10. Broken in Two

The White City, Gondor

“My lord!

Denethor’s head turned swiftly towards the sound of the voice, who he did not recognize. He had to be new, he realized as everyone knew which times of day the Steward allowed others to disturb him. The Steward’s jaw tightened noticeably, which was probably why the Gondorian before him was shifting his feet beneath him. He smirked. The young man was barely past his twentieth year at least, and he reminded him so much of Faramir. So weak and pathetic.

Brown eyes, brown hair…An image of a young Finduilas flashed through his mind, and Denethor could only drown it out with spiced wine.

“Yes?” Denethor’s eyes shifted about the room wondering, who had let the man in.

“My lord…,”the man replied slowly, “a few hours ago, I was on patrol with Lord Faramir, and we…”He gulped, tightening his hands around a parcel that Denethor only now observed. The man blinked. “Here, my lord.”

Clunking the goblet onto a windowsill, Denethor took the package and froze. Just by the feel of the object’s shape he knew what it was. He had heard its sound. He had it used by his…son. He blinked. “It must have been the effect of wine, “ he muttered, forgetting all about the man who stood before him.

His hands shook slightly as he unwrapped the parcel. It was the horn; Boromir’s horn. The horn.

Broken in two.

o-o-o-o-

Fire, blood, cold. Hatred, numbness. Pain.

The Palantír had showed Denethor many things ever since he had been able to access its powers. Tonight was no different. He had not been able to see anything involving his neighboring lands, but what he had seen had been…disturbing to say the least.

The cold ball felt smooth on his warrior-like hands, and his sleepless eyes absorbed everything that it showed. “What are you planning?” he murmured. He could not believe that his son was dead. He refused to believe it. Not until he saw Boromir’s body would he believe it. It had to some part of plan. Denethor blinked as he felt the blood drawn from his face.

Valar…

Chains. Brown hair. Blood.

Images morphed into each other, but one face became clearer to the rest.

Boromir.

His son. He wasn’t dead!

Sauron the demon had his son.

His hands felt numb as he clutched the ball into his hands. He could not let this happen. He could not let his line end so…brutally. It was then that an idea grew in his mind, and Denethor’s heart grew full of hope though there was a flicker of dread that could not be put out.

A brother for a brother.

What better bargain then that?

During the last hours of the night, Denethor made a pact with the Enemy. When all the plans were finalized, the Steward had a message dispatched to Faramir, who was at that time defending the borders. The Steward could sleep well till the dawn came. His oldest son was coming home.

END OF PART ONE

Author’s Notes: Thanks a ton to everyone, who has added this fic to your alerts and favorites. I cannot stress enough that I want to do these characters justice, so if you have any pointers you’d like to share with me, please feel more then free to let me know in a review or private message.