Once the brothers and guards arrived in Minas Tirith, Boromir rode straight through the city to the Citadel and the Houses of Healing. He left Faramir in the leave of the Warden of the Houses of Healing, while he went to tend to his horse. Faramir had shot him a pleading look just before Boromir left that clearly displayed his displeasure at being left alone with the wretched warden.

   Boromir had almost chuckled, but he had held himself in check and said, "I must go and alert Father of our return, but I will be back soon. Do not worry."

   Faramir cast one more pleading glance over his shoulder as he was led, stumbling, away.

After Boromir had seen to his horse he went up to his rooms to bathe and don fresh clothing. He gathered his thoughts, and finally decided it was time to face his father.

   Boromir walked purposely down the long corridors to the throne room, still trying to think of what he would say to his father when he saw him. Even Boromir had no idea why Faramir had done what he had, and Boromir knew not what to say about it.

   Arriving at the doors of the throne room he took a deep breath before entering with a small nod to the guards.

   Denethor straightened and snapped out of his trance-like state at once. He smiled and stood to embrace his son.

   "There is my first-born! He has come back successful from his first campaign."

   Boromir smiled wryly and returned his father's embrace.

   "Come, my son. You must tell me of all that happened." Denethor urged, beckoning Boromir to sit down upon a chair that had been placed beside his own.

   "Now is not the best of times, Father. I promised Faramir I would visit him later, and inquire of his health. I merely came to tell you that we had returned." Boromir said, stopping his father cold.

   "Faramir." He muttered. The he asked menacingly, "What has the boy done this time?"

   Boromir stood in quiet shock, his mouth gaping. Did his father not already know of what Faramir had done? Did he not know he had been gravely injured?

   "Faramir rode to battle with us. He was injured." Boromir said, regaining his composure. "My apologies, my lord. I thought you knew."

   For a moment Boromir thought he saw a look of concern in Denethor's eyes, but it disappeared almost as soon as it came. Denethor waved his hand.      "Of course I knew. That is why I sent for you to return. I could not have that fool of a brother of yours casting a bad reflection upon my name in front of the troops."

   Boromir lowered his eyes and set his mouth into a thin line, trying to quell his anger. Finally he asked, "May I take my leave, Father?"

   Denethor seemed lost in thought, but he jerked upwards when Boromir spoke. "Of course. Go and prepare yourself for a welcoming feast tonight."

   Boromir nodded, bowed,  and left the room.