Untitled - BoG-Archive

The brothers emerged from the Tower just then. After they had wished
Mithrandir a good Yestarë, Faramir hesitantly addressed Denethor. "Father, I was
thinking – as tomorrow is a holiday – perhaps Mithrandir might dine with us?"
Mithrandir glanced at Denethor, trying to read whether his good humor
persisted. Denethor’s face remained impassive, but he inclined his head and
answered, "Very well."
The silver chime struck the half-hour, reminding them that it was time they
were abed. The small party started toward their respective lodgings, which lay in
the same direction. Rather surprisingly, Boromir hung back with Mithrandir,
allowing Faramir and Denethor to walk on ahead side by side.
Perhaps Boromir too was affected by the mood of the night. Perhaps the
lateness of the hour loosened his tongue. Or perhaps he had drunk too much
wine, though that seemed unlikely. Whatever the reason, Mithrandir would later
remember this as one of the greatest moments of openness between him and
Denethor's elder son.
"I am glad to see peace between them again," Boromir confessed in a rush,
looking after his father and brother. "Their discords are slower to mend than they
once were." Then, as if feeling he had spoken too freely, he looked away, fixing
his gaze on the White Tree. Mithrandir waited patiently, saying nothing.
After a few seconds' pause, Boromir spoke again. "When I was a child, I
wondered sometimes why no one took the White Tree away, for it was dead. But
when my mother died, I came to understand why they left it here – as a reminder
of how things once were, for it makes the loss seem less complete. The people of
Gondor keep this tree as a symbol of the days of the kings, just as Isildur planted
it to remember his brother Anárion." He looked again to where Faramir and
Denethor walked, and Mithrandir knew that he wondered if he too would be left
one day with only memories of a brother. Boromir sighed. "They fought against
Sauron and believed him destroyed, but he returned, and he will never be
satisfied until we are destroyed...."
Mithrandir risked laying a hand on the young man's shoulder. "We are
none of us granted to know the future," he said gravely. "Even those gifted with
what is called foresight only see small glimpses, and dimly at that. But that is as
much a blessing as a curse, for it gives us hope. Let us hope that Gondor may
know peace one day soon."
Boromir nodded, seeming to pull himself together, as if he had only just
realized to whom he had been speaking. "That is easy to do on such a night as
this," he returned with a half-smile. His guard was up again; there would be no
more confidences tonight.
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