A Man

Denethor considered the words of his sons’ dreams once more. He was quite sure he was not mistaken. He knew of what they dreamt! Even Faramir, as well versed as he believed himself to be in ancient lore, had not fully understood the significance of Isildur’s Bane. The Steward struggled to control the frisson of excitement that snaked down his back. It would not do to get too anxious.

Long had he bemoaned the lack of succor for his army in the fight against Mordor. Well trained they were, yet steadily they were pushed back, now barely holding Osgiliath. Mordor’s armies would soon be upon them here in the City, and then the whole of the army would not suffice! But Isildur’s Bane … this would change the direction of the winds! Here was the means to push back Sauron’s armies. It was nearly within his grasp.

Both his sons had argued for the duty of reporting to Rivendell to seek counsel. Although Faramir had indeed been visited by these dreams many times, Denethor did not truly consider him for the task. The traveler would arrive in Rivendell representing Gondor, Minas Tirith, and the Steward. Boromir was the only proper choice. He was commanding in appearance as well as spirit. He would be heard and respected. Faramir’s quieter demeanor was not what was needed. Leadership, authority, and strength would arrive in Rivendell. Boromir would do his duty and do it well. And he would bring home the means to victory. Of this, Denethor was certain.