The three day ride to Gondor was long with only brief pauses to rest the horses and ourselves. The Wargs kept pace. The journey was Nice, with plains and rolling hills, the landscape shifting from Rohan's wild beauty to the proud but war-weary lands surrounding Gondor. As we neared Minas Tirith, the towering white city came into view, perched high against the mountainside.
Boromir's spirits lifted as we drew closer, and he often spoke of his home with an almost boyish eagerness. Riding with Pippin, he shared stories about the White City, of its grand halls, and of his family.
"My brother Faramir will be glad to see me," he said, a warmth in his voice as he spoke of his younger brother. "He always kept Gondor's heart in mind, even when others doubted him. He's a better man than most know."
Pippin, wide-eyed with curiosity, listened closely. "It must be something, to return home after all we've been through."
Boromir nodded, but his face clouded slightly as he thought of their father, Denethor. "My father, though… he'll be less pleased, I think. He sent me to bring him the One Ring, and my return empty-handed won't sit well with him."
Gandalf, riding ahead with me on his horse, glanced back, his eyes shadowed. "Your father's ambition blinds him to the Ring's dangers, Boromir. It's for the best that it stays far from here."
Boromir gave a slow nod, his expression torn between loyalty to his father and the painful understanding of Gandalf's words. "I know," he replied quietly. "But it won't change his mind. He sees the Ring as Gondor's only hope." He fell silent.
I broke the silence as we rode closer, glancing over at Boromir. "What about the return of the King?" I asked. "How do you think your father will react when he learns that Gondor's rightful king lives?"
Boromir's face shifted, a mixture of emotions flickering in his eyes as he thought of Aragorn. "He will not take it well," he admitted, his tone careful. "My father has ruled Gondor for so long, and he's never been the kind to… welcome change, especially one that threatens his power."
Gandalf gave a low hum, his gaze thoughtful. "A time of reckoning is coming, one that all must face, including Denethor."
Boromir seemed troubled, though he forced a small, reassuring smile as he looked to me and Pippin. "The city will be in an uproar, but Faramir… he will welcome this change."
The sun was setting as we neared the gates of Minas Tirith, its white walls glinting in the last light of day. The guards spotted us from afar, and as we passed through the gates, the people of the city paused in their evening activities, watching us as we passed.
The Wargs paced beside us, drawing startled glances but keeping their distance from the crowd. We made our way through the winding streets, Pippin's gaze darting around in awe as he took in the city's grandeur. Boromir's face held a bittersweet expression, the familiar sights of his home mingling with the knowledge of what awaited him.
Inside the halls of the Steward's palace, Denethor awaited, his stern gaze fixed on his son the moment we entered. There was no warmth in his welcome, only a thinly veiled disappointment as he looked at Boromir, and then at the rest of us. He didn't speak of it immediately, but it was clear that the absence of the One Ring was already a point of tension.
Stepping outside the hall, I made my way to the courtyard where the White Tree stood I wasn't going to sit and listen to some family talk. I looked over the white tree. As I drew closer, I noticed a hint of life, a small bloom nestled among the brittle limbs. It was a fragile sign of growth.
The guards watched me closely, their hands resting cautiously on their swords as my Wargs padded silently at my side, their massive forms casting long shadows on the stone. Though I kept a respectful distance, I could feel the intensity of their stares, their unease clear as they eyed the Wargs with thinly veiled suspicion. I offered them a slight nod but didn't stop, heading instead toward the overlook that gave a sweeping view of the city and the lands stretching beyond.
As I stood there, taking in the grandeur of Minas Tirith from above, the soft creak of armor and footsteps drew my attention. I turned and found myself face to face with a familiar face. The resemblance to Boromir was clear, though his frame was slightly leaner, This was Faramir.
He hesitated for a moment, clearly intent on entering the hall. I raised a hand, stopping him before he could step any closer.
"Might not be the best time to go in there," I said, my voice casual. The Wargs shifted beside me, their eyes tracking him with calm alertness.
Faramir raised an eyebrow, taken aback by the statement and perhaps by me as well. "And you are?"
"I'm Ellehish," I replied, offering a small nod. "Part of the Fellowship, been with Boromir and the others since Rivendell."
His surprise was apparent, his eyes widening slightly as he took in the fact that a woman had been among the Fellowship. "I'd heard, but I didn't… well, it's unexpected, I suppose," he admitted, his tone polite but laced with curiosity.
I smirked, shrugging lightly. "I get that a lot."
He chuckled softly, a sound that held a touch of warmth and curiosity. He glanced back toward the hall, the tension in his expression unmistakable. "And Boromir… is he well?"
"He's fine. A bit on edge about what your father will say. I figured he'd be," I paused, choosing my words carefully, "greeted with a few… questions."
Faramir sighed, weight in his expression, and I recognized the look immediately. The quiet understanding of someone used to managing a difficult father. "That sounds like him," he murmured. "Boromir has always been the favored son, the one expected to bring honor to our family. It's why he was chosen to represent Gondor at Rivendell."
I leaned back against the stone wall, watching him thoughtfully. "Funny, Boromir spoke of you the whole way here, and he didn't exactly paint himself as 'the favored son.' Seemed to think pretty highly of you, actually."
Faramir blinked, visibly surprised. "Did he?"
"He did," I confirmed. "Said you were better than most people gave you credit for."
A faint smile touched Faramir's lips, though it was tinged with something darker, a kind of self-doubt that felt all too familiar. "Boromir is kind to think so, but our father… he doesn't share that view."
"Ah, I get it. Daddu issues," I said, a little bluntly, and he looked up at me, slightly startled by the casual tone. "Look, no judgment here. Trust me, family messes up plenty of things."
His eyes softened, the tension in his stance easing as he studied me with a look of interest. "It's rare to hear someone speak so plainly."
"Comes with the territory," I replied, folding my arms. "Boromir's got his own struggles with your father's expectations, but you… you don't need me to tell you this, but you've got your own strengths. Boromir knows it. Your father, well," I shrugged, "maybe he'll figure it out eventually. Or not. That's on him."
Faramir's gaze dropped for a moment. When he looked up, he seemed a little lighter, as though some small burden had been lifted. "Thank you," he said quietly. "It's… unexpected to hear someone outside the family say that."
I nodded. "So," I added, changing the subject slightly, "how do you think he'll react if let's say the king was to return?"
Faramir's expression turned thoughtful, a flicker of doubt clouding his gaze. "My father will not be pleased," he admitted. "He's grown… attached to his role as Steward, and I doubt he'll welcome any challenge to that authority."
"Figured as much, your bother did say something similar to that" I replied. "But it's happening. That's not exactly something he can ignore forever."
He nodded slowly as if considering the truth of my words. "You're right. Gondor needs its true king. And though my father may resist, I… I believe the people will welcome it."
For a while, we stood in silence, watching the city below as twilight settled over Minas Tirith, casting a warm glow across the stone and giving the White Tree a gentle shimmer.
The doors to the hall opened, and Gandalf and Pippin emerged. Gandalf's gaze landed on Faramir, and a faint smile appeared on his face, though there was an undercurrent of concern. Faramir inclined his head in greeting, the faint tension in his expression easing slightly at the sight of the wizard.
"Faramir," Gandalf greeted warmly. "It's good to see you."
Faramir managed a small smile, clearly surprised but pleased to see Gandalf. "Gandalf. Your return is most welcome. And it seems you've brought interesting company." His gaze slid to Pippin and me, curiosity still lingering in his eyes.
Pippin stepped forward with a quick nod, looking eager to make a good impression. "Yes, well, the journey's been… eventful," he said, glancing between us all.
Gandalf's gaze shifted to me, his eyes carrying that knowing glint. "Ellehish, it seems Boromir and his father are still... engaged in discussion." He glanced at Faramir, then back to me. "But I've arranged for rooms where we can rest."
I nodded, understanding what that "discussion" meant. "Sounds like they might be at it for a while," I said, crossing my arms. Turning to Faramir, I added, "Seems like a rough night for all of us, then."
A shadow passed over Faramir's face, his gaze drifting to the distant hills as if reliving something bitter. There was quiet sorrow lingering behind his eyes.
"It's a difficult time," he murmured. "My men... they did not return with me."
His words were quiet but carried a heaviness I understood. I glanced at Gandalf and then back to Faramir, keeping my voice casual yet sympathetic. "So you're back here because of the orcs, then? Must've been a hard battle."
Faramir hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, the orcs have been relentless. We held Ithilien as long as we could, but… our numbers were too few."
I frowned, feeling the familiar pang of pity for this man who had clearly given everything he could to hold the line, only to find himself standing here, stripped of command and perhaps even doubting his own worth. "Sounds like you've been through hell out there," I said quietly. "And yet… here you are, still standing. I'd say that's worth something."
Faramir met my gaze, a faint glimmer of gratitude in his eyes. "You're kind to say so," he replied. "But I fear it will not be enough to please my father. He… does not look kindly on defeat."
I held back a sigh, familiar enough with Boromir's account of their father's demands. "For what it's worth, Boromir knows the truth of it. He's seen enough to know a fight well fought, even if the odds were against you." I offered him a small smile. "It's a shame your father can't see it that way."
Faramir's lips twitched, his gaze softening with a hint of understanding. "Duty to Gondor comes before all else… as my father never tires of reminding me."
Gandalf cleared his throat, drawing our attention. "It's best not to dwell on these matters here," he advised, though his tone was gentle. "The city holds many ears."
I nodded, glancing between the three of them. "Well, it's been a while since we had the chance to take it easy. How about we explore the city a bit? Stretch our legs before we turn in."
Pippin's face lit up with excitement, clearly eager to see more of the city. "Oh, yes! I'd love to get a look around, Minas Tirith is incredible!"
I turned to Faramir, arching a brow. "Care to join us? Could use a guide around this place."
Faramir's expression softened, and he nodded, seeming genuinely pleased to join us. "Of course. There are places where few outside of Gondor have seen."
With that, we began walking, the White Tree fading behind us as we moved through the quiet streets. Faramir led the way, pointing out the grand structures of the city, the statues of Gondor's ancient kings, and the architecture that marked each tier of Minas Tirith's ascent. Pippin's gaze darted around, soaking it all in, and even Gandalf seemed quietly pleased, taking in the sights as if seeing them anew.
As we walked, I found myself next to Faramir, who kept a steady, quiet pace. I glanced over at him, feeling the lingering weight of our earlier conversation. "You know, Boromir really admires you," I said, keeping my tone casual but sincere.
Faramir's gaze dropped, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Boromir always had a way with words," he murmured.
I shook my head, sighing. "Yeah, that much was pretty clear. But trust me, Boromir's got your back." I glanced at him, shrugging lightly. "Family's complicated. I get that. But you're doing more than enough."
He met my gaze, the gratitude clear in his expression, though he kept his tone reserved. "Thank you."
We continued walking, the quiet streets of Minas Tirith stretching before us, filled with the sounds of the night. The weight of war and duty hung over us all, but in that small moment, there was a shared understanding, a reminder that, despite the burdens we bore, we didn't carry them alone.