Clouds

(scene stands alone, no sequels)

   Clouds passed by, conveying the sense of peace and tranquillity in a world that went farther and farther away from it. Standing high on the Tower of Ecthelion and watching the world change, the eldest son of the steward flinched with regret. He knew the storm would come. It would rip apart what was left of Gondor. It would sweep away armies across the Rammas. It would kill and burn and leave people frightened and dying. His gloved hands gripped the stone tight, and wind played with his hair, cooled his hot face. He had lost the argument with his father; he would leave and Faramir, his beloved brother and the more educated and calmer man, would stay to defend Gondor’s people. He had said that he did not even know where to find this Rivendell, a place in the myth of some old wood. How should he know where to ride and how to represent Gondor’s interests by other means than his sword? However, the steward had never wavered, had never even listened to his plead. He did not trust Faramir with the most important task to find out about the secret weapon someone in Rivendell might hold. He just wanted it. And the war-hardened son would leave to find it and to make it serve Gondor’s ultimate need: to survive the next attack. And the next. To exist long enough to make the enemy’s army crumble to dust.

   It was a vain hope. They had seen the numbers. They could estimate how many foul creatures lay hidden in the mountains beyond their reach. It was hard to defend and maintain Osgiliath. But once Osgiliath would fall there was no predicting what would happen next. He feared the outcome. He feared that no captain and no army would stop the marauding hordes. Even if they lacked weapons they would overwhelm them by numbers. By sheer force of manpower. The defenders of the White City were used to fight skirmishes, but there would be no more single fights. There would be war. He could smell it, and he feared it.

   Boromir gripped the stone one last time, then abruptly turned and went down to where his horse waited. It would be long ride and he hoped it would not be a vain one. He glanced back over his shoulder to where the white stone reflected the sun. He sent a prayer out to the gods to help him return to do what he was born to do: fight the enemies of Gondor with his sword.

Word count 425