You may notice that other than the original material, the next few chapters follow the book more closely than the movie. I just prefer the book version in this part of the story, and although I understand why Imrahil was left out of the movies, I like the character and want to include him and his family whenever it makes sense to do so.

Hope you enjoy it—please let me know what you think!

Chapter 18

At dawn the next day Boromir was at his post on the third level. He stalked to one end of the section of wall that he had claimed as his command post and gazed east, a low growl in his throat. He then turned and strode to the other end, but the view from that location was no more pleasing, and received a ferocious glare. Beregond, wise in the ways of commanders, did his best to stay out of the way and be as unobtrusive as possible, while at the same time ready to offer his services if necessary.

One would not expect the Captain-General of Gondor's forces to be in an ebullient mood given the circumstances, but Beregond had noticed that Lord Boromir's temper had deteriorated markedly in the last day, and showed no sign of improving any time soon. The guardsman suspected that something had occurred to further damage Boromir's relationship with his father besides their confrontation over Morloth. As far as Beregond could tell there had been no further discussions of strategy between the Lord Steward and his Captain-General, even at this crucial stage in the city's defense.

A distinguished-looking man with graying hair strolled up to where Boromir was standing. Over his mail he wore a fine blue surcoat embroidered with a silver boat in the shape of a swan. "You wished to see me, Boromir?"

Boromir face lit and he clasped arms with the newcomer, "Yes, thank you for coming, Uncle." He sighed and glanced east, "We received word a short time ago that Sauron's army has engaged our troops along the length of the wall. I do not know how long it will hold, but I expect the answer is 'not long.' We have too few men to assign more than a token force to the entire twelve leagues.

"I have arranged to call for an orderly retreat to the city when Sauron's forces break through at any point on the wall—we simply cannot risk having our men surrounded and destroyed. Our available mounted forces are at the ready to support the retreat," Boromir's voice hardened with barely concealed anger, "but most were sent with Faramir by order of the Steward. With the number remaining…"

Prince Imrahil held up a hand and smiled, "Say no more, my boy. My knights and I would be honored to assist."

"My thanks, Uncle," Boromir told him, returning his smile, "I am more grateful than you know. I will inform Captain Goldor that you are to be in overall command of the sortie."

The older man clapped his nephew on the shoulder genially, "You may be certain we will keep a sharp eye out for that wayward brother of yours."

Boromir chuckled, looking chagrined, "Is it that obvious?"

Imrahil shook his head, "Not at all. I need only consider how I would feel if one of my sons was in his position. Besides," he noted wryly, "I'm rather fond of Faramir too, you know."

He paused and met Boromir's eyes, his face troubled, "Have you spoken to your father recently?"

Boromir's face set. "No, nor do I plan to," he said shortly.

Imrahil sighed, "Boromir, I understand your anger; I disagree with his decision to send Faramir to Osgiliath and would have told him so in the strongest of terms if given the opportunity. But such a rift between the Steward and his heir may very well worsen what is already a time of the gravest peril for Gondor and its people."

His nephew's temper flared, "I will see that it does not!" Regaining his composure, Boromir scrubbed a hand over his face. "My pardon, Uncle. If that was all that Father had done of late to anger me I might—might," he repeated for emphasis, "find it possible to set my feelings aside for the sake of Gondor. But it is not," he looked up and met Imrahil's eyes, "and you do not know what you ask of me. You must believe me when I say that it would not be at all wise for me to meet with my father at this time."

The Prince stared at him in surprise, "Nephew, what is it? I know you two have often disagreed and sometimes quarreled very fiercely in the past. But what is it that he has done that you cannot forgive?"

Boromir leaned against the parapet and sighed, "I cannot say. Mithrandir believes that it would be too distracting and divisive to discuss these matters openly now, when Gondor's very existence is in jeopardy. And in this I judge him to be correct. For it is not just what Father has done to anger me, but other things as well…odd and troubling behavior both while I was gone and since I have returned."

Imrahil paled, "Boromir, my blood runs cold to hear you speak this way, these sound like serious concerns! Eru knows that Mithrandir is not one to start at shadows. If there is any question of your father's fitness to lead us, I need to know!"

"There are things we know to be true and those we suspect," Boromir said, shaking his head, "but neither is sufficient without proof of our claims. I feel it is best to let it lie until we are past this current crisis. On my honor, if the siege is lifted and we both live I will tell you all you wish."

Imrahil raised an eyebrow, "You do know, Boromir, that is not comforting in the least." He sighed, "But I suppose it will be enough for now. I will ready my knights; it seems they may be needed soon."

Boromir briefly embraced his uncle, "Thank you Uncle—Faramir and I have always valued your support."

"It is the least I can do to honor dear Finduilas' memory, especially since her boys have grown into such fine men," Imrahil replied, clasping his nephew's arm affectionately before departing.

A short time later it happened as Boromir expected—and dreaded. Little could be seen under Sauron's shadow, but clearly visible in the gloom the red light of fires sprang up along the Rammas Echor, and flashes of light could be seen, accompanied by heavy rumbles like thunder. The enemy forces were blasting breeches in the wall.

Boromir cursed to himself and ordered the trumpeters to signal the retreat, and a few moments later he watched as Prince Imrahil and his men streamed out of the gate. After that, all he could do—all the city could do—was wait until the jaws of Sauron's trap closed about them, and pray that the cost would not be too high.

Typically, it was Gandalf that first brought tidings from the battle front. Still dusty from the saddle, he strode up to Boromir's command post, his face grim. "What news, Gandalf?" Boromir asked impatiently. "Is Faramir…"

"Alive and uninjured, when last I saw him," Gandalf told him with a comforting smile. "They are hard-pressed by the enemy, and he stayed with the rearguard to prevent the retreat from becoming a rout." The wizard shook his head, "But I greatly fear for him, for he is pitted against a foe far beyond his strength. The Witch-King has come, and is driving his forces to madness before him."

"No!" Boromir exclaimed, "I…I must go to him! Beregond, find a mount for me!"

Gandalf held up a hand to forestall him, "Boromir, your place is here! The Swan Knights passed me at the gate as I entered; you know your uncle will do his utmost to protect Faramir. I will be returning to the field soon as well, I came here only to guard to safeguard the wounded returning from the outer defenses and to bring you word of the battle. Besides," he added, "it is not your duty to confront this foe." His voice fell, "But a time may come when it is mine."

"Gandalf, I feel so useless here!" Boromir said despairingly.

The wizard put his hands on Boromir's shoulders and met his eyes, "You are where you need to be, Boromir, never doubt that." He smiled reassuringly, "No one questions your courage, but what you are doing now requires a different kind of courage than you are accustomed to. In the end you may be all that stands between Gondor and the darkness that threatens it—you will be the one to give your people the courage to defy the darkness."

Gandalf patted Boromir on the shoulder, "Have a little faith in yourself, Boromir, you have already earned the trust of those who stand with you." And with that, he was gone, striding quickly toward the gate to the second level.

-ooo-

In the next few hours Boromir and Beregond watched the retreating forces creep steadily nearer to the city and safety, all the while fending off the swords and clubs of Sauron's horde that filled the Pelennor behind them. As many of the wounded who could be saved were carried to the city gates, but it was heartbreaking to think of the men left lying on the field out of reach; there would be no hope of rescue once the plain was overrun by the enemy. But many more would have been lost if not for Gandalf and the mounted men under the Prince's command. Again and again they charged the enemy, giving the foot soldiers a brief respite from their attackers and a chance to make more progress toward the gate.

The day drew toward evening, recognizable only by the deepening of ever-present gloom. Now the rearguard was only a few hundred yards from the gate, and Boromir's heart leapt to see Faramir's banner still flying.

Boromir turned to Beregond, shaking his head, "It strikes me that we are doing the same cursed thing we were doing two days ago—worrying and waiting for Faramir's return. And for no good reason!" he growled.

Beregond still gazing at the plain below, cried, "More alike than you know—look!"

A shrill cry rent the air, and several dark shapes descended from the clouds above the retreating men, swooping in for the kill—the Nazgûl had arrived.

"No," Boromir said faintly, in his dismay hoping for a brief moment that his eyes had deceived him.

The orderly retreat dissolved into chaos as men fled wildly in terror or fell to the ground and cast their weapons aside in despair. Two of the winged wraiths dropped among the mounted men surrounding Faramir's banner, felling many and scattering the rest. Eager to take advantage of the situation Sauron's troops surged forward, threatening to engulf the Gondorians.

"No!" Boromir cried again, fear like a knife in his heart. A flash of white pierced the gloom as Shadowfax thundered into the midst of the battle. Gandalf, aglow with light of his own making, called out in a loud voice, staff upraised. The Nazgûl shrieked and wheeled away, unwilling to challenge the White Rider.

Close behind Gandalf came the Swan Knights; they charged the enemy forces, breaking their formation and riding down any who opposed them. Behind the barrier of mounted knights and at the urging of their officers, the surviving foot soldiers reformed into companies and resumed their march toward the gate.

Boromir turned and sprinted toward the gate to the second level, Beregond close on his heels. When they arrived at the main gate, the final group of infantry was marching in, weary and battered, but obviously relieved to have reached safety. The mounted rearguard followed, and Boromir searched them frantically for any sign of his brother. One of the last to arrive was Damrod, who had a shallow sword wound in his leg and all but fell from his horse when dismounting.

Boromir helped him stand and asked urgently, "Faramir…where?"

Damrod leaned against his Captain-General gratefully and met his eyes, "Wounded, my lord." He gazed over Boromir's head toward the gate and nodded, "There."

"See that he gets to the healers," Boromir told Beregond, who had appeared at his side to offer his shoulder to the injured Ranger. Beregond nodded understanding and Boromir turned away to see the Dol Amroth contingent streaming through the gate. Last among them came the blue swan banner and the Prince, with an unconscious Faramir held tightly in his arms. Imrahil reined in his horse next to his anxious nephew, and Boromir could see that an arrow was protruding from his brother's right arm.

"I believe it is only the arrow, Boromir," the Prince assured him before he could ask. "But he fell from his horse and was almost slain where he lay before I could reach him."

Boromir leaned against Imrahil's horse, head bowed, his relief so profound he could hardly speak, "Thank…thank you, Uncle."

The Prince smiled at his nephew, understanding without being told the depth of Boromir's gratitude. "Where would you like me to take him, Boromir? The Citadel?"

Boromir straightened and said sharply, "No!" He met his uncle's eyes and his voice softened, "Please take him to the Houses of Healing and ask for Morloth—there is no one I would trust more with his care."

Imrahil eyed him curiously but did not question his instructions, "Of course, Boromir." He turned to his sons; they had ridden in with him and were waiting nearby, "Elphir, Erchirion, see to the men and the horses. Amrothos, you are with me." The Prince addressed his nephew again and said softly, "Boromir, your father should be told of Faramir's injury…"

"I have no doubt he will learn of it soon enough," Boromir said with a bitter laugh. "His spies are nothing if not efficient. But if you wish to inform him after Faramir is in Morloth's care, I will not try to dissuade you." He sighed, "I would go with you now if I could, but there is too much here that requires my attention. Please tell Morloth that I will come to see Faramir as soon as I am able."

Imrahil nodded and set off toward the Houses of Healing, his wounded nephew still secure in his grasp.

-ooo-

The Prince found stretcher-bearers near the Houses of Healing who had just delivered their previous charge; with their help and that of Amrothos they were able to ease Faramir from the horse onto a stretcher.

As they entered the building the Warden of the Houses hurried up to meet them, clearly warned of their arrival. He bowed in greeting, "My lord Prince, I am told that Lord Faramir is in need of our care. We will tend to him immediately."

The Prince gave him a grateful smile, "Thank you Warden. Lord Boromir requested he be placed in the care of a Healer named Morloth, if you would be so kind…"

"Ah, of course," the Warden responded. If he had reservations about this preference, he gave no sign of it. "Any of our healers would be honored to care for Lord Faramir, but Morloth tended to Lord Boromir when he was gravely injured not long ago, and he has a high regard for her skills." The Warden smiled and gestured down the corridor. "You will find her in the last ward on the right."

As they set off down the corridor, in an undertone that only his father could hear Amrothos commented, "It is rumored that there is a woman who has contributed to the recent…difficulties between my cousin and his father. I wonder if this Morloth might be the mystery woman."

Imrahil stared at his son in surprise, "What mystery woman? I have heard nothing of this!"

Amrothos smiled tightly, "It is said that strong words passed between Boromir and the Steward over his son's preference for a certain lady. The Lord Denethor, it seems, does not approve of her, which is in my opinion entirely to her credit, whoever she may be," he added dryly.

Imrahil gave his son a censorious glance, well aware that his children often found their noble uncle to be a less than congenial companion.

Amrothos shrugged apologetically before continuing, "At first I was reluctant to believe it; although my valiant cousin enjoys the company of women almost as much as they enjoy his, to my knowledge he has never shown enough partiality for one to earn his father's ire."

"It has happened at least once before," the Prince said, gazing at his son thoughtfully, "many years ago. You were too young at the time to remember it."

Amrothos' eyebrows rose, "Indeed? What…"

They had reached the door that the Warden had indicated, so the Prince waved his son to silence, "Later, Amrothos."

They entered, and although there were several women in the room, there was absolutely no doubt in Imrahil's mind which was the one they were seeking. Even in a plain gown of Healer gray she was a beauty, and he could readily believe that his nephew thought her company worth defying his father's wishes.

Her coloring was similar to both his sister Finduilas and his daughter Lothíriel, with luxuriant dark hair piled on her head, and when she turned her gaze toward them, clear gray eyes. But there the similarities ended, she was taller than Finduilas or Lothíriel, and where Imrahil's kinswomen both had an air of sweetness and fragility—much to his daughter's chagrin, for she was stronger than she appeared and hated to be underestimated—this woman radiated strength. Strength and resilience, like a well-tempered blade, he thought, and then chuckled at his own fancy.

Beside him, Amrothos let out a low whistle and murmured, "If the rumors are true I can find no fault with my cousin's taste!"

Recognizing the admiring look on his son's face, Imrahil felt a warning was in order, "I would recommend caution, Amrothos, you would be ill-advised to challenge your cousin's temper—or his sword arm."

His son grinned, "Have no fear, Father; I have the utmost respect for both."

The lady in question crossed the room to meet them, and sank into a curtsey. "My lord Prince, how may I help you? I am Morloth, the Healer in charge of this ward."

Imrahil bowed in reply and took her hand, "We come seeking you, my lady." He nodded toward Amrothos, who smiled and clasped her hand in his turn, "This is my youngest son, Amrothos." Courtesies thus discharged, he continued, "My nephew Faramir was wounded in the retreat from the outer defenses and his brother commends him to your care."

Her eyes widened, then darted toward the stretcher that the bearers were now carrying into the room. "Oh no, Lord Faramir is wounded?" she exclaimed, her face drawn with concern. "Of course, I will see to him immediately." She directed them to place Faramir on an empty bed nearby, and once that was done began to examine him closely, starting with the arrow still embedded in his arm. A small curly-haired figure hurried over; he had been sitting near where Morloth had been working when they arrived.

"Morloth, will he be all right?" the small man asked anxiously. Imrahil recognized him as the halfing friend of Boromir's who he had seen from afar but never met.

"I believe so, Pippin, the only wound I've found so far is from the arrow," Morloth replied. She glanced up briefly and smiled before continuing her examination, "Pippin, allow me to introduce you to Boromir's uncle, Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, and his son Amrothos. My lord Prince, this is Peregrin Took, a hobbit of the Shire. He was one of Boromir's companions on his journey from Rivendell, and a dear friend."

The hobbit bowed deeply, "It is an honor to meet you both, and a great pleasure to meet more of Boromir's family. He mentioned you many times when we traded tales during our journey." He grinned at Amrothos, "I recall one story he told, something about a pony and a pig-sty…"

Imrahil choked back a laugh, and was not at all surprised to see his son redden. That particular story was one Amrothos would be happy if no one remembered, which of course ensured that it was retold regularly at family gatherings.

Meanwhile, Morloth had completed her examination of Faramir and joined them, addressing the Prince, "My lord, there is a private room nearby that has been prepared for your nephew. We will be moving him there soon."

"Thank you, my lady. How is Faramir?"

"There is every reason to believe he will recover," Morloth assured him, though Imrahil noted some uncertainty in her voice. After a moment's hesitation she asked, "Do you know how long he has been unconscious?"

He met her eyes, his feeling of unease growing, "He fell from his horse after the arrow struck him, my lady. I was too far away to see precisely what happened, but when I reached him he was already unconscious and has been since then. Is that a cause for concern?"

"It may be," she replied cautiously. "It is…surprising that he has not yet regained consciousness. A head injury from the fall would account for it, but I saw no sign of one. Nor does there seem to have been significant blood loss." She shook her head and smiled, "It also may mean nothing; he could very well awaken after the arrow is removed.

"That is my next task," she added. "It will be quite painful for him, the arrowhead is firmly lodged in the bone and it will take some time to remove. I am thankful no one tried to remove it in the field; doing so could have easily caused more damage. But it might ease him to hear a familiar voice while I am working, if Boromir does not arrive in time would one of you be willing...?"

After enough experience with healers who treat patients and their families as half-wits to be placated and told as little as possible, Imrahil found Morloth's forthrightness to be a refreshing and welcome change. He nodded and smiled warmly, "Of course, Morloth. I will be happy to stay with Faramir if his brother cannot."

An aide caught her attention and spoke to her in a low voice. She looked up at smiled at the Prince and his son, "We are ready to move Faramir, it will just take a moment." And so it did; two aides deftly shifted their patient to a stretcher and carried it through a side door and into a corridor behind the main ward where there were several private rooms. Faramir's room was spacious and comfortable, with chairs for visitors and a window that would under normal circumstances have a fine view of the plain below.

Once her charge was settled, Morloth told his kinsmen, "I need to gather some supplies for the arrow removal, but the preparations will not take long."

But before she could leave to set about her tasks, a familiar voice roared from the main ward, "Where is my son? I will not have my son kept from me!"

Imrahil exchanged a concerned look with Amrothos, but a glance told him that they were not the only ones to recognize the speaker's voice. Morloth and Pippin had locked eyes, their faces mirroring alarm and dismay.