Prologue

“Faramir!” He looked up, seeing his brother. He ran over to Boromir. “How are you, my brother?”

“Just fine, thank you,” Boromir grinned. “What did you need me for?” Faramir raised an eyebrow. “Father wishes to speak to us. We must go and see him at once,” Boromir added commanding. “Yes, yes, I’m coming,” Faramir reassured him. They left the courtyard in front of the barracks and headed for the seventh level of the city, where the mighty Citadel of Minas Tirith stood.

As he walked inside, Faramir saw their father sitting on the smaller, black throne that was reserved for the Steward of Gondor.

“Boromir! My son!” Denethor hugged his eldest before looking at Faramir. Their father laid a hand on his shoulder. “Faramir, my last born.” It already sounded more distant. He nodded and Faramir smiled slightly – but not quite convincing.

“Why have you called us, my Lord?” Boromir uttered the question the two brothers had in mind.

“I need you to go to Rohan.” Faramir noticed how contemptuous he pronounced the country’s name. “For our relationships are embittered, and I intend to send a group of ambassadors to Meduseld, the Golden Hall of Théoden King. You, my first born, my finest Captain of Gondor,” he said to Boromir, “you will make sure that we will be able to count on Rohan’s loyalty again. And you, his brother,” he turned to Faramir, “will accompany him. Do you accept the mission tasked to you by your father?”

Boromir bowed and accepted, and so Faramir consented also.

“But why do you suddenly fear Rohan’s disloyalty, my liege? Is there a reason for Gondor to fear the defence of our borders?” Faramir asked.

Denethor’s friendly smile turned to a frown – followed by a harsh look. “It is not your task to worry about politics, Captain of Gondor.”

He was quite stunned by the sharp tone in his father’s voice and had no answer to the hidden rejection, but his brother came to his aid. “You can’t give him any credit, can you? He’s always wrong in your eyes!” Boromir stated. He walked away. Their father followed him and Faramir saw they were arguing.

He decided to take his leave. As he walked to his room, Boromir gained on him. “Did you gossip enough about me?” Boromir sighed – at his brother’s displease. “You don’t have to worry, brother. I know he’s rejecting you unceasingly. I cannot undo that, but I am trying to help you, Faramir. At least, we will be leaving Minas Tirith and father for a while,” he grinned.

Faramir patted him on the shoulder. “I’m going to pack. We meet at the stables.”

And so he did and left his brother.

He grabbed some clothes – deciding to leave his armour, after all it would be a mission to restore the friendship between two countries. But he did take his sword, dagger and bow and arrows with him.
After one last look at his room he left and headed for the stables.

There, his brother already held the reins of both their horses. He mounted his horse and they went down the city’s levels and left through the gate.

“Ready for our far journey, brother?” Boromir grinned.
“It’s father’s wish, and I will fulfil it as always…” he returned – without any satisfied tone in his voice. “Yes, and he will not thank you for it… - as always.”

Faramir remained unmoved, knowing his brother was right. His father praising Boromir and rejecting Faramir, it was one of the usual things in his life, and it was not about to change, as it seemed.

“How long will it take to reach Edoras?” “I believe, a day or two. We will see, we do not need to rush, my brother,” Boromir smiled.