A new face appears in this chapter, and Faramir is back! Hope you all enjoy it.

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Chapter 12

Boromir was awake and dressed by the time Beregond arrived at dawn the next day. "Come." Boromir said to the Guardsman, "The healers have given me leave to practice my swordsmanship again, so you'll do as a sparring partner."

Beregond glanced from Boromir's worn and comfortable clothing to his own spotless uniform and protested, "I'm hardly dressed for that, my lord!"

"Then take off your overtunic if you wish; I doubt I'll have the strength to practice for long." He thumped the hilt of his sword with his hand, "It's been two weeks or more since I've drawn a sword and I'm not disposed to wait any longer."

Beregond had never sparred with the Captain-General before, though he had heard tales of his prowess. So he did not know exactly what to expect when they stepped into the practice ring. Boromir handled the exchange of warm-up strokes with ease, before suddenly delivering a series of flashing blows that forced Beregond to give ground. Beregond received a touch on the arm and narrowly averted one to his ribs before he regained his momentum. Then, as abruptly as Boromir had begun he stopped, clutching his left side, his face pale and covered in sweat.

"My lord!" Beregond cried, quickly sheathing his sword and rushing to Boromir's aid. "Should I send for a healer?" he asked anxiously before helping Boromir to a bench on the side of the ring.

"No, no," Boromir assured him, "I don't believe any lasting damage was done." Boromir grimaced, "Or at least I hope not, Morloth will skin me if I've re-opened one of the wounds. Regardless, it was an ample reminder that there are things that I cannot yet do."

"Well, my lord," Beregond remarked wryly, "there's strength and skill aplenty in your sword arm still, that much is clear."

Boromir chuckled breathlessly; his color was already better and he seemed to be sitting up with little pain, "If my sword arm was all that was needed, I'd be in fine shape."

"The rest will come in time, my lord," Beregond assured him.

"Time I do not have!" Boromir said fiercely. He met the Guardsman's eyes, "I know that I cannot fight on the front lines and I know you and the other men will protect me if you can, but I must be able to at least defend myself!"

Beregond nodded and offered his arm to Boromir. "I understand, my lord. What would you like to do?"

Boromir stood with his assistance and strode back into the practice ring. "I think I have another half-glass in me. I may not be able to spar as I'm accustomed to, but at least I can practice the strokes I can manage and identify the ones I cannot."

-ooo-

Sometime later Boromir was directing final preparations for the siege from a command center he had established on the third level. But like most others in Minas Tirith his eyes often strayed east to the ominous black cloud that spread ever closer to them. Concealed in the darkness the river crossings were holding, but barely. All knew it was just a matter of time before they would be overwhelmed.

The sound of trumpets brought Boromir back to the present time and place, and he made his way to the main gate on the first level. Boromir's heart lifted, there was at least some good news to be had this day, for the trumpets heralded the arrival of a contingent from Dol Amroth, which they had been watching approach for a glass or more.

A large group of knights—the Swan Knights—as well as several companies of foot were making their way into the city; all commanded by Boromir's uncle, Prince Imrahil. The Prince had dismounted and had just handed his horse off to a groom when Boromir arrived.

Imrahil's face brightened when he saw his nephew; they clasped arms in greeting and Boromir nodded to his cousins, Imrahil's three tall sons who had accompanied him.

"Uncle, welcome," Boromir cried, "you are all most welcome!" Surprised to see all of Imrahil's sons, he added, "We need all the help we can get, but who is left to command in Dol Amroth?"

"Lothiríel," Imrahil said shortly, "and none too happy about it either. She made quite the plea to accompany us."

"I can imagine," Boromir chuckled. "Have you checked to make sure that none of your knights is a lady in disguise?"

"No, but I made certain that my daughter was the last person I saw as we rode away." His uncle replied dryly. "She was standing at the gate as we left, her face like a thundercloud."

Imrahil sobered and held Boromir at arm's length, "And how do you fare, Boromir? On the journey here a courier brought us the happy news that you had returned, though badly injured. But you look well."

Boromir sighed heavily, "Well enough, Uncle, to greet you and stand around giving orders, but not as I should be. A half glass in the practice ring this morning left me exhausted."

"Boromir," Imrahil admonished, "a skilled arm and a strong body are not all that makes a good Captain, I've heard you say so yourself more than once. It's unlikely that one man's sword will turn the tide of this war, but one man's ability to inspire others may be. You are where we need you to be, Boromir."

Boromir nodded, at least somewhat reassured.

"Where is Faramir?" Imrahil inquired as they made their way to the gate for the second level.

"Commanding in Osgiliath," Boromir told him. "The river crossings are beset and we expect them to fall at any time."

"The beacons have been lit, I hear."

Boromir met his eyes, "Just two days ago, when I returned."

"Ah," his uncle murmured, understanding more than was said. "What news from Théoden?"

"Mithrandir is here, having just come from Rohan." He shook his head in dismay, "Saruman hit them hard, Uncle. Rohan was victorious, but the battle took a heavy toll. All will come that can, but they can only have left today at the earliest. Even at their swiftest they will need at least four days to make the journey."

Imrahil grunted, "More likely five. Well, we will simply have to hold until then."

Boromir snorted, "That's what Mithrandir said, Uncle."

"Then I can count myself among the Wise," Imrahil chuckled. "I should pay my respects to your father, Boromir. Would you like to accompany me?"

"Best not," Boromir replied with a bitter laugh. "Father is none too pleased with me at the moment. We have a difference of opinion concerning the beacons and…other matters."

Before Imrahil could respond a courier hurried up to Boromir, saying, "An urgent message for your attention, my lord."

Boromir took the message and read it quickly. When he looked up to meet Imrahil's eyes, his face was grim, "Cair Andros has fallen."

He caught the attention of a scribe that had come with him from the third level. "Draft the following orders: the second mounted accompany is to leave for Cair Andros immediately to provide an escort for the garrison there as it withdraws. To Captain Faramir of the Osgiliath garrison, commence an immediate withdrawal to Minas Tirith. The third mounted company that accompanies this order will be at your disposal as a rearguard during the retreat. Third mounted company—you know what to say. Have the orders ready for my signature as soon as possible."

"Yes, my lord," the scribe murmured before hurrying away.

Boromir sighed and rubbed his eyes, "Much as I regret abandoning our position in Osgiliath, we cannot risk having their line of retreat cut by the enemy crossing at Cair Andros."

"If my knights and I could be of any assistance…" Imrahil offered gravely.

"Thank you Uncle, but that will not be necessary. There are mounted troops waiting at the Rammas Echor for this purpose and they can make the journey to the river much more quickly. Besides, both the men and their mounts are well rested—there's no need to ask more of your men today. We will doubtless need all of them soon enough."

Imrahil nodded and briefly clasped his nephew's shoulder. "I will inform Lord Denethor."

-ooo-

"Where are they?" Boromir murmured, his eyes trained east, looking for any sign of the Osgiliath garrison; he was certain the survivors should be visible by now. Earlier he had received word from the Causeway Forts that they were on their way, but no specifics as to the number. The remnants of the force defending Cair Andros had limped in earlier, with those wounded strong enough to make the return journey. His thoughts turned to Morloth, undoubtedly hard at work tending them at the Houses of Healing, and he resolved to check the wounded himself once Faramir and his men had returned.

His heart twisted in anxiety; the report that the Osgiliath troops were retreating did not say whether his brother was among them. "Damn!" Boromir exclaimed, "I should have argued against trying to hold the river crossings! I knew it would be a bad bargain if too many men were lost!" Then, realizing that his words might be taken as a criticism of his father's policies, he glanced quickly to Beregond, standing beside him on the battlements.

But Beregond seemed not to have heard, he was staring east as Boromir had been moments before. "My lord, look!" he exclaimed pointing to a dust cloud just visible on the plain stretching below them. Now others must have seen it also, for cries could be heard from all along the walls.

Boromir sighed in relief and sent a silent plea that his brother was with them and unharmed. The dust cloud grew steadily larger and soon he could discern horses and men with the company's banner floating proudly above them. Then his eyes were caught by five black shapes that appeared above the retreating men; he would have suspected crows or some other carrion bird, but he knew they would be much too small to be seen at this distance. Boromir felt a chill that had nothing to do with crisp spring air; "By Eru," he whispered in dismay. A piercing cry rent the air, his worst fears realized. Even at this distance the sound made him shake and his knees tremble; he could only imagine how it must be for Faramir and his men.

"Nazgûl," he breathed, and exchanged a look of horror with Beregond. As they watched, there was another wailing cry the Ringwraiths dropped toward the riders, felling several horses and causing twice that number to flee in panic. Some of the Nazgûl began systematically picking off the scattered riders while the rest continued to harass the main group. Despite that, the majority of the company was making steady progress toward the city gates, until one rider suddenly reined in his horse and turned to aid the beleaguered men, attempting to reintegrate them into the larger force. This seemed to send the Ringwraiths into a frenzy, for they redoubled their efforts to panic the men and their horses.

"That'll be your brother, I'd wager," Beregond murmured, "he can master both beasts and men."

This was a mixed blessing for Boromir; he now had some proof that his brother was in the group of survivors nearing the city, but Faramir had just made himself a special target for the Nazgûl's ire.

"There must be something we can do!" Boromir exclaimed, striking the parapet in frustration. He was frantically searching his mind for a way to get assistance to his brother and his men in time to save them when he heard the main gate rumble open two levels below. In the next moment, a brilliant figure in white shot from the gate, horse and rider gleaming in the fading sunlight.

"Gandalf!" Boromir cried, his heart lifting with renewed hope.

Below him, someone shouted, "The White Rider flies to their aid!" All around, other voices took up the cry, "The White Rider!" Shadowfax sped toward Faramir's company, his hooves hardly seeming to touch the ground as he ran. As they neared the struggling men, Gandalf raised his staff and called out in a commanding voice. A radiant beam of light burst from the staff, striking the black-cloaked riders and their beasts as they swooped toward their prey. Again they shrieked, but this time in dismay, robbing their voices of the power to weaken and terrorize. They wheeled away, defeated, flying east to return to their master.

Boromir took just a moment to assure himself that the survivors of the retreat were again moving toward the city before turning to make his way to the main gate, Beregond following close behind. When they reached the first level, the survivors of the retreat were already streaming through the gate and Boromir tried to get a rough count of how many there were. He blew out a long breath and shook his head; there were fewer than he had hoped, but more than he had feared. He found an officer who was checking the incoming troops for injuries and told him, "Leave the wounded on their mounts if they can ride and send them directly to the Houses of Healing. I'll have someone take charge of the horses if the stable on the sixth level is full." The officer nodded in understanding and continued directing the incoming men.

He turned to see the last few men coming through the gates, including Damrod with a heavily bandaged arm. Behind him rode Faramir with Gandalf, and to Boromir's profound relief Faramir looked well, except for a bloody cut over one eye.

Faramir turned to Gandalf and said, "I don't believe we've met."

Boromir was baffled by the comment until Pippin's cheerful voice responded, "Peregrin Took at your service, Captain." It was only then that Boromir realized that Pippin was sitting in front of Gandalf on Shadowfax, and must have been through the entire confrontation with the Nazgûl.

Faramir bowed and replied, "Unless there has been a dramatic increase in the halfling population in Gondor, you must be one of Boromir's friends. He was very worried about you."

Boromir pushed through the crowd to reach the side of Faramir's horse and growled, "And you have given me another reason to worry, little brother!"

Faramir's face brightened when he saw Boromir and he immediately slid off his horse, wincing and favoring one leg when he put weight on it. He pulled his brother into an embrace and said, "Boromir, you are looking much hardier than the last time I saw you!"

"I wish I could say the same, Faramir," his brother replied testily, "why are you limping?"

"Spear butt to the leg," Faramir said shortly, "painful, but not serious."

"Get back on your horse, little brother; you're going to the Houses of Healing." Boromir told him firmly.

"It's nothing, Boromir!" Faramir protested.

"Morloth should at least look at it, and she can stitch up that cut while you're there." When it seemed that Faramir might continue the argument, Boromir raised one eyebrow and added sternly, "That's an order, Captain."

"Hmph," Faramir replied with a wry smile, "I knew that being appointed Captain-General would go to your head eventually. I'm surprised it took this long!"

At that moment Gandalf rode up and helped Pippin down from Shadowfax's back. "Gentlemen, I am leaving young Master Took in your care, he must be on duty presently and there are some horses that ran far afield when the Nazgûl attacked. I would not leave them to the mercies of those vile creatures should they come back." He caught Faramir's eyes and held them intently, "I must speak to you soon, Faramir, and I believe you know what about."

"He'll be in the Houses of Healing, Gandalf, you can find him there," Boromir explained.

Faramir sighed resignedly, "Yes, look for me there, or my rooms. Unless Father sends to speak to me first," he added tightly.

Gandalf and Boromir exchanged a glance. "He can wait until your injuries have been treated," Boromir said gruffly. The wizard nodded farewell and sped out the gate once more.

Meanwhile, Beregond had silently appeared in his now-accustomed spot by Boromir's side. Faramir's glanced quizzically at Boromir, who explained, "Gandalf feels I need a shadow to keep from injuring myself, Faramir, and Beregond here is the unfortunate who was saddled with the job." He shrugged, "Though I will admit that it has been useful to have a sparring partner on hand when I need one."

Beregond bowed, "It is an honor to meet you, my Lord Faramir."

Faramir's eyebrows rose and he grinned at Beregond, "Keeping my brother out of trouble must be a singularly thankless task, Beregond, you have all my sympathy."

"It is not without its benefits, my lord, my swordsmanship is bound to improve—eventually," Beregond remarked dryly, and Faramir laughed.

The halfling and the three men began making their way to the sixth level, Faramir riding with the others walking alongside.

Boromir glanced up at his brother and shook his head in exasperation, "That cut, Faramir, you should know better! We do have these things called 'helmets' now, if you recall, that are quite effective for protection against blows to the head."

"Do tell, Boromir," Faramir answered, his eyes glinting in amusement. "I also recall we have things called 'shields', which are quite effective for protection against being shot full of arrows."

Boromir stared at him sourly, and beside him, Pippin chortled and said, "I think he's got you there, Boromir!"

Boromir muttered, "Too clever by half," under his breath and stalked ahead while Pippin and Faramir chuckled.

"Pippin, Gandalf said you were soon to be on duty," Faramir inquired politely, "what duty is that?"

"I'm a Guard of the Citadel now!" Pippin explained, puffing out his chest proudly. Boromir glanced back at him with a fond smile. "I'll soon have to go to our room to put on my livery. Oh!" he exclaimed, "Boromir said I could wear the uniform made for you as a boy. I hope you don't mind," he added anxiously.

Faramir grinned and exclaimed, "Mind? On the contrary, I'm honored to have you use it—may you wear it in good health. Besides," he added regretfully, "it's good to know it's being used; I only wore it a few times before I outgrew it."

"Well, no worry about that with me," Pippin said with a laugh, "I'm not likely to grow more, except sideways."

They walked along in easy silence for a while, until the Houses of Healing came into sight. Faramir cast a sidelong glance at his brother; Boromir had the same wistful smile on his face for some time and Faramir had a good guess what he was thinking about.

"So Boromir," he asked casually, "how is Morloth?"

Boromir, startled out of his thoughts, flushed and cleared his throat. He repeated, "Morloth?" Recalling that an answer was expected of him he finally said, "Yes, well, she's fine, very fine. You'll see for yourself soon enough," he added curtly.

Faramir raised an eloquent eyebrow in Pippin's direction and the halfling stifled a laugh before nodding sagely in agreement, "I've met Morloth several times now and I agree completely with your brother, Faramir. Morloth is indeed very fine."

Boromir glared suspiciously in Pippin's direction, wondering whether to take his statement at face value. But Pippin's face was the picture of innocence.