Chapter 5 ~ Council
Faramir had summoned his sons and his chief commanders and gathered them together to discuss the situation. Belecthor was ordered to wait out in the hall; he would be called when his input was needed.
Sitting on a bench in the cold hall held no appeal for Belecthor, but he understood his grandfather’s reasoning and waited patiently, straining his ears to the limit in an attempt to hear what was being said. But only muffled sounds reached him and he was forced to sit back and wait patiently.
~*~*~*~
"My Lords," Faramir began, motioning for silence, "I have summoned you here to decide what is to be done about a warning we have just received. The source of this information has been revealed to be unconfirmed, but the information itself could be of vital importance to the continuance of life as we know it here today."
A murmur ran through the room but ceased as Faramir again motioned for silence. "It is believed that we are called upon by the King himself, to aid him in defending Gondor against an invasion of the South." Once more the room was overrun with whispering and murmuring, but Faramir rapped on the table, regaining order. "Again, I tell you that this information is unconfirmed, but nevertheless, it is my decision that we should send aid."
~*~*~*~
Out in the hall Belecthor heard raised voices and confusion, but over them all his grandfather’s voice could be heard, muffled and unintelligible though it was. He hoped things were not getting out of hand.
~*~*~*~
Confusion took hold of the room. Commanders shouted their questions in an attempt to be heard over other commanders and men rose from their chairs; all that was accomplished was a few moments of unorganized, mass confusion. But order was brought to the room as Erinmir, heir of Faramir, rose and raised his arm for silence. "My Lords, please," he shouted over them all, "calm yourselves and be patient. All questions will be answered before this council is dismissed."
At last all noise ceased and the Steward was able to continue. "Now, I know that many of you are wondering where this information was received and how we came upon it. I can tell you only that a messenger of the King was found wounded and dying in the forest; I can give you no details as I was not there." He paused before continuing. "However, I realize that you are overcome with questions and I call upon you now to inquire as you will. I shall attempt to answer you as best I can."
He resumed his seat and indicated the first man to rise. "My Prince," the commander said upon rising with a slight bow, "I wish to know on what grounds you have decided to send aid when no threat has been confirmed. Could we not simply send a messenger and have him bring us news before mustering an army and sending them away from home with no clear idea of why?"
A murmur of assent rumbled through the room, but was stilled as Faramir began speaking. "Think for a moment. A messenger was sent by the King to us, or so we assume. Let us, just for the moment, say that, indeed, the messenger was sent by the King and the South was attacking. It would seem foolhardy to send yet another single messenger alone along the same road as before, as he, too, would no doubt be set upon by the same enemy that has brought about the near end of the other young man’s life." He paused. "I would sooner muster the army and send them off on an unknown mission, than send one man to do a job that another could not.
"And," he continued, "should Gondor be under attack and Elessar asks our aid, what would be his reaction when only one man arrives. He would be expecting an army to help him, but what he would receive would be a single man that must ask a simple question, ride all the way back here to tell us the answer, and then we muster the army and ride all the way back. It is madness. It would be a much better idea to send a large number of men to ask the same question. If the rumor be false, what have we lost but a small amount of money? If the rumor be true, then the army is already there and ready to go to their aid. Then we have lost nothing and gained only time, and time is the essence of all in a game such as this." So saying, he relaxed back in his chair and motioned for the next question.
~*~*~*~
Belecthor sat impatiently in the hall, would his information never be needed? The council had seemed to grow heated for a moment, but then his grandfather’s cool voice could be heard once more, only this time it lasted much longer. He crossed his legs and leaned his head back against the wall. Time seemed to drag.
A guard walked down the hall and bowed slightly to the young prince sitting dejectedly in the hall. "Good morning, my Captain," he said as he passed.
"Good morning, Ostoher," Belecthor answered, recognizing the face of one of his own men. "Ostoher," he called after a moment; the young man halted and turned toward his commander.
"Yes, my Captain?"
"Have you any word of when we shall again be sent out?"
"No, my Lord. I was informed that you were on holiday with your family, and we would be posted here at the palace for sometime. Therefore, I volunteered to fill in for a guardsman who has taken ill."
"Is the job not wearying?"
"A trifle, my Captain," the young man replied with a smile. He had heard about the year when Belecthor had been posted as a guard of the palace by his grandfather, who had felt that it would steady the boy somewhat. "But it is better than sitting around at home with no way to use my time."
"Have you neither wife nor kids, Ostoher?" Belecthor asked with a smile.
"No, my Captain, I am only in my nineteenth year."
"So young?"
"Yes, my Captain. You do not disapprove, do you, my Lord?"
"No, Ostoher, of course not. I myself was in the military in my nineteenth year, but I have seen you fight in battle and at practice, and your skill is that of a soldier twice as old as yourself."
The young man flushed slightly with pride. "Thank you, my Captain," he said, bowing and removing his helmet.
"But do not let me keep you from your job," Belecthor said as voices were once more raised in the room across the hall. "I thank you for your time, it has made the weary task of waiting so much easier for me. Farewell."
"Farewell, my Lord."
The young man took a step back, replaced his helm upon his head, and continued on down the hall. Belecthor settled himself back against the wall and closed his eyes. He hoped the council was over soon, he was not made to sit idly in the hall. Already he could feel Celebros’ muscles rippling beneath him and hear the rustle of leaves as they tore through the forest. He was made for action.
He rose suddenly as he heard the door across from him open. His uncle Celvandil stood there. "You are summoned, Belecthor," he said, stepping to the side of the door.
"Thank you, uncle," Belecthor said, rising and entering the council room. He smirked, remembering the first time he had been in this room. He had accidentally smashed an expensive vase of flowers standing upon a table, and thus was banished from the room for some time afterwards. But that had been when he was still a child; his entire life had changed since then.
He heard the doors shut behind him and bowed to his grandfather. "Belecthor, my boy," Faramir said with a smile, "these men would like to hear what you told me last night."
Belecthor heaved a great sigh and steeled himself for a long session of questions and answers. He was not meant to be a diplomat or a prince. His was a life in the army, and he wanted no other. With a deep breath he began his tale.
~*~*~*~
"My Lords," Faramir said at last, rising from his seat, "I believe we are all in agreement. Aid shall be sent to King Elessar. All in favor say ‘yea.’" The room reverberated with the reply. "All opposed say ‘nay.’" Only the sound of a commander clearing his throat broke the silence. "Very well," Faramir continued, "this council is adjourned. Belecthor, you may go."
With a sigh of relief, Belecthor bowed to his grandfather and practically fled the room. After being left in the hall for the morning and shut in a small council room half the afternoon, with only a short break for food and drink, he needed to feel the wind on his face and the prancing of a fiery steed beneath him. At last, he was free.