Surprise! I'm a) not dead, and b) still working on this story. I hope you're all still interested in reading it. This chapter fought me tooth and nail, but is finally done, thank heavens. In this chapter Boromir has some political unpleasantness to deal with before he gets back to Morloth. But get back he will, in the next chapter!

Thank you all for reading and for your patience!

Chapter 33

When the members of the Steward's Council began filing into the council chamber a few minutes before the appointed hour, three men were waiting for them: Boromir, the new Lord Steward, Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth and Boromir's brother and heir, Faramir. Although the first two had been regular attendants of such meetings in the past—at least Lord Boromir had been before leaving on his journey—the inclusion of Faramir was more surprising. Boromir noted that when Lord Losben, one of Denethor's most loyal partisans, appeared he gazed at his younger brother with narrowed eyes.

A few minutes after the hour, when Boromir judged that all who were expected to attend had arrived, he called the gathering to order. When all were seated he began, "Thank you all for coming as we have urgent and important matters to discuss. But first I must acknowledge all those who were injured or perished in the recent battle. The valor of all those who fought to preserve Gondor, whether one of our own folk or our valiant allies from Rohan, will not be forgotten, nor will their sacrifice.

"I wish I could mention by name all who were lost, but since I cannot I will acknowledge in particular the members of this council and their family members who are no longer with us." With that, he began reading a list of names that included Lord Hirluin of Pinnath Gelin, Derufin and Duilin, the sons of Lord Duinhir of Blackroot Vale, and Lord Forlong of Lossarnach. "Lord Duinhir lies injured in the Houses of Healing but is expected to recover," Boromir added. He glanced toward a thin, weary-looking young man sitting at the table. "Lord Forlas, Forlong's son and heir, joins us today. Welcome, Lord Forlas, and know that we share your grief. Your father will be missed." The others at the table murmured agreement, and the new Lord of Lossarnach nodded gravely in acknowledgement.

After a moment Boromir spoke again. "I have called this meeting as a courtesy so that those of you in positions of trust and responsibility may know the truth of Gondor's current position, and what lies ahead of us. We have won a great victory against the forces of Mordor, thanks to the courage and determination of our people and that of our allies. But make no mistake; the danger is far from over. We are still at war," he said firmly, catching the eyes of each man present in turn.

The Lord Steward rose and began pacing as he spoke, "Despite our victory, the Black Land still holds enemies aplenty, and we cannot wait until they attack again and hope to survive another siege. Prince Imrahril and I have discussed the situation with our allies and other wise counselors, and have determined that our best chance to survive this war is to march on the Black Gates and confront the Enemy in his own land. Some of you have no doubt noted that our men and those of Rohan are mustering; we leave at first light tomorrow."

The reaction to this announcement was less than might be expected since many in the room had troops involved in the muster. But Lord Losben snorted derisively, "What 'wise counselors' suggested this foolishness? Was Mithrandir among them?"

Boromir met his eyes steadily, "Indeed he was! It would be height of imprudence to ignore the advice of one of the Wise of Middle Earth. And that he is a true friend of Gondor has been amply demonstrated by his actions during the siege."

Lord Roenall asked anxiously, "But what of the city? How will you ensure its safety if all our soldiers march to Mordor? Are…are you planning to lead our men? Who will command while you are gone?"

"Yes, Prince Imrahil and I will command Gondor's troops," Boromir explained with a nod. "As you no doubt recall, it was my honor to serve as Gondor's Captain-General for many years since traditionally that position is held by the Steward's heir. I have therefore requested that my heir, Lord Faramir take up the mantle of Captain-General, effective immediately. He has agreed." All eyes turned to Faramir, who had been sitting silently watching the proceedings. "He will command the forces that remain to guard the city and serve as acting Lord Steward in my stead."

"No offense meant to Lord Faramir," Lord Losben said in an unctuous tone that somehow suggested just the opposite. "But perhaps one with more experience in ruling this realm might be a better choice."

"Lord Faramir inexperienced?" the young Lord Forlas asked in an outraged voice. "He has commanded in Ithilien—near the Enemy's very doors—for over a decade. That is hardly 'inexperienced'. We in Lossarnach know all too well the value of his service."

Lord Losben all but rolled his eyes at the young lord's passionate defense of Faramir. "I meant only that there is another whose experience and fitness is beyond doubt, who could command the city it its hour of need. Lord Denethor…"

"Lord Denethor has himself declared that he is unfit to rule," Boromir interrupted impatiently. "My decision stands. My father has served this city honorably for many years, and will not be called upon to return to duty."

"His resignation was highly questionable!" Lord Losben huffed. "I have spoken to him recently and he now feels…"

"I witnessed his statement myself," Prince Imrahil reminded them mildly. "I can assure you there was no coercion involved, if that is what you are suggesting." Although his face was calm, Imrahil's eyes narrowed and he held the angry lord's gaze challengingly, every inch a prince.

"I would never suggest such a thing," Losben continued, seemingly determined to have his say despite the growing tension in the room. "But to deprive ourselves of Lord Denethor's experience…"

"Enough!" Boromir exclaimed gruffly. "This is neither the time nor the place to discuss what role, if any, my father—the former Lord Steward—may have in the governance of Gondor." He gave Lord Losben a long, hard look. "But since apparently you are uncomfortable with my leadership, which I judge to be unhelpful in our current situation, you are therefore dismissed from this council."

Lord Losben stared at him incredulously, "What?! No! You cannot…"

Boromir snorted, "I believe that you will find that I can. You were appointed by the previous Lord Steward and now serve at my pleasure." He smiled tightly, leaving unsaid his obvious displeasure at the man's obstructionism.

Glancing wildly around the room looking for support, Lord Losben was met only with blank stares, and in some cases, barely concealed mirth at his situation. Faramir had been sitting quietly, watching closely as events unfolded, and he took careful note of the reactions of other councilors. He knew there were others of like to the dismissed Lord—none of whom spoke on his behalf, notably; after all, what could they do? But a few looked positively gleeful at Boromir's actions.

When it was clear he had no other choice, Lord Losben swept out of the room with his head held high, trying to maintain some dignity despite his sudden change in fortune. "You'll regret this," he growled as he left.

"I doubt that very much," Lord Dervordin, the elderly and opinionated lord of Ringló Vale muttered, echoing the thoughts of many assembled there. Dervordin had often clashed with Denethor and his supporters in the past, but much to the old Lord Steward's irritation he could not be similarly dismissed—his position assured him a seat on the council. "To get on with the business at hand, although I can't see how knocking on the Dark Lord's front gate could end well, I don't favor the idea of waiting until his armies return, either. What I'd like to know is this: how many troops will be left here to guard the city and who will command the army going to Mordor. I know that the horselords have their young king and from what I've heard he knows his way around a battlefield. But still someone will need to be in overall command of the entire force. To my mind, it should be a Gondorian since we have the most to lose."

"Lord Dervordin," Boromir replied evenly, "remember that it is all of Middle Earth that stands imperiled, not just Gondor. As some of you know, mere days before coming to our aid Rohan was attacked by troops from Isengard, Saruman having thrown his lot in with the Dark Lord. The Rohirrim were able to defeat Saruman's army, but it was a near thing. There have also been reports of armies on the move in the North— Easterlings and orcs from the Gray and Misty Mountains. None of the good peoples of Middle Earth are safe from Sauron's evil.

"But to answer your question, my lord, some three thousand mixed Gondorian and Rohirrim troops will be left in the city, under the command of Lord Faramir. As for those marching to the Black Gate, King Éomer has agreed that I will be in overall command."

Faramir was unsurprised to hear murmurs of satisfaction at this announcement. Whether those assembled approved the overall strategy outlined or not there was widespread sentiment that Gondor should be treated as the first among equals. Privately, however, he wondered if this was a bluff on his brother's part or whether he had actually secured such an agreement.

Another voice was heard, "What about that Ranger Captain; 'Aragorn' I believe he calls himself." It was Lord Faimen, also an appointee of Denethor's who Faramir knew to be of like mind to the disgraced Lord Losben. "Fancies himself the 'Heir of Isildur', does he not? No doubt he considers himself worthy of the crown as well! Will you trust an unkempt wanderer; a stranger who knows nothing of Gondor or its people to claim the throne of this realm?" He snorted derisively, "Gondor has no need of a king, and surely not one such as him. You should send the fellow on his way."

It seemed to Faramir that Boromir's jaw tightened with some emotion he could not identify. But the moment passed, and he met Lord Faimen's eyes resolutely. "Aragorn, son of Arathorn is the heir of Isildur, of that there is no doubt. He is descended in direct line from Arvedui, the last king in the North. The sword he bears is Narsil, the sword of Elendil, now reforged."

Many in the room gasped at this announcement, and a murmur of conversation rose as the councilors reacted to this news. At first Faramir was surprised that Boromir had revealed what he knew of Aragorn's heritage, but upon reflection he smiled at his brother's cleverness. Acknowledging the legitimacy Aragorn's birthright now, when no formal claim to the throne had been made, might pave the way to easier acceptance later.

"But let me be clear; at this time he is not a contender for the throne of Gondor. He has not requested that we consider him such and I have not done so." Boromir continued, catching the eyes of each man in turn, "I know Aragorn well, he is a good man and a fearsome warrior. We would be foolish indeed to spurn the assistance of the man who wields Narsil reforged. You may be certain that Sauron will remember that sword, and not fondly."

"His men may be few in number," Imrahil added, "but I have seen them in battle—they are hard fighters, and fierce ones. Boromir is right, we need every skilled sword."

"Besides," Boromir said, a wry smile twisting his lips, "Aragorn is no stranger to this land. He lived in Gondor for many years in the service of my grandfather, Lord Ecthelion. I'm sure you all have heard tales of his deeds during that time—he used the name Thorongil."

Stunned silence fell over the room for a moment, but then erupted with cries of shock and disbelief.

"Thorongil, the commander of the victory at Umbar?" one council member asked incredulously.

"The same."

Another voice cut through the cacophony, "Impossible!" Lord Faimen scoffed. "That was nearly forty years ago; that Thorongil would be an old man by now! It is clearly a lie to gain your trust, I'm shocked you would be taken in by it."

Boromir's eyes sharpened as he gazed at the angry lord. "He is, in point of fact, a year younger than my father. And quite hale despite his age due to his bloodline, as any who have seen him in combat will attest. As for it being a lie…" he snorted dismissively, "Aragorn did not himself reveal his past as Thorongil, he was recognized by Lord Denethor. It seems that my father remembers him quite well from Aragorn's service to his father."

"But what…why did he come here to serve under an assumed name?" Lord Roenall asked, clearly bewildered by the day's revelations.

The Lord Steward arched his brow, "I have not asked him that, and I judge it is not my place to do so at this time. If he should ever petition to be considered for the throne of Gondor, that, and many other questions can be asked."

Boromir's gaze swept the room once again, "As I'm sure you all understand, there are many matters that require my attention before we depart tomorrow. So unless is anything urgent that cannot wait…" A few of those present shifted uncomfortably, perhaps wishing to speak but not willing to risk it under the Lord Steward's baleful glare. When no one spoke up he added, "Then I consider our business here concluded. Thank you for your time, gentlemen, and your continuing service to Gondor."

Boromir glanced up to meet his brother's eyes; a small gesture from the elder was all the younger needed to understand that he should stay. When Prince Imrahil passed him, he clapped his older nephew on the shoulder. Boromir smiled briefly and murmured, "We'll be with you shortly, Uncle."

Once the room was empty except for the two brothers, Boromir sighed deeply and scrubbed a hand over his face. "That went as well as could be expected, I think."

Faramir chuckled, "I see you learned well Father's lessons on how to properly terrify a room full of powerful men with competing interests."

His brother snorted, "I admit it was heavy-handed, but I could not afford to show weakness in front of those doubtful of my leadership. It is as much for your benefit as my own. Speaking of which, could you please ask Beregond to step in, and close the door behind us when you do? There is something we must discuss."

Faramir raised an eyebrow curiously, but did as his brother bade. Once the guardsman had joined them and the door was firmly closed behind them, Boromir turned again to his brother. "Since you will be responsible for the defense of the city while we are gone, you should know that I intend to take half of the Citadel guards with me to Mordor."

Both men stared at him in surprise, so he lifted his hands to delay questions until he had a chance to explain more fully. "I know it is unusual, the Guards of the Citadel seldom march to war, but it also has been many centuries since a ruling steward has commanded troops in the field. It will be said that they are accompany us as my personal guards."

"Given how much persuasion was required for us to convince you to accept even two guards," Faramir noted wryly, "I assume there is some other motivation for this decision besides your own safety."

Boromir nodded briskly, "Aye. That is where you come in, Beregond. Am I correct that Lieutenant Ruinor died during the siege and currently there is no second in command of the Guards?"

"Yes, my lord," Beregond replied. "I believe Captain Meldir plans to make a recommendation for this replacement, but has not had time to do so yet."

The Steward waved away his explanation, "Completely understandable. However, I would like you take on that position."

"Me, my lord?" Beregond sputtered. "But there are several others with more seniority…"

"I have no doubt that you are more than capable and worthy of this promotion," Boromir assured him. "However, it can be considered a temporary promotion for now if you wish. Captain Meldir has already been informed of my intentions; that he shall command the guardsmen that will accompany me, and you will be in command of those staying in the city. He awaits only my decision on which guardsmen should go and which should be left behind."

He gathered some writing materials from a side table and placed them in front of the startled guardsman. "Sit. I need a list of any of your fellow guardsmen whose loyalty might be to my father rather than to me. Any who might be…persuaded by those sympathetic to my father to against the interests of Gondor—against Faramir—while I am gone."

Beregond sat and picked up the pen, but met Boromir's eyes, abject misery in his face. "My lord…" he said imploringly.

"I know that it is much to ask of you, for you cannot know for certain what lies in men's heart and minds," the Lord Steward told him sympathetically. "But this is not a punishment; all who march to the Black Gate under Gondor's banner will have a chance to acquit themselves honorably in her service. No one but the three of us will know that a number have been chosen because there is some small doubt about their loyalties." Boromir sighed, "I hate this as much as you do, but I would not leave them here where Father's partisans might suborn them into involvement in some misguided scheme against Faramir."

The guardsman nodded reluctantly and set to work, his face grim. Boromir pulled his brother aside so they could speak without disturbing Beregond.

Faramir shook his head, gazing at his brother with fond exasperation. "So you are determined to take all the potential troublemakers with you, despite the fact they could easily make trouble in an army camp as they could here?"

Boromir shrugged, "The guardsmen accompanying us will be told tonight that they will leave on the morrow; it would be quick work indeed for any plan to be formulated in such a short time. Since the potential instigators will be left here to your tender mercies, Faramir, I do not anticipate any real risk to me."

He laid a hand on the younger man's shoulder and met his eyes, his face grave. "Fara, we both understand what we face. The odds are long indeed against this strategy succeeding; and I know that if things go ill those of us who die quickly to an enemy's blade might be counted fortunate. You may be left here to fight against impossible odds and to make choices no one should be asked to make." His voice cracked with emotion, "It is a thankless task and it breaks my heart that I must ask this of you, dear brother, but there is no one—no one—I trust more to make the right decisions for the survival of our people."

Faramir's eyes were glinting with tears as he pulled his brother in a rough embrace, "The Valar have preserved us both so far against all odds, perhaps they will continue to bless us."

Boromir chuckled wryly and wiped the tears from his own eyes before ruffling Faramir's hair, "Perhaps so, baby brother."

Beregond had completed his task and rose to hand the parchment to his Steward.

"My thanks, Beregond, I know this was difficult for you." He nodded to Faramir, "Come, we should meet with Uncle to finalize arrangements for tomorrow. Beregond, could you please send a message to Morloth to let her know that I should be free in three hours' time?"

His brother stared at him in astonishment, "Morloth? You're meeting Morloth? The last I heard she was avoiding you!"

Boromir reddened, a smile spreading across his face, "I'm sorry I didn't have a chance to tell you before the meeting, but I…I spoke to Morloth."

"And?!" Faramir demanded.

"She…agreed to marry me, Fara," he beamed.

"Thank Eru for that!" Faramir chuckled, wrapping his arms around his brother and planting a loud kiss on his forehead. "There would have been no living with you otherwise!" When his brother returned the embrace, he murmured, "Congratulations, dear Boromir. Now you simply must come back to us; I will accept no other outcome."