DEFINING MOMENT

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

TA 3001

Minas Tirith

Faramir propped up on his elbow and wiggled his toes. He felt no pain. He lifted his leg and clenched his feet. It felt completely normal. He stared at his leg, then at the wizard.

Mithrandir. Some didn't believe he was a wizard at all; rather, they believed he was simply a very, very wise man.

Mithrandir was smiling beneath his beard at Faramir. "How is your leg?" His voice was pleasant, slow, rumbly, yet bespoke of hidden wisdom.

"It is well, thank you," Faramir said. He swung his legs over the bed and planted his feet on the stone floor. "You arrived in Minas Tirith just in time," he gave a small smile at his joke. Would his legs hold him up if he stood?

"Thank you, Mithrandir," Boromir interjected, stepping forward. "Minas Tirith welcomes you."

Gandalf raised his eyebrows and chuckled. He took a seat on a sack of something and pulled his pipe out. "I don't believe that is for you to decide, my lord, although I am very pleased that you welcome me on behalf of your beautiful capital."

"You are blunt, man," Boromir said, his eyes wide with amusement.

"Perhaps," Mithrandir shrugged. "Or perhaps I speak the truth." He blew out a curiously shaped puff of smoke. It was shaped like a castle.

Faramir stood. "We need truth now, more than ever." He didn't buckle under his weight. He stood straight and tall, just like before.

Boromir nodded. "Aye, that we do." he stood as well. "You have your lodgings, I presume?"

Mithrandir followed suit and stood, leaning a bit heavily on his staff. "Denethor kindly put me in a suite of my own. I shall be fine. Carry on."

Faramir nodded and bowed to Mithrandir as well. "I thank you, Mithrandir."

Mithrandir studied Faramir intently. "One day, young Faramir, Gondor shall have need of your service. You couldn't do that service were you a cripple." He winked.

Boromir bowed to him. "Once again, thank you for your service." He turned to go. "Come on, Faramir. Let's change and go see Father."

Faramir took the first step, half expecting pain to go shooting through his leg. No pain. Completely normal. He took another step, then another. Soon, he was striding down the road with Boromir, feeling happy to be alive.

"What do you make of him?" Boromir shook his head and looked deep in thought. "I always thought wizards are supposed to be mighty, powerful, not looking like some homeless pauper!"

Faramir easily kept up with Boromir's long strides. "Maybe chooses to look like that, a homeless pauper. Looks can be deceiving."

Boromir blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. "Aye, that's the truth!" By now, some folks had emerged from their houses to look as the Steward's sons walked down the cobblestone roads.

Boromir raised his arms in a wave, as was expected of him. "The journey went well, people of Minas Tirith!" he shouted. "But because of Lord Faramir," he clapped a hand on his brother's shoulder, "I and my men are still alive!"

The people crowded around Faramir and Boromir, asking questions and congratulating them.

"Father will be most pleased," Boromir said as the crowd swept them up to the Citadel instead of to their chambers.