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Isabeau's Drabbles
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The Blasted Bridge

A birthday double drabble for Raksha. She wanted Faramir being a clever commander, if I recollect.


Four times the wagon teams had strained mightily in their traces, but the bridge still stood. The workmanship of our ancestors will be our ruin here today, Boromir thought desperately.

Suddenly, Faramir appeared beside him. “This isn’t working, Boromir.”

“I know that!” the Captain-General snarled as he watched more of his men die. “Have you got a better idea?”

Undaunted, Faramir said, “Actually, I do. I sent for someone who can help.”

Boromir turned and to his surprise saw his young cousin Amrothos, pale as whey at his first sight of battle but with a determined set to his jaw. A pile of small kegs stood behind him. Hope bloomed in the Captain-General’s heart.

“Can you drop the bridge, ‘Rothos?” he asked.

Amrothos surveyed the structure thoughtfully, then nodded. “Faramir and I can swim out and set the charges, but you’ll have to cover us.”

“The Rangers will see to it, cousin,” Boromir assured him. Amrothos nodded again and started setting his fuses.

The Captain-General drew his brother aside. “How did you-”

“I heard he’d come to Minas Tirith. I thought you might need him.”

Boromir’s eyebrow lifted. “Another one of your dreams?”

Faramir smiled. “No, just my common sense.”


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