Boromir stared at the dagger, contemplating how he
would reveal Faramir's revelation to their father. Without the silver
dagger, the steward would have denounced Faramir's disclosure as pure
speculation, refusing to believe a Swan Knight's honor was
questionable. Now with the evidence in his hand, Denethor had no
choice but to listen to his son.
"We shall wait in the Great Hall," Boromir stated, tucking the
dagger beneath his belt. "If a Swan Knight is behind the slayings in
Ithilien, the Steward and council must be made aware. I shall speak
with Father concerning this matter."
"Brother," Faramir groaned, rolling his eyes at Boromir's
suggestion. "I appreciate your concern. However, it is not necessary."
Clasping a hand on Boromir's broad shoulder, Faramir smiled with
reassurance. "Tis true, Father and I often disagree but never have I
wavered in my duties." The smile disappeared as quickly as it had
appeared. "I dread telling Uncle. When this is revealed, the Swan
Knights' reputation will be tainted forever."
No words could have been truer. Imrahil, leader of the Swan Knights
would take the news hard. A glance at his brother and Boromir
contemplated speaking to Imrahil himself but thought better of it.
Though he commanded the Gondorian armies, Faramir commanded Ithilien.
Never would he consider intervening in his brother's affairs.
"Speak with uncle, alone," Boromir suggested, offering his
experience in dealing with their uncle. Imrahil hated surprises,
especially those that concerned the Swan Knights and Dol Amroth. "He
should be made aware before the council learns of your discovery."
"That is my intention," Faramir answered, listening to the bells
chiming in the noon hour. "Though I have been unable to see him.
Father and uncle remain in conference until two hours more."
"We have a few hours yet," Boromir placed his arm around his
brother's shoulders. "Come. My quarters are prepared. A bottle of wine
requires my attention."
"Should I inquire where you got such a bottle?"
"Nay brother, to answer would require information I refuse to
disclose, even to you. There are a few secrets I wish to remain mine."
-----------------------------------------
Inside a crowded tavern, on the fifth level, Berethond sat alone
drinking from a mug of ale relaxing and enjoying the atmosphere.
Soldiers, many he had not seen in years, mixed with the locals, shared
stories of war and conquest.
He lifted the mug to his lips, cringing at the horrible off-key
song several drunken soldiers attempted to sing.
"Orcs in heat create better music," observed a new voice standing
next to his table. Berethond lifted his eyes and found his Lossarnach
counterpart staring down at him. "Greeting Berethond. How fare things
in Osgiliath?"
"As always, not enough supplies, men and equipment," Berethond
answered, motioning with his hand for the captain to sit down. "What
brings you to the taverns, Lūthron? When in Minas Tirith, one would
expect to find you sniffing behind Arthōn's robe."
"Always quick with the insults, Captain," the Lossarnach captain
stated as he dragged a chair from a nearby table and dropped into it.
"Arthōn is Lord of Lossarnach. You would do well to remember."
"Arthōn is Lord Forlong's kinsman, thus the reason the pampas ox
bears the title," Berethond retorted, wiping away the ale from his
upper lip. "Temporary, lord at that."
"Nay, my friend, the foreseeable future," Lūthron replied with
assurance. "The family tragedy Lord Forlong's wife suffered has
prolonged. Such sadness for the lady. With no male heir to make claim
to the inheritance, Lord Forlong must remain to settle the estate. His
return is not anticipated for several months. Thus Forlong requests
Arthōn to retain his lordship upon his return."
"Why speak this news to me? Lossarnach concerns me not."
Lūthron heaved a heavy sigh. "Enough with the pleasantries. I seek
your help."
"Why should I grant such a request?" Berethond asked, watching the
man suspiciously. Something was amiss. Lūthron never wanted anything
without a price.
"Persuade the captain-general to ease restrictions on my garrison
and Lord Arthōn will repay the favor and aid your request for
Osgiliath."
Berethond straightened in his chair, finally understanding the true
reason behind the visit. Two months ago, a visiting envoy had been
ambushed in Lossarnach, though the victims could not identify their
hooded attackers, Boromir suspected several senior officers in the
Lossarnach garrison, including Lūthron, who had acquired unexplained
wealth. With no proof, the war council, under the captain-general's
persuasion, ordered every captain in Gondor's military to keep
detailed financial accounts until further ordered.
"Convince the captain-general to change his mind? Teaching a warg
to fly would have better odds," Berethond snorted, remembering
Lūthron's outburst during the war council's meeting. Though many
captains objected, Lūthron's voice had been the most vocal. The knight
shook his head. "Disagree or naught, the financial report boast
Osgiliath's claim for much needed finances. The captains from
Ithilien, Dol Amroth, and Cair Andros will support me in this matter."
"Very few. Have you knowledge of the other fiefdom captains?"
"It matters not. Lord Boromir's word is law. Move against him is
treason."
Silence drifted between the two men as Lūthron studied the patrons
inside the tavern. "Reconsider the offer," the Lossarnach captain
suggested, returning his attention back to his counterpart. With a sly
grin, Lūthron added, "Decline and regret your decision."
"You dare threaten me?" Berethond snapped, climbing to his feet to
confront the man. With the council meeting hours away, he needed an
excuse to release his pinned-up anxiety.
"Peace." Lūthron held up his hand, halting the knight from striking
him. "Would evidence proving Madril lied concerning your brother's
fate change your mind?"
Berethond stared dumbfounded, unable to vocally respond to
Lūthron's claim. Slowly Berethond returned to his seat, unsure what he
felt.
"Change our captain-general's mind and the evidence is yours,"
Lūthron vowed before leaving the tavern.
Berethond watched the man leave the tavern, contemplating Lūthron's
tempting offer. For years, his fight for justice had been in vain, and
now without trying, it falls in his lap. However, he now faced a
challenging dilemma. Was revenge worth the price if it meant risking a
lifelong friendship?
His dilemma was forgotten when an esquire rushed into the tavern,
calling his name. A soldier pointed the young boy in his direction and
Berethond waved the esquire to his table.
"Sir, a dispatch from the lieutenant," the young boy stated,
saluting the superior officer before giving a sealed letter to
Berethond. "My instructions were to deliver the message with haste and
urgency. Once you have read the letter, I am to await your orders."
Berethond opened the letter and started reading. His lieutenant's
words scribbled in such haste it took Berethond a few minutes to read
the message. "Go to the citadel. Report to Lord Boromir," the knight
ordered, climbing to his feet as he folded the letter. "Inform the
captain-general that I have business in Osgiliath. If all goes well, I
shall return before the council meeting and reveal all."
"Aye sir," the escort again saluted before leaving the tavern to
obey Berethond's order.