The Citadel was abuzz with activity when Boromir arrived home with his company. Faramir wove his way deftly through the bustle, stopping to snatch up towels from the rack where they had been warming by the fire. Late autumn had brought gray days and chilly rain, and Faramir wanted to welcome his brother home with a warm towel for his hair. He arrived in the entrance hall just seconds before the doors opened and Boromir entered. The guards at the door snapped to attention as Boromir squelched inside. The attendant of the cloakroom hurried forward to relieve Boromir of his sodden cloak, and Faramir wrapped his brother's head in a heated towel.

"Faramir! Oh, that feels good, little brother!" Boromir rubbed at his head, then draped the towel over his shoulders to pull Faramir into a loving, if damp, embrace.

"I am not so little, Boromir," Faramir pointed out happily. "Indeed, I do believe my eyes are level with yours now."

"You will always be 'little brother' to me, no matter how tall you grow," Boromir laughed. "What is all the bustle for? Is there a chance of a hot drink amidst this chaos?"

Faramir pulled Boromir toward the kitchen. "For you, there will be whatever you want. Indeed, you are the cause of all the fuss. Father intends to throw you a grand festival."

"For me?" Boromir asked. "You are the one who is newly eighteen and entering service to Gondor. Should this festival not be in your honor?"

Faramir shrugged delicately. "I suspect that Father thinks that anyone may turn eighteen and pledge service," he said, "but it is not every day that someone is promoted to Captain at twenty-three. The youngest Captain in all of Gondor. Father has not stopped talking about it since he signed the commission. He is so proud that his feet barely touch the ground when he walks."

"And what about you?"

"I am even prouder of you than Father is, though he will never admit that."

Boromir snorted. "I thank you for the compliment, though you know full well that I did not mean the question that way."

"Then you ought to be more precise when you ask." The young men stepped into the barely controlled chaos of the kitchens. Amid the bustle of chopping, stirring, plucking and basting, Faramir managed to catch the eye of one of the assistant cooks. "My brother has just returned home from a long journey in the rain. Will you make him something hot to drink?"

The assistant cook turned to the door and surveyed the Steward's sons, one of whom was dripping mud all over the floor. "Not in this kitchen," she said. "The footmen have prepared a bath in Lord Boromir's chambers. If he would be so kind as to avail himself of it, a hot drink will be brought to him there."

Boromir thanked her and hustled Faramir out of the kitchen. "The first thing you will have to learn as a soldier is how not to go recklessly into danger," he said.

"And from whom shall I learn this?" Faramir laughed. "From you, the daring young Captain of Gondor?"

Boromir bowed and conceded the point. "You were very brave, little brother. Now, let us go find that bath."

Some time later, after Boromir had bathed, Faramir arrived at the Heir's Suite bringing two mugs of hot mulled wine. Boromir accepted one and drew two chairs near to the fire. Now that the brothers were finally alone and at peace, the question which had been simmering in Boromir's mind rose to the surface. "Faramir, where is Father? Always before, he has been at the door to welcome me whenever I returned home. Yet this time, only you were there."

"I apologize for your paltry welcome. I suppose that I am a poor substitute for Father."

Boromir looked up sharply. There had been an edge in that statement, as though Faramir's own joke had hit too close to home for his comfort. "You are a poor substitute for no one. Indeed, I was so pleased to see you again that at first I did not notice that Father was not at your side. I have only now remembered that. But you did not answer my question. Where is Father?"

Faramir dropped his gaze and studied the embroidery on the hem of his surcoat. "Father is occupied," he said at last.

"Occupied? With what? I would think that, even were he in Council, someone would remind him that I had returned. What occupies him to the extent that he cannot even welcome his own son?"

Faramir looked up again, and all the lightheartedness had gone out of his eyes. "You have not been home in some time, Boromir," he said softly. "Things are different here now. Do not feel slighted that you have not seen Father, for I myself have not seen him this day. The shadow that is ever present upon our borders now looms over the White City, and Lord Denethor takes to his study alone for hours on end. What he does there, he will not say."

Boromir harrumphed. "Then I will have to go and find out," he said. "But not quite yet. Let us finish our drinks and speak of more pleasant matters. Have you found someone to sponsor you when you pledge service?"

Faramir brightened. "Uncle Imrahil is to be my sponsor."

"That is good."

"He said that he would give me a sword made in the same workshop as the one he gave you."

"Then you are lucky. That is the finest workshop in the city. Uncle has always spoiled us." Boromir contemplated the fire for a moment. "What gift shall I give you, I wonder?"

Faramir felt himself turning red. "There is no need for that. It will be enough just to have you there."

"Nonsense. If nothing else, I must find some way to repay you for usurping your celebration." Boromir thought for a minute, then sat up straighter. "Ha," he said. "I have it. Just the thing." He downed the rest of the wine and stood up. "I am going in search of Father now," he said, "and then I shall arrange for your gift."

Faramir stood as well. "Tonight?" he asked. "It is dark, it is pouring rain, and Uncle Imrahil is to arrive later this evening."

"Then perhaps your gift must wait until tomorrow. But I will not wait to see Father."

As Boromir climbed the stairs that led to Denethor's study, he began to feel a strange sense of dread, as though his body felt that it was climbing to its doom. Unwittingly, his feet began to drag, and he climbed slower and slower. It seemed that the last three steps took all the courage and fortitude Boromir possessed to climb. Finally, he stood before the door, trying to pluck up the nerve to knock. It seemed such a simple thing, but Boromir could not bring himself to raise his hand. There was something unwholesome behind that door, and its presence made itself known even through a slab of good Lebennin oak.

This was ridiculous. Here he was, newly promoted, the bravest, youngest captain in Gondor's army, afraid to knock on a door. His Lord and father might well be in mortal danger while he cowered out in the anteroom. Boromir took a deep breath, stiffened his spine, and raised his hand against the overpowering sense of fear that radiated from the door of Denethor's study. Before he could knock, however, the door swung open and Denethor appeared. Boromir blanched as a wave of terror knotted in his gut. Quickly, Denethor shut the study door and swept his first-born into an embrace.

"Welcome home, big boy," he said. The use of his childhood nickname broke the awful spell that had frozen Boromir in his tracks, and he returned his father's embrace. Denethor smiled at him. "I apologize that I was not at the gates to welcome you home. I had pressing business I wished to complete so that I might spend the evening with you. You are home so rarely." He led Boromir down the stairs, away from the study and whatever awful thing was inside.

Now that he had his senses back, Boromir noticed that Denethor looked drawn and weary, as if he had been in a great battle. "You look pale, Father," he said. "Are you well?"

"I am perfectly well," Denethor replied. "I have not been taking much sun of late. The Shadow spreads over our land, and I must spend ever longer hours planning our people's defense."

It was not the full truth, and Boromir knew it. But he also knew that it was all that Denethor would tell him about the nameless terror that lurked in his study.

By the time Imrahil arrived with his entourage that evening, Boromir had already dismissed his strange experience at his father's door from his mind. Imrahil joined the family for dinner, regaling them with the latest news and gossip from the Swan Court. As he had done ever since Boromir and Faramir were little, he had brought them each a beautiful seashell. Boromir's was a delicately fluted scallop, while Faramir had an intricate speckled nautilus.

As soon as dinner was over, Denethor excused Faramir from the table so that he might begin his vigil. He was to remain alone, awake and fasting for a night and a day, contemplating the new responsibilities he was about to assume. "May your thoughts this night be productive, Faramir," Imrahil said. "I will come for you tomorrow afternoon to help you prepare for the ceremony." Faramir bowed and left the dining hall.

After he had left, the conversation turned to business matters. The lord who represented Dol Amroth in Denethor's Council was in failing health, and Imrahil had brought with him a young lord whom his father, old Prince Adrahil, wished to train as a replacement. "I do not believe that Lord Bardanor will drop dead in the Council chambers immediately," he said. "However, the time will soon be at hand when my father will recall him home to Dol Amroth, that he might spend his remaining years in the land of his birth. Between now and then, he will instruct young Lord Peredur in the ways of your Council, so that when Peredur must assume Bardanor's seat, the transition will be seamless."

"That is wise," Denethor said. "Is the young man here in Minas Tirith?"

"He is. He accompanied me on my journey expressly for the purpose of meeting you and being introduced to his new surroundings."

"Good. I will meet with this Peredur on the morrow. Should I find him acceptable, he may join Faramir in observation at the foot of the Council table."

Boromir chuckled at his father. "Already, Faramir has begun his service to Gondor," he said. "I see that you have not wasted a minute of his time."

"I am fully aware of the love and respect you bear for each other," Denethor said coolly. "I have no doubt that when you are Steward, Faramir will be your most trusted counselor. Therefore, it is only fitting that he should be thoroughly prepared for this duty. At present, he is an occasional observer only, but in time, I expect him to become a full and trustworthy member of the Council."

"I am sure Faramir will fulfill your every expectation in his own time," Imrahil said. "Now, by your leave, I will seek out Peredur and inform him that he is to meet with you tomorrow, and then I will take my rest. Tomorrow will be a busy day for all in the Citadel, and we would all do well to be fully prepared."

"Indeed, you are correct, Imrahil," Denethor said. "I will bid you a pleasant night's rest, and I will see you at tomorrow's festivities."

Boromir rose early the next morning to find that the rain had stopped. The morning was clear and crisp, and the White City shone in the sunlight. It was a perfect day for a festival, and an even more perfect day to go to the market in search of a gift for Faramir. After gulping a quick breakfast, Boromir hurried to the market, where he encountered his friend Mablung. Upon seeing him, Mablung drew himself to attention and saluted.

"Good morning, Captain," he said. "It is a fine day, is it not?"

"Indeed it is, Mablung," Boromir said. "But do not ruin it by saluting me now. There will be plenty of saluting after the formal announcement tonight, and I am sure I will be sick of saluting by then. We are on leave; let us spend these hours in pleasure. I am on my way to choose a gift for Faramir. Will you accompany me?"

Mablung nodded. "Ah, yes. Little brother is to become a soldier this year. Will he still accompany you to taverns, do you think, or will the thrill vanish now that he is an adult?"

"I do not know. Perhaps we should invite him after the ceremony and find out."

"A fine idea, Boromir. That is why you have been promoted so soon -- ever you come up with the finest plans."

Laughing, the two friends headed off into the bustle of the marketplace.

As the late afternoon sun gilded the White City, the great throne room in the Citadel began to fill with people. The guests wore their finest robes, richly dyed in brilliant colors, adorned with sparkling jewels and gleaming feathers. Officers of the army mingled with the crowd, their mail freshly polished and shining in the torchlight. On the benches nearest to the Steward's chair sat the families of the nine young lords who would be pledging their service to Gondor that night along with Faramir. Boromir took his place among them, eager for the ceremonies to begin.

At last, the trumpets of the heralds blared, the doors of the hall opened, and the people of Gondor stood to welcome their lord. Denethor swept down the aisle in the full regalia of a ruling Steward. His mantle of dark wool edged with sable just swept the ground, and the insignia of the White Tree gleamed in silver embroidery upon his tunic. In his hand he held the white rod of his office. When he reached the stone chair, he paused for a moment, turning to the West. Then he turned back to the crowd and, with a gesture, bade them be seated.

"Good people of Gondor," he began. "Ours is a proud nation, of long and mighty heritage, but it is not by books and records alone that this heritage is sustained. It is by the continuing service of the youth of this land that our nation endures. Today, we gather to celebrate that youth in all its pride and hope for the future.

"Even as the Shadow spreads across the lands of the South, still our country is kept secure. Ever does the challenge come: more and better captains are needed to lead our soldiers in their continuing defiance of the Dark Lord whose name we do not say. And ever does the noble blood of Gondor respond to such a challenge. Our officers strive to outdo each other in deeds of valor and glory. And this day, one among them stands above the rest. It is my great honor to make formal announcement of the promotion of Lord Boromir, in recognition of his feats of bravery and prowess at arms, to the rank of Captain of Gondor. Stand forth, Lord Boromir, and receive the honors due you."

Boromir rose and went to kneel before his father. A page stepped up bearing a box of wood. Denethor opened it and drew forth a great carcanet of gold and jewels, which he draped about Boromir's shoulders. "Bear this," he said, "as a symbol of both the glory and the weight of your new rank. For, while you are now elevated to the privilege of command, remember always that this privilege is dearly bought with great responsibilities. The decisions are yours to make, and the consequences of those decisions are yours to live with. Rise, Captain Boromir."

Boromir stood and faced the assembled crowd. When they burst into applause, he could not stop the proud smile that spread over his face. At Denethor's bidding, he remained by his father's side, ready to assist him in the next part of the ceremony.

The trumpets blared again, and the doors swung open. Ten fair young lords, all dressed in plain white tunics, marched down the aisle, accompanied by the relatives or family friends who were their sponsors. Boromir knew them all vaguely by sight, but he had eyes for only one; Faramir walked tall and proud next to Imrahil, his eyes shining with excitement. As they approached the dais, the double line of lords and sponsors stopped.

One by one, each young lord was presented to Denethor by his sponsor. As each lord knelt before the Steward, the sponsor handed a sword to Denethor, who offered the hilt to the lord. Denethor administered the oath of loyalty and raised the new soldier to his feet. Boromir then draped a black tabard over the white tunic. The emblem of the White Tree was embroidered in silver on the front of the tabard, and each young lord stood a little straighter wearing it.

When Faramir's turn to pledge loyalty came, Boromir thought he would burst with pride. He tried to remain as calm as he had while watching the other young lords take the oath, but he could not stop his smile from broadening as he looked at his brother's serious face. Denethor administered the oath to Faramir as calmly as if he were simply another high-born lad of noble lineage, and Faramir swore fealty to Gondor gazing hungrily into his father's impassive face. There was something about it that made Boromir feel sad inside.

When Faramir received his sword and came to stand before his brother, Boromir gave his shoulder an extra squeeze as he put the black tabard on Faramir. And finally, Faramir gave a smile that lit up the entire throne room.

There was a grand feast after the ceremony. Denethor made a speech about the new soldiers of Gondor and another long speech about Boromir. Boromir wished his father would stop talking, for he could see the ten young knights looking increasingly desperate. They had been fasting for a night and a day, and Boromir hated to see them being deprived of food any longer simply to listen to Denethor sing his praises. At last, Denethor finished his speeches, and the ten knights wasted no time tucking into plates heaped high with roasted meats and vegetables. Boromir waited until Faramir had eaten two plates full before daring to approach him.

"Now that you have taken the edge off your hunger, will you accompany me outside? I have something to show you."

Faramir nodded, took a last bite of roast chicken and followed Boromir out of the dining hall, pausing to grab a pear and an apple from a fruit tray on the way out. Without a word, the brothers crossed several courtyards, accompanied only by the sounds of their footsteps and of Faramir softly crunching his pear. When they had made their way to the stable yard, Boromir turned to Faramir.

"Uncle has furnished you with a fine sword," he said, "but there is something else you will need as a knight of Gondor." He turned towards the stable and waved. Faramir's eyes grew round as Mablung appeared out of the darkness leading a fine, tall chestnut mare. "There were horse traders from Rohan in the market today," Boromir explained. "She is of the finest lineage -- a proper gift for a son of the Steward of Gondor."

Mablung placed the mare's lead rope in Faramir's hands. The younger man approached the horse slowly and offered her his hand to sniff. She lipped delicately at his salty palm, and he offered her the apple, entranced. Mablung smiled at Boromir.

"Little brother has fallen in love, I think," he said. "I will return to the party now and leave the two of them to their private moment." And he headed off back to the Citadel.

Faramir ran a hand along the mare's neck underneath her mane, then turned and threw his arms around Boromir. "Oh, thank you, Boromir," he said. "She is beautiful."

"You deserve nothing but the best in all things," Boromir said.

"I have received such fine gifts today," Faramir said. "I have a new sword from Uncle, I have this beauty here from you . . . "

"What about Father? Has he found something suitable for you?" When Boromir had pledged his service, Denethor had bestowed the Great Horn on him. He wondered if there was an heirloom for a second son tucked away in a storage chamber somewhere in the Citadel.

"Oh yes," Faramir said happily. "At the feast, Father told me that he would have me attend as many of the Council meetings as I may, and he even said that I might offer my counsel to be heard. Is that not a grand gift?"

Boromir blinked in surprise. "He has increased your attendance at Council? I am sorry; I can only hope you are not too often lulled to sleep by its dullness."

Faramir put his head to one side. "I do not find the Council meetings so especially dull," he said. "And now that I am allowed to participate, I think they will be more interesting. And the best part is that if I have aught to add to the discussion, Father will listen to it. He will listen to me, Boromir."

Boromir looked into his brother's joyously shining eyes, and for an instant, he wanted nothing more than to throw something at his father. But he pushed such thoughts aside, smiled at Faramir, and put an arm around his shoulder. "That is indeed a wonderful gift," he said. "I think that in time, you will have much to add to the discussions, and when I am Steward, you will be my most valuable counselor."

"I will try my best," Faramir said seriously. The horse snorted, and Faramir brightened again. "I think I am still hungry. I will put Beauty here into her stall and then return to the feast. Will you go riding with me tomorrow? I would discover if Beauty is as swift as she looks."

"I will. I would not let my leave go to waste. I will meet you back at the feast." Boromir took advantage of his position as older brother to tousle Faramir's hair, then turned to walk back to the Citadel, allowing Faramir some private time with his new love.