The SonMature

It wasn't long before it became clear that our Steward was to join the rest of his fathers in madness. Rumors from the West had claimed his ears and the whole city came out to send off his beloved son. He was to go to the Elves, to retrieve the Ring and stop the blood of our people becoming further fodder for the animals. My husband, however, had a sombre look in his eyes. I brushed his cheek lightly, causing him to look down at me. As always, his face softened. His friends would often say that I was the only one to tame this Captain of the Guard, so fierce he was in battle, yet with me, he was gentle, a poet. 

"What is it? Something bothers you." 

"I would be happy if it were not for the shadow in my heart. I fear that no good will come of Boromir's parting. I fear war will find us before the end." 

"Come now," I pulled him away from the crowds "We have always weathered the fiercest battles, you and I. And now we have our son. Farnir will need his father." 

He smiled at the baby asleep on my shoulder. 

"I won't be parted from you." 

"Nor I you, now, lets get this one to bed." 

He laughed slightly but I still saw the worry in his eyes. It was the same worry he had every time he left for his duties, the fear that our Steward would fail to call us to arms in time, the fear that one day, the Enemy would attack and that he would not be there to protect his family. 

The weeks passed much as we could expect. Whilst the younger son of the Steward succeeded in some battles, no celebrations were held for him. The Steward's mind was fixed on a small band of gold. Rumors grew. Isenguard had abandoned the cause and was now allied with the Enemy. And then, the Horse Lords, our allies, barely holding off the attack. Ordinary folk began to avoid the streets at dusk. There was an air of anticipation in the air. Rumors of Black Riders and the Grey Wizard, fallen to darkness. Still we waited. 

And then the news broke. Boromir had fallen, slain by the orcs and Uruk'hai, far from our lands. The White Tower would not welcome him home again. Our city mourned for him and feared for our safety as the call went up. The Enemy was at the River, his eye fixed on our White Tower. 

Still the Steward remained silent. 

The End

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