This chapter allows me to address a pet peeve of mine in the movies, as much as I love them. In the scene where Sauron's forces break the gate and overrun the first level, why the heck are all those civilians running around in a panic getting killed? It would seem to be the most basic of precautions to move all the non-combatants to the upper levels out of harm's way, so in my story, Boromir does that. :-)

Hope you enjoy it, and as always, reviews are appreciated!

Chapter 17

As they passed quickly through the corridors Gandalf muttered under his breath, "It makes no sense!"

"What doesn't, Gandalf?" Pippin asked him. "I thought you had figured out what Lord Denethor is up to."

"I understand what he's doing, but Boromir is right, it does not explain why," Gandalf replied, shaking his head in frustration. Seeing Pippin's confusion, he continued, "Boromir and his father have fought in the past, sometimes bitterly, over Faramir, over policy issues, over other matters. Despite that, Denethor has always been very canny in his treatment of Boromir, knowing just how far to push him without going too far and alienating him. Boromir's love and loyalty for his father run deep and have withstood much in the past, but this? Denethor must know that the terrible betrayal with the sleeping draught on top his cruel treatment of Faramir and Morloth could damage Boromir's love for him past mending.

"Why has he chosen to do this when having Boromir's love has always been so important to him? And why now, when Gondor desperately needs unity of purpose from its leaders?" He looked down at Pippin, his face bleak, "It is as if the hand of the Dark Lord has reached into the White Tower itself to confuse and dishearten his enemies." Gandalf's mouth set in a grim line, "I do not understand why or how this is happening, but I mean to find out!"

-ooo-

Boromir surveyed the activity below him from his command post on the third level of the city, which was slowing now as final preparations for the siege neared completion. The two lowest levels had been cleared of non-combatants and were now stocked with the materials of war and would serve as temporary lodging for the men manning the walls. The third level had likewise been cleared and would be used as a staging area for the healers to process casualties, separate the living from the dead, and determine which of the wounded should be transferred to the Houses of Healing on the sixth level.

He sighed—Boromir supposed he should be grateful that the population of Minas Tirith had declined over the last few centuries; otherwise the upper levels of the city would be unbearably crowded. As it was, as many civilians as were willing and had a place to go had left for parts of Gondor that it was hoped would be less likely to bear the brunt of Mordor's armies than the city itself. The families of both Beregond and Morloth's sister had chosen to stay, and he prayed that their faith in the strength of the city's defenses was not misplaced.

Not for the first time that day his eyes strayed east and his thoughts turned to Faramir and his men. No word had come from them all day and his heart felt like a stone in his chest when he considered what that might mean. Boromir ground his teeth in barely suppressed rage; thinking of Faramir's plight inevitably brought his father's treachery to mind. He knew Gandalf was right in urging him to caution, but by Eru it was hard to let it go unanswered! The worst of it was there was little he could do to help his brother directly; he had briefly considered recalling Faramir and his men on his own authority, but in the end such public defiance of his father's orders would cause more problems than it solved. As painful as it was to accept, he realized his responsibility to Gondor outweighed his desire to protect Faramir from harm.

His grim musings were interrupted when a courier hurried up to him and bowed smartly before handing him a sealed message. He glanced at the message and almost cried out in delight; it was addressed to him in Faramir's own hand! Nearly speechless with relief he finally found the words to dismiss the courier, telling him he would call when a reply was ready. Boromir leaned against the parapet and let out a long, slow breath to regain his composure; here was proof, irrefutable proof that his brother still lived, at least until a short time ago. He opened the message and perused it; it was brief and to the point, but much could be read between the lines. Faramir reported that they had harried the enemy columns all day and had lost a quarter of their men. Now with the day waning to true night under Sauron's shadow he planned to retreat with his remaining men to reinforce the Causeway Forts. Boromir gave a nod of satisfaction. Faramir had indeed done well to keep as many of his men alive as he had, and they would be much better positioned for retreat to the city from the forts.

He pulled a message parchment from a nearby stack but then paused, his brow furrowed. Boromir knew well enough what he wanted to say, but how to say it? His gut twisted at the thought of Faramir riding away, likely to his death, believing that his brother cared nothing for his safety despite a vow to protect him from their father's malice. How could he reassure Faramir that he still loved him and would do his best to assist him?

Boromir's thoughts drifted back to a happier time, when he and Faramir were both children and their beloved mother, Finduilas, was still alive. Everything seemed so simple then, their mother's love a constant in their lives and their father not yet lost in bitterness and grief. His throat closed at the memory of his mother sitting, an arm around each son, telling them their favorite bedtime stories. The stories always began in the same manner, as a tale of two bear brothers, Big Bear and Little Bear. They were both brave, and strong, and clever, she would say, but Big Bear was especially strong and Little Bear was particularly clever. In her tales, the two brothers would invariably work together to extricate themselves from whatever scrape they found themselves in. A smile crept across Boromir's face; most would call them childish now, but how he and Faramir adored those stories!

This safe and happy world had come to an abrupt end with their mother's death. Faramir had been so young—just five summers—that he had cried himself to sleep for days afterward in grief and confusion. At first Boromir had let Faramir sleep in his bed with him to console him; they would huddle together with Boromir telling his brother all of their mother's stories that he could recall. That comfort was not to last either; when their father learned of it he forbade Faramir from leaving his own bed at night. Heartsick, Boromir did what a ten-year-old could do to help his grieving brother; he began laboriously writing out the tales and sending them to Faramir to read at night.

His mind snapped back to the present with a jolt. Of course! He quickly wrote out his orders for his brother; affirming his decision to retreat to the forts and emphasizing that Faramir and his men should return to Minas Tirith as soon as the general retreat from the outer defenses was ordered. He spent some time on the signature; instead of his usual careless scrawl, he closed the message with an elaborate stylized 'B'. If one looked carefully and exercised some imagination one might notice that the B had a face, ears and a tail, and resembled a smiling bear. It was the symbol he had invented many years before to sign the stories he sent to Faramir and assure him that, even though they were parted, Big Bear was watching over Little Bear.

Boromir sealed the message and called for a courier. When it was handed off for delivery he sighed, his thoughts turned inward again. He had done what he could to reassure his brother, at least until he had a chance to explain in person why he had not done as he had promised. He glanced eastward toward the Causeway Forts and said a silent prayer that he would get that chance.

-ooo-

Later that day Boromor was finally persuaded to leave his post for the evening meal. He, Morloth and Pippin met in his room for Pippin's long-promised and long-delayed tale of his adventures with Merry.

Duinor, still looking a little subdued after the recent disturbances, laid out a meal for them that made Pippin's eyes brighten.

"Gandalf said he would join us later, but not to wait for him. Do you think we should save some food for him?" Pippin asked anxiously, obviously hoping the answer would be 'no'.

Boromir smiled, knowing his hobbit friend all too well. "Duinor can bring more if necessary, Pippin, so enjoy yourself. This will likely be the last hearty meal for some time; once the siege begins we'll all be on rations."

"Oh, I will then," Pippin said with an alarmed expression, and helped himself to what looked to be enough food to last out the siege.

It was a merry evening, at least as much as could be expected given the grim circumstances. Even Pippin had enough to eat, and his friends listened with rapt attention to his stories of Fangorn, Isengard and Rohan. Boromir had been to Meduseld many times of course, and was keenly interested in the happenings there. To Morloth it was all new and fascinating. She questioned Pippin so closely on the effects of the Ent draught that he was a little chagrined that he had not paid better attention to its healing properties.

Morloth sighed wistfully, "I wonder if after the war your friend Treebeard might be persuaded to give me a sample."

"We could certainly ask him," Pippin replied cheerfully, "if you don't mind traveling all the way to Fangorn Forest."

"Oh, I wouldn't mind that at all!" Morloth exclaimed. "Though I think I'll skip the 'captured by orcs' part, just the same."

"Very wise of you, Morloth, I wouldn't recommend it," Pippin said gravely, though his eyes were alight.

They all fell silent, inevitably reminded of Sauron's orc army that marched ever nearer to them.

Boromir straightened resolutely, "The city will hold until Rohan comes. We must, and we will," he added firmly.

Morloth smiled and leaned against him, "How could it not with two such valiant defenders?"

At that moment Duinor entered, escorting a weary-looking Gandalf.

"Gentlemen, my lady," he said, nodding to them in turn. "Boromir, I have the latest news from the outer defenses."

"Any word from Faramir?" Boromir asked anxiously.

The wizard shook his head and handed Boromir a sealed message, "I believe it is from one of the other commanders."

Boromir sighed, "Excuse me; I'll need to compose a reply." He took the message and passed into the inner chamber to use his writing desk.

As soon as the door closed behind him Morloth addressed Gandalf, "Mithrandir, I was hoping for an opportunity to speak with you."

"Yes, Morloth? How may I aid you?" he asked politely.

"I…I found something that I think might be important. I considered showing it to Boromir, but any reminder of what his father has done angers and upsets him so…"

Gandalf nodded encouragingly, "I understand, my lady. What is it that you have found?"

She opened her medical bag, pulled a piece of parchment from it and handed it to the wizard. "After the sleeping draught was given to Boromir I remembered that whenever a healer uses one of the restricted potions they are supposed to be recorded in a log book. So I thought it was worth checking to see whether anything of that sort had been signed out near the time it was used on Boromir.

"That is a page from the log book; as you can see the second name listed is Narion's, Lord Denthor's personal healer. He recorded that he took a sleeping potion from the stores the afternoon before it was given to Boromir."

"My word, Morloth, this is important!" Gandalf exclaimed. "Boromir can use it as evidence that he was indeed given a sleeping potion by his father without his knowledge."

"I think it also suggests that if Narion acquired the potion on the Steward's behalf, he did so not knowing how it was to be used," Morloth added. "Healers are expected to leave a record when they take a restricted potion from the stores, but the potion cabinet is not guarded. He could have easily taken it without signing the log if he wished to conceal his involvement."

Gandalf raised one bushy eyebrow, "Very astute of you, Morloth. But this seems to be the actual page from the log book. Will no one notice that it is missing?"

She shook her head, replying, "I don't think so, Mithrandir. As you can see, it was a new page with only two entries on it. I was careful to remove the page neatly, and since the pages are only numbered as they are used, I numbered the following page consecutively to hide that one was missing."

"Oh, that was clever, Morloth!" Pippin exclaimed, staring at her admiringly.

Gandalf's eyes twinkled, "Indeed it was. I think Lord Denethor has erred by underestimating both your wit and his healer's honesty."

Morloth blushed, "Thank you, Mithrandir. But now what should I do with it? Perhaps it would be better if you or Boromir were to take charge of it."

Gandalf looked thoughtful, "I think you are right that it would just anger Boromir if he were to see it. However, I believe Boromir said you are staying with Beregond's family for now…"

She nodded, "Yes, Boromir thought it was best that I do so until after the battle and matters can be resolved with his father."

"Hmm, though I think it unlikely that Lord Denethor will realize his error in overlooking this evidence of his perfidy, I deem it even less likely that he will look for it—or you—in Beregond's home. I suggest that you keep it there safe there until it is needed."

"All right, Mithrandir," Morloth smiled, as she tucked the parchment back into her bag, "I'll do that."

A few minutes later Boromir returned after giving his reply to a courier waiting in the corridor. He sat next to Morloth with a sigh, "The forts and the wall are holding for now, but they have not yet felt the full force of Sauron's armies." He scrubbed a hand over his face, "I am tempted to go back to the command post, but I suspect this would be a good time to sleep. We will get very little once the siege begins."

Gandalf nodded, "I agree, you should rest now while you can. They can call you if you are needed." He caught Boromir's eyes with a keen glance, "I hesitate to add to your burdens, Boromir, but there is something else I think you should know—about your father."

Boromir stiffened and stared at Gandalf intently. Morloth reached over and clasped his hand in wordless support. "What is it, Gandalf?" Boromir asked, his face bleak.

"I have known your father all his life," Gandalf told him with a troubled expression, "and although he has never welcomed my counsel and we have often disagreed, I have never doubted that he has acted for the good of Gondor as he sees it. But of late something has changed; your father has changed, and I no longer understand what motivates his decisions; nor am I certain he can be entrusted with the safety of Gondor." Gandalf sighed, "I believe you have seen this as well."

Boromir bowed his head and whispered, "Yes, I have seen it."

"Since this latest incident—your father dosing you with a sleeping draught to prevent you from protesting his treatment of your brother—I have been trying to learn what I can about this change in Lord Denethor. It has been difficult; your father has isolated himself from all but those he considers most loyal to him, but Beregond was quite helpful by relating what he and the other guardsmen have seen over the last year.

"All I have been able to discern are tantalizing hints: Lord Denethor disappearing into the upper levels of the Tower and returning hours later gray and bent. Strange lights in the tower, and your father displaying knowledge of events far away—well in advance of official reports reaching Minas Tirith. The way he has treated you, Boromir, since your return, so unlike the love he has always shown for you previously."

"But—what does that all mean, Gandalf?" Boromir asked. "I can make so sense of it!"

"A year past and I would not have either, Boromir. But now, when I recall the source of Saruman's downfall, I am afraid." He met Boromir's eyes, "I am afraid that your father has found, and is using the seeing stone of Minas Anor, a palantír."

Pippin gasped, staring at Gandalf in dismay, "Oh, no!"

Boromir started in surprise at Pippins reaction, puzzlement clear in his voice, "I have heard tales of the palantíri, of course, Gandalf, and it would certainly be a wonder if one had survived after so long. But I don't understand why it would be a cause for such concern."

Gandalf raised an eyebrow at Pippin, "You did not tell them?"

The hobbit reddened, "I'm afraid I...left that part out."

The wizard snorted, "Indeed." He caught Boromir's eyes, "Pippin has more cause than most to know the peril of using a palantír, since he has done so himself. We recovered one, the Orthanc stone, when confronting Saruman, which Pippin used not understanding the danger."

"What danger?" Boromir asked impatiently.

Gandalf sighed heavily, "I have long suspected that the stone of Minas Ithil was not removed or destroyed before the tower fell to Sauron's forces. Now it has been confirmed; Sauron himself is in possession of that stone, and Saruman was using the Orthanc stone to communicate with him. All the stones can speak to the others, but it is said that the Ithil and Anor stones have a particularly affinity for one another." He met Boromir's eyes, "I greatly fear for your father if he has been using the Minas Anor palantír."

Boromir paled and gazed at Gandalf in horror, "You think Father is being controlled by Sauron?"

"Controlled, no, thank Eru." Gandalf replied. "I think we would see far worse affects if that were the case. It may be that your father's will is too strong, and unlike Saruman, his intentions are still for the good of the free peoples of Middle-Earth. If he is indeed using the palantír, I suspect what he sees is being influenced by Sauron; made to believe the situation is even more dire than it is, and given reason to distrust those, like you, whose opinions he has in the past valued."

Boromir scrubbed a hand over his face, "That would explain many things that otherwise make no sense—for instance, that he was certain I was dead even though you told him that I lived. But what should we do?"

The wizard shook his head, "I fear all we can do at the moment is watch and wait. Remember that this is all supposition on my part—unless he is found using the palantír and we can convince the Steward's Council of the danger there is not enough evidence to remove him from office."

"Remove him from office?" Boromir stared at Gandalf, his eyes wide. "Gandalf, trying to force him to give up the Steward's staff without sufficient cause would be high treason!"

Gandalf nodded, his face grim, "I know, and I hope most earnestly it will not required. But you need to understand that it may be, if his decisions become more erratic and begin to imperil the city's defenses. As his heir you must be ready to step in and assume command if it becomes necessary."

"Gandalf, I do not want this!" Boromir exclaimed, a note of desperation in his voice. "Though I have always known I was destined to become Steward someday, I have never been eager to take his place. Perhaps Aragorn…"

"Perhaps," the wizard agreed cautiously, "but Aragorn is not here, and may not arrive in time." Gandalf looked at him kindly, "Boromir, I understand how you feel, and it is to your credit that you are reluctant to take this step. However, during this struggle many will be called upon to find the courage to do things for which they are not ready."

Boromir sighed, "I know you are right, Gandalf. Frodo and Sam found the courage to set forth for Mordor alone; taking on a burden earlier than expected that I knew I would have to shoulder someday seems like a small thing in comparison. But I pray most fervently it does not come to that!"