this.

The dawn peeked over the mountains to the East, as if it were marching from Rohan. Denethor stared at it unemotionally.

No one thought he felt anything with the latest news, but he did. He had a sour face on the outside, but his inside was being torn apart.

That morning a new message had been delivered to him.

We have both of your sons. No tricks. We want one thousand silver coins by the end of the third sunset, or you see both of your sons dead. No tricks. If anything goes wrong, you see a body part with the next note. Your cooperation will determine their survival.

Denethor felt his blood boil. He took a vase next to the window and hurled it across the room.

It landed at Mithrandir's feet.

"Mithrandir!" Denethor bellowed.

Gandalf nodded in the respectful way he did. "I've heard Lord Denethor. I am so sorry."

"This is none of your concern."

"I know that your opinion of me is hardly…high, Lord Denethor," Gandalf said, "however, know this. You cannot fight this battle on your own. Your pride is on a high peak, Denethor, but now your sons are suffering its consequences."

"I am not responsible for my sons' disappearance!" Denethor coiled like a snake.

"No matter who is responsible, they face danger now. You love both your sons. I see it. Consider this: when a predator hunts down an infant animal for food, does not the parent of that infant fight with his life in order to get them back? Friends hardly help the mountain lion as he fights the Warg for protection of his cub. The mountain lion is alone. But you are not alone. I am here to be that friend, Denethor."

Denethor could've spat, but he restrained himself. "If you think pretty speeches will win my respect for you, then you are not as wise as they say." Denethor took a while to announce his next thought. Courage was needed and some pride was calling to be lowered to speak, however he told Gandalf, "But, I accept your help nonetheless."

Gandalf bowed. "I will inquire of the citizens, Steward. Men are more willing to answer a wandering wizard than a grieving father, if I may beg your pardon. I will report to you whatever facts I can find. Good day, milord."

Denethor abruptly nodded and returned to the view of his balcony. As he stared at the sun rising over the mountains, he thought of the last time he saw his beloved youngest, Faramir. He thought of the last words that his grown-up Boromir said. Give them the money, you fool!

As he did, he thought of the one person he swore to remember and to forget. The one woman he loved more than anything he ever had.

And it grieved him.

Gandalf the Grey strode through the halls of the Steward's mansion, politely nodding to those who offered him greeting. Saruman the White would have argued that his time would've been better spent researching the threat of Middle-Earth, hunting it down, discovering all he could about the Enemy. But he knew where It was.

A part of him worried over the Hobbits of the Shire. Frodo knew nothing of the horrors of the Ring. Yet, Gandalf had left Aragorn in charge of watching the Shire and the man was a skillful protector, the future king of Gondor, whom he would have to crown after the Ring was destroyed and Aragorn would need a queen... But no, Gandalf needed to focus on more pressing things at the moment. A thirteen year-old boy and his eighteen year-old brother were missing, kidnapped. Gandalf believed it was the smaller things that changed the course of the future, and Faramir was indeed small. He and his brother both had an important role to play in the battle that was unavoidable. Gandalf could sense it.

"Mithrandir!" People shouted to him, greeted him. All faces were but a blur, but one man stood out to him.

"Beregond!" Gandalf greeted. "How are you faring?"

Beregond beamed. "As well as a new father can be expected."

"Congratulations." Gandalf smiled merrily, and then regretted to move on to more somber topics. "I suppose that you have heard of Boromir and Faramir's disappearance?"

Beregond nodded sadly. "Boromir was so worried over his brother. The threat of his brother's death alone nearly killed the man. It's hard to believe that he is missing as well."

Gandalf scanned his immediate surroundings, ensuring that no watchful eyes were peeking or nosy ears were eavesdropping. "Beregond, do you know of anyone who would want to take the sons of Denethor? Anyone that would want to see them or their father, or all three, suffer?"

Beregond too checked his bearings. "Let us take a stroll, Mithrandir."