Hi all, nearing the end now. I hope this chapter doesn't feel too rushed, endings are always the trickiest parts. Thanks to Agape4Gondor for the constant support :)

Chapter 54 - By the grace of the Steward

He dreamt of eagles.

In the East the sky was clear and a light breeze rose, as though stirred by the heavy beat of wings.

The bed sheets, when he became aware of them, were cool and soft. Faramir rubbed them between his fingers briefly, feeling soreness in the muscles of his arm as he did so and running his thoughts back beyond waking.

His hand went immediately to his side, feeling there for a wound but finding only thick bandages.

A noise made him aware that he was not alone, and he squinted into the sunlight streaming through the window.

Another figure lay on the other bed in the room, reading a document. Faramir could not see the man's face over the parchment, but the sighs that punctuated the reading were familiar. Despite his elation, it took several moments to speak for it felt as though he had inhaled all the smoke and ashes thrown out by Saruman's parting gift.

"Is it the letters or the pictures that trouble you?" he managed somewhat hoarsely.

Boromir's wonderfully familiar eyebrows appeared over the top of the paper, followed by eyes dark with feigned anger. "I would forgive you that, so glad I am to see you awake at last, if this paperwork was not your fault!"

His brother rolled himself off the bed, for he had been merely lying atop the sheets, and battered Faramir with a fond embrace.

"Do you know how many hours I have been patiently waiting here for you to awake when there are important decisions I should be making?" he asked.

Faramir considered, marking identical bandages to his own through Boromir's thin white shirt, and the lack of any other clothing in the room. "You are confined to the Houses too then?"

"They have taken my clothes, Faramir! My boots, my sword..."

Boromir bore many more cuts and bruises to his arms and face than when Faramir had parted from him the night before. He narrowed his eyes. "Despite you staying safe within the houses throughout the battle?"

"Bah," Boromir said, "You did not expect that of me else you would not have left my sword. But now what can I do? I cannot walk through the streets in just a shirt..."

"People might think you a ghost," Faramir said, and his mind drifted disconcertingly. He shook his head. "I did not think to see you standing here before me at his hour."

"It is no dream," Boromir replied, more serious now, sitting down upon the bed and meeting his gaze keenly. "Many things have passed this day but I am one lucky enough to come through it."

"The quest!" Faramir exclaimed suddenly, wondering how it could have taken him more than a moment to ask. "What of the quest?"

"Those keen wits have become dull indeed," Boromir teased, "does this look like Barad-dûr?"

Faramir slumped back against the bed, feeling the sunlight, hearing now the soft noises of busy people drifting in through the open window. "And Frodo and Sam?"

"I'm sure they will be able to tell you their story themselves, though I have not yet heard it myself, confined to this cell."

"And father?" Faramir asked it, though he knew the answer.

Boromir's jaw clenched, and he did not reply.

Faramir sought to sit up, propping himself against the bed head. "Did they tell you..?"

"They did," Boromir nodded, and his softening eyes told Faramir they had not be unjust in the retelling.

They were quiet then, listening to the noises outside. It sounded as though many of the soldiers would rather have tested their full strength against the invading forces than clean the resulting carnage from the streets.

"There will be much to tell," Boromir said at last, fingering the corner of the paper beside him and tearing it slightly.

Noise in the corridor interrupted their reflections and the room was suddenly alive with friendly voices and Hobbit shaped visitors.

"I told you," the first said.

"And I agreed," the second followed.

They seemed only to notice they had reached their destination when they had settled themselves on the ends of the beds, propping up their hairy feet, and looking around expectantly.

"There is two of them," Boromir said with flatly, his expression bemused.

"Pippin, son of Paladin," the Hobbit said, looking around and bouncing up and down slightly on Faramir's bed.

Merry, who had taken his place on the end of Boromir's, looked as though he was holding something back.

"So," Pippin began, examining the empty plate on the table by Boromir's bed with beady eyes, "we had an idea, that as the most important," he stressed the word, "Captains in the city, you could order some vittles for two hungry Hobbits..."

Merry coughed, as though the request had been too trivial to ask. "If it wasn't," he added, "too much trouble."

Boromir laughed deeply.

Faramir shook his head "Where is Aragorn?"

"He is too busy to bother with two hungry Hobbits."

"So you have not yet breakfasted?" Boromir asked.

"We've had one, yes," Merry said, and Pippin shot him a look.

In a sunlit room looking down upon the city a small hobbit looked down at his hands.

Sam did not yet truly believe the bright sun and cheerful room which he and Frodo shared. Not for the first time that week, he looked to the bed beside him to check Frodo still slept soundly.

His master's pale and drained appearance was not the only indication of their toils, and the white bandage around Frodo's hand still drew Sam's eyes, inspiring all the guilt his own weariness could afford.

He clenched his own hand into a fist, remembering the tearing sensation and Frodo's anguish when Sam had been forced to… had chosen to... strike out rather than allow their quest to be vain. It had been the right decision, he knew it well enough, and tiptoeing to the window and seeing the people of Gondor happy in their restored freedom confirmed it.

A cloud passed over the sun, shadowing the gardens below, and for a moment Sam saw again the tall figure of Radagast against a red sky, Nazgul and Eagles locked in combat above. He did not think he would ever forget the sight, and knew that when he returned to the Shire, when all was well once more, he would wake in the night to the cries of the Nazgul over Mt Doom.

But he had brought Frodo out of the fire. Perhaps that was all that mattered.

Legolas stretched his long legs and leaned his head back against the soft grass. Although he had not been of much use in the tasks that needed doing this day, he still relished this first moment of peace.

The smoke from Aragorn and Gimli's pipes drifted overhead, and passed out over the garden wall. The sky in the East was not dark, and a soft pink shone there, over the ruins of Barad-dûr and the fire mountain.

"This is the first moment I've rested my legs in many days," Gimli said contentedly.

Legolas narrowed his eyes. "While we were being hauled about by orcs you were feasting in the King's tent."

"I am not yet a King," Aragorn reminded them, speaking around the pipe in his mouth.

"I saw Frodo and Sam this morning," Gimli said. "They are looking much more like themselves after food and rest, but they are not quite willing to leave the comfort of their beds just yet."

Aragorn nodded. "Minas Tirith will require many repairs and the death count was high, though it might have been far higher. Let them wait in comfort while the city is renewed."

"That Radagast is a strange one," Gimli said. "He is even now closeted with Gandalf as they discuss their wizardish plans."

"I may have had quite enough of wizards for one journey," Legolas mused, not allowing himself to think too much on the previous days, "but Radagast is known to me. He dwells near to my own people, but he keeps to himself."

Legolas felt vibrations beneath him and opened one eye to see two dark-haired figures making their way across the gardens, one walking with a slight limp.

He drew himself up off the ground as they approached. It was strange to have spent so long in the company of one brother, and to know very little of the other. Today both were wearing sable cloaks and with their dark hair and grey eyes looked more alike than Legolas had seen.

He felt a stirring of unease at their formal appearance, and wondered whether the time had come to discuss the matter of Aragorn's kingship.

Faramir appeared so eager to see them, however, that Legolas' concerns were put aside for a moment. He gladly embraced the man, realising it had been strange to be apart after all they had endured together.

"How are you, my friend?" Faramir asked, eyeing the bandages spiralling up Legolas' arm.

"A little uncoordinated," Legolas returned easily. "You shall not find me testing my bow against Gimli's axe for some weeks."

"Do you know how many times I re-built your gates?" Gimli interrupted. "And this brother of yours," the Dwarf shook his head, "dragged us through all the alleyways and tunnels in this maze of a city."

"Good to see you again, master Dwarf," Boromir said, seeming a little ruffled by the familiar company and Gimli's manner.

"Aye, good indeed," Gimli nodded, softening his tone and looking fondly around at everyone gathered together again.

Legolas saw that Faramir looked a little tense now, eyeing Aragorn as he grasped Boromir's forearm in greeting. The Elf could hear the man's heavy breaths through his nose and could not help but notice the firmness of the grasp on both sides.

"Gondor owes you much, it seems," Boromir said after a small silence.

"There is no debt," Aragorn replied readily. "Forgive me for not staying longer at the houses when we first met."

"It is of no concern. The healers have set us free now, and we have been to Rath Dínen."

Both brothers seemed subdued by the memory, and Aragorn murmured his respects with feeling.

A quiet followed, and Gimli lifted himself to his feet. "Time for me to seek out some dinner," the Dwarf said, eyeing Legolas as though expecting the Elf to follow.

Legolas stayed where he was, wanting to hear the outcome of this discussion. Gimli frowned at him before taking his leave.

The unspoken question was in the air between them, and Legolas let his breath escape as Aragorn voiced it.

"Long ago," Aragorn said, "I promised your brother that if ever I entered the city, it would be by the will of the people and the grace of the Steward. I did enter it, upon you father's bidding and for your sake. Now you are Steward, and it is between us to decide the course of the future. I would know your mind."

Boromir turned, and paced a little. "I have met with the council, and despite all you have done they would not have me step aside."

"Brother..." Faramir's voice was low.

Boromir shook his head."Nay Faramir, I would be foolish to disregard advice without consideration."

Faramir's lips were pressed together, holding back a response, but after glancing to Aragorn he spoke again. "I do not question their loyalty, only that they are father's chosen, and that you yourself may have selected others to advise you."

"Much has changed in the last months. You were not here while we weathered the attacks from the East and South, ever increasing..." Boromir's eyes were dark at the recollection, and Legolas noted the muscles in his sword arm tighten.

Faramir paused, and seemed to consider carefully before speaking. "I was not here, but neither were you at the very end, and from what I have seen and read all was not well in the last days. It was not only father's mind that weakened beneath the shadow..."

"Do not speak ill of him, not now..."

"I do not, I only advise against accepting council that has already proved ineffective. What says our Uncle?"

Boromir paused and took a breath. "Imrahil bids me listen to council I trust, and do what I think is right."

Legolas watched the man carefully, taking in his pale face, but also his set jaw. Holding his own thoughts from spilling forth was difficult. After all they had come through to stand here in Tower of Guard, and at this late hour another battle could face them for Aragorn's right to rule.

"Do not make any decision now," Aragorn said softly, seeing also the palour of the new Steward's face. "Listen to your Uncle who has proven himself the truest of men, and seek wisdom from those you alone trust. If it eases your decision, know too that my own faith in the house of the Stewards cannot be diminished."

Something in Aragorn's words touched the Boromir, Legolas sensed, though he showed little sign and only looked over the walls, towards the sea.

"Stay here a while with your companions, Faramir," he said after some time, turning back to face them. His eyes seemed weary now. "I shall think alone for a time."

Faramir's expression was troubled as they watched Boromir walk back towards the tower, his limp more pronounced than previously.

"You look alike," Legolas said to fill the silence, "but are not so alike in temperament I think."

"It is difficult for him," Faramir said. "He does not know Aragorn as we do, and it is a great deal of trust to place in a stranger. Whatever decision he makes, he must feel that he has done right by the people."

"I believe he will," Aragorn said, and returned his pipe to his lips.

"You wait so patiently," Legolas said, watching smoke rings coil, "do you not yearn to send word to Arwen?"

"Arwen and I have waited many years, my friend. Another week will make little difference." His voice was steady, but his eyes told Legolas a different story.

"I will speak to him," Faramir said, perhaps seeing the yearning in Aragorn's eyes.

Faramir took his dinner with Eomer that night. He was not sure why he sought out the man of Rohan, except that they shared a common loss, father and uncle. They shared also the desire to sit quietly and forget, for a time, their new responsibilities.

After the meal they sat quietly by the open fire and Eowyn joined them, her hair shining deep gold in the firelight. She did not interrupt their silence, and the three watched the flames together late into the night.

Faramir left them after midnight, and took to Boromir's rooms. The chill air in the corridors shook him from his reverie, and by the time he reached his brother's rooms he felt more awake. He knocked softly in case Boromir was sleeping, but seeing candlelight shining beneath the door he entered.

He could see Boromir, dark against the night sky on the high balcony. Faramir had always known it might come to this, yet at the time his concern had been focused on his father's objections.

Though he did not turn, Boromir must have heard him enter. "Do you ask this of me, Faramir? To give up all my life was to be?"

Faramir came out on the balcony and stood beside him, looking down at the circles of the city as they had been wont to do in younger days. Out of the corner of his eye he examined Boromir's shadowed face, but could not read what was on his thoughts.

In his own mind, it was so clear. "Surely it is for all the more noble a duty," he said. "What might two mighty rulers could achieve together to unite the Kingdom!"

The people loved their Captain-general, but Aragorn had raised the banner of the King on the field of Pelennor, had brought with him an army to save the city. If Boromir chose to oppose Aragorn's claim the rift between them could tear Gondor apart.

"To serve as Steward beneath a King... it is not what I have been trained for."

"What is it you fear, brother? That your will would be subsumed under a rule you could not honour. I say to you that never was a man as just or true as Aragorn."

Boromir watched him long, and Faramir wondered whether his brother perceived the change in himself since they had last stood together on this balcony and looked East, the change that had come with the fall of the shadow and the prospect of peace.

"Answer me something," Boromir asked, and his grey eyes seemed almost black as he looked out into the night. "You travelled some time with the halflings... Did you... so easily turn away from that which they carried? Did not your thoughts turn to it at night, wondering if it was the one way to save all we hold dear?"

Faramir did not answer at once. "None who encountered it remained untested," he said at last, thinking back to the forests of Amon Hen, "but its shadow did not weigh on me after it passed out of my sight."

Boromir's head dropped slightly. "Only the faintest trace of the thing passed me by," he said, his voice filled with a self-loathing that pained Faramir to hear. "The glimmer of a hope that I might live to see it, yet even now I recall it haunting my dreams."

"You were ill, fevered." Faramir noticed that sweat had sprung up on Boromir's brow. "Even now you are sick, come inside."

He took Boromir's arm but his brother did not allow himself to be drawn in. "Nay, Faramir. I was ill but had I not been so.. Had I been free to pursue that which I knew was near..." He searched his brother's face. "You do not understand. You cannot."

"Do not blame yourself for wanting the best for our people. Had I not been sure our success did not lie in war I may too have been tested more sorely."

The line of Boromir's mouth showed he did not believe it. "And Aragorn?"

"I do not know," Faramir said.

After a time Boromir finally stood up with resolution, taking his weight from the balcony rail. He seemed more himself once more. "My mind is made up," he said sternly, "But it all depends on you, brother."

"How so?"

There was a steely glint in Boromir's eyes and Faramir braced himself for the decision, still unsure of his brother's mind.

"If you promise... that you will share the burdensome paperwork I will concede and let your ragged King take up his throne."

Faramir grinned, a great weight falling from him. Boromir was a proud man and it had not been easily done, but he was good humoured too, and a decision once made was kept.

"I will share your paperwork," he agreed. He gripped his brother's forearm with steady fingers as the other man grimaced good-naturedly at the thought of the dry work. "You never had a head for letters."

"I would not do this for any other, Faramir," Boromir said, suddenly serious again. "Let my trust in your judgement prove right."

Boromir proffered not only his status, Faramir knew, but the lives and hopes of all in Gondor. Had Faramir had less trust in Aragorn he might have wavered at this reminder, but he had no doubts and so turned to look out over the city, the wind in his hair.

"It is you for whom I grow concerned," Faramir said after a moment, with the hint of a smile. "What shall you do with yourself now that the enemy no longer threatens?"

"While you sit buried in correspondence from complaining farmers whose crops have burned, I shall make it my task to wipe the remainder of the enemy from our lands." Boromir's hand brushed upon his sword hilt, as though eager to begin at once. "Do not forget Minas Ithil. Surely the restoration of the two towers would appeal to your romantic ideals?"

"It would," he admitted with a smile, "and perhaps once I have rested awhile I might join you in an adventure or two."

"Nay, you must stay here and guard the back of your fabled King from scheming councillors. I shall not envy you that task, for they are as deadly as any goblin and one cannot simply go at them with a blade."

"I hope to one day return to Ithilien," Faramir said, more seriously. He looked to the South. "Perhaps," he said, "after the coming of Aragorn's bride."

"And tell me," Boromir said after a time, "Where is your own Elven bride? Surely some fair pointy-eared lass has attached herself to you?"

Faramir made a face, but he was more amused than annoyed by Boromir's provocation. He wondered how long that patience would last now that they were reunited, and smiled considering it.

"You may have wedded twenty times since I departed," he returned. "You should take care, a Steward of Gondor may appeal even more than a Captain-general."

Boromir snorted. "My sword and shield are all the company I require at present. Yet I did chance upon Eowyn of Rohan on my way here. A fitting wife she would make for a Steward. Slayer of the Nazgul King!"

Faramir had tensed at the name. He eyed his brother out of the corner of his eye, but Boromir gave no sign that he might be provoking a response.

"She is a lady high and valiant," he said softly and his eyes strayed to the burn on his forearms. The shape of the horse was still distinguishable there.

Boromir reached out to touch the brand. "Who did this?" he asked, he brow creased. "There is much more to your tale, brother, than you have told thus far."

He said nothing, remembering the smell of burning, but then Eowyn's cooling touch. The fear of fire no longer held him. It had passed with the destruction of the ring, like so much else.

Eowyn's fears may have passed also, but her Uncle had been lost on the field of Pelenor, and Aragorn was to wed another.

"It was necessary," he said, recalling the question.

He shifted his hands out of sight, and curled his fingers around the small white chess piece he still carried with him, the white lady.