What Went Unspoken
(A mostly Boromir "Lord of the Rings" fan fiction)
By: M. L. Wells
Prologue: A Shadow and Thought
Boromir stood to one side in the Great Hall, for once forgotten by his father and not in the center of Denethor's penetrating gaze. Faramir had indeed incurred their father's ire once more, and Boromir itched to break into the midst of their verbal brawl. Only years of military training and rigid willpower kept his body still and under control. Interfering in the fight now would only anger both parties; his father and his brother. He forced himself to wait, to see what might transpire if he let them continue. Faramir needed to feel that Boromir trusted him to be strong enough to fend for himself. In truth, Boromir trusted no one more. It was the Steward – their own father – that he began to doubt.
Denethor was shrewd and intelligent, but all too proud. He had once been as excellent a Steward as any in his line before him, but he was crumbling beneath the bleak terror to the East, sure to strike in their immediate future. And Boromir sensed that something else clouded Denethor's sense of late; he was even more unreasonable, harsh, distrusting, and malicious. Boromir did not know what had so changed this powerful man who had sired, but he had learned to be wary of his father, despite his love and fealty to him. And he was ever more watchful of the Steward's interactions with Faramir.
When Finduilas, their mother, had died, Boromir had still been but a child himself, yet he had already noticed how his mother clung to life to nurture her darling Faramir, as though she had to protect him. And while the painful loss of their mother had banded the souls of the two brothers as close as two people could be to one another, it had strangely distanced their father from his youngest. A savage fire burned in his eyes when they rested on Faramir, and Boromir could not understand it. Never had a son been more noble and good, more learned and true, and more desperate to earn a father's love than Faramir. And yet, he could not garner even a scrap of what Denethor lavished upon his eldest so freely.
Shaking these familiar, circling thoughts from his head, Boromir trained his ears back to the words echoing in the room. If he were honest with himself, this subject troubled him far more than he wished to admit. He had begun to see the same visions Faramir spoke of to their father, and he feared that they spoke of destruction. A trip to Imladris…dwarves, elves, and Halflings…and something else. Something that he could to see, but that was so tempting in its base evil and power that it tormented him even in sleep.
His father still refused to hear Faramir's words. "I will listen to no more of your insipid fears and wild fancies, nor consider your ramblings on wizards and elves. You talk of nothing and want only a way to desert your post in Ithilien!"
"Father," his brother's voice was quiet and controlled, yet the hurt Boromir knew Faramir hid within that calm made tears nearly spring to his own eyes. He knew that he would have lashed out in anger against such an accusation, and marveled again at his sibling's quiet grace…it was not something Faramir had learned from him. Again, he stamped down his own retort and forced himself to allow Faramir to fight his own battles without interference. "How can you doubt me so?" Faramir was saying. "When have I ever betrayed you to deserve such mistrust and hatred?"
"Only when you speak cowardice to shirk your duty!" Denethor roared, his anger fully roused.
At that, Boromir jerked forward, leaping headlong into the fray he could avoid no longer, and stepping to his brother's side. "It is not a foolish whim he speaks of, but real warning. No one will impugn my brother's honor…nor doubt his valor." His voice was low and taut, dangerously so, and the anger now flashing in his eyes fully matched his father's.
Yet Boromir hesitated a moment to speak the last words lingering on his tongue. The visions in his own dreams had shaken him, and resembled the ones Faramir had told him of numerous times before. Of Isildur's Bane and a Quest to challenge the Dark Lord. He was a part of this Quest, and so was Isildur's heir. He swallowed and there was a tremor running through him that he forced from his voice. "He has not created this dream from nothing! In the last two nights, I have seen the things he speaks of."