DEFINING MOMENT

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

TA 3016

Minas Tirith

"My lord, the lands are becoming dangerous," Beregond met Denethor's grey eyes with enough ice in his own blue eyes to cause any lesser man to flinch. Denethor glared at the Captain through hooded eyes.

Boromir shifted in his seat, curious to see how his father would respond to the Guard of the Citadel. Would he respond at all?

"No one journeys through the Mountains anymore, and all lands eastward, well, no sane man dares travel through them."

"'T is just as I predicted," Denethor's voice was low and gravelly. He said it without any hint of pride, but rather with dark foreboding. He slumped in his seat, as if he had nothing to look forward to in the day.

"The fires of Mordor only grow hotter, and their darkness, darker. Are we truly doing everything in our power to keep our lands from the attack?" Beregond finally said.

An awkward silence dropped over the Council of Gondor. Boromir watched his father. Denethor appeared small in his chair, and his eyebrows knit together.

"I send out the Rangers of Ithilien, of which one of my sons is Captain. Lord Boromir fights valiantly against any Orcish attacks as captain of the military. Osgiliath is well fortified and defended. I repair the outer walls. What more can I do?"

"We must attack now, while we still have time!" There was no mistaking the urgency in Beregond's voice. "Join forces with the peoples of the West and let the Nameless One see how we will all unite to fight him!"

Boromir liked the plan of attacking now. But as he looked at his father, he could see the despair in Denethor's eyes, and the unwillingness to do anything. And distrust. Distrust of the people who fought beside them. It chilled Boromir's blood.

"We wait," Denethor finally said. "We wait until he makes his first attack. We are still not strong enough. But maybe he will surprise us all. Maybe he will not attack," he said the last part quietly.

Boromir looked at Faramir, seated beside him. His brother's solemn grey eyes met his own eyes as if to say What can our lord be thinking?

"But, my lord!" Beregond looked shocked. "He is not ready yet. If we fight now, we can have the upper hand!"

Prince Imrahil coughed and stood slowly from his seat. His midnight blue velvet cloak slid in luxurious folds to the ground, like blue water sliding easily off marble. He walked slowly around the room, not making eye contact with any man. Every man's eyes were on the Prince.

"Perhaps that is wise, my lord Denethor," he spoke as if only to his brother-in-law. "To create a situation so that the Dark Lord thinks we do not suspect."

Why did Denethor suddenly pale? His cheeks turned as white as the marble floors, and his eyes brightened, but not with excitement.

"You are indeed wise, Denethor," Imrahil nodded as he slowly walked back to his seat. "We wait as the Steward has suggested. Only when he makes his first attack will we send out the Red Arrow and call for aid. 'T is fortunate we have such a strong alliance with Rohan."

The captains and lords of the council nodded and murmured agreement. Ages past, the steward Cirion had given Eorl the Young fertile land in the Calenardhon as a favor for Rohan's part in the battle of the Field of Celebrant. The two peoples swore allegiance to each other, promising to come to each other's aid should the need arise. Both kingdoms still kept their promise, and Rohan was Gondor's strongest ally.