A Different Kind of Dream
Author: Karigan Rohanna (ladyofgondor@diaryland.com)
Feedback: Greatly desired and appreciated.
Written: July 2nd, 2003
Summary: Nightmares plague the man of Gondor in Lothlorien, but he can find no solace in the answers he is given.
Warnings: PG-13; aNgSt
A/N: Part Two of the Fic Circlet "Ties that Bind". Read also "Bittersweet Tears" and "The Circle is Breaking". For Sarah, and her Faramir muse.

Boromir screamed. No one had ever heard the man of Gondor scream in anything but rage before. But these were not screams of rage-- they were of terror, of longing, of pain... on and on his voice was raised in the terrifying sound. The hobbits, who had never feared him before, could not stay in his presence. He stared at the wall with eyes that did not see, and his voice echoed through the trees in fear and grief disbelieving.
In the end, it was Aragorn who shook him to wakefulness. Slapping the other man across the face, Boromir woke, and the scream within died, reduced to a single last mutter. It was only then that Aragorn realized he had been screaming a word-- nay, not a word, a name. Faramir.
Boromir did not speak, but simply gathered his possessions, as if he was to leave, and left the place he had been sleeping, and stalked alone the borders of his resting place in Lothlorien. His head was bent, and he would not speak when addressed to.
Hours passed. Boromir seemed two people-- one moment he was grieving, almost disbelieving, empty and weary, barely able to lift his feet to walk; the next moment, full of anger, his eyes mistrustful, casting sharp glances at all who dared be in his line of sight, unable to keep himself still.
No one said anything. No one knew what to say.
No one had ever seen Boromir so upset before.
No one knew why.
Even Aragorn dared not do more than keep his guesses to himself, and he did not share his thoughts with any others.
Finally, Pippin dared creep near enough Boromir to speak, when Boromir's mood was quiet once more, and seemed to be willing to stay in the quiet mood. He sat just out of Boromir's line of steps, and as the man of Gondor passed, he stopped, seeing the hobbit.
"Is everything all right?" Pippin asked quietly, though he knew it wasn't.
"No." Boromir said restlessly, looking away from the worried face of the young hobbit. "No, its not."
He walked past then, and would say no more. But Pippin waited, knowing Boromir would return to speak to him, when whatever it was was better.
He waited two hours.
Boromir finally dared pass the youngest hobbit once more. When he reached Pippin, he sat down in the grass and looked the little one in the face.
"Can you talk about it now?" Pippin asked softly.
Boromir nodded.
"Was it a bad dream?" Pippin asked, heartened a little.
Boromir's face was contorted with deep, painful thought a moment before he nodded. "You might call it that."
"We all have bad dreams. " Pippin said in what he hoped was encouraging tones. "What happened?"
Boromir's face seemed drawn and pained for a long moment, and for some time he did not speak. Finally, very quietly, he spoke. "I have told you of my brother, Faramir. He is the prophet and the dreamer among us-- he first it was who had the dream... sometimes I think I only had it because I heard about it so often..." Boromir swallowed heavily. "In my dream, Minas Tirith was under siege... and Faramir had led his troops to the field of battle. I was upon the walls of the city, waiting for his return. His soldiers were less than a third of their number... and Faramir..." His voice broke. "...Faramir was born in under the banner of Dol Amroth, in the arms of my uncle, Imrahil... lifeless..."
Boromir was crying.
Pippin had never seen Boromir cry before.
He hadn't known humans cried.
Boromir mastered himself, brushing away the tears with a hand that was almost angry. "I am sorry... I just fear for my brother... I should not have... reacted so... I... I dislike not being able to know he is safe..."
Pippin crawled closer to Boromir and put an uncertain hand on his arm. "We all cry." He said, having concluded if Boromir could cry, anyone could.
"Men of Gondor do not cry over dreams..." Boromir muttered, looking down at the child sized hand on his arm. "...I do not cry over dreams..."
"Lady Galadriel can tell you whether or not it is a dream." Pippin said simply. "If it is not, you should not be ashamed to cry... even if it is... it is a very bad one."
Boromir looked up into the childish face. Not even ten years were between them, yet Pippin was infinitely more childish, more innocent... perhaps more wise. "You think so?"
"Strider says she is wise." Pippin said. "Do you believe the things Strider says?"
Boromir did not answer, not right away. His head bowed in thought, and he bit his lip, deep in thought. "And you think if I asked to see her, she would give me answers? I am told elves answer Yes and No to most questions."
"I think you should try." Pippin said, taking his hand off Boromir's arm. He got up. "I'm tired of sitting." He said, walking away, leaving Boromir alone in the grass, with his disconcerting thoughts.

The lady Galadriel made Boromir nervous. He did not know what it was. But she seemed to look straight into his soul when she stared into his eyes with deep blue oceans of color that reflected stars that were not always shining in the sky above. They were now though, a brilliant scattering of light across the velvet of the night sky-- Boromir had never seen stars in such color before... but he had never been so close as he was standing before the lady and her husband.
"You wished to see me." Galadriel said quietly. It was a statement, not a question-- the kind Denethor offered when interrogating someone... usually Faramir...
The thought of Faramir sent Boromir's heart racing in panic. He couldn't get the images of the dream out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. Faramir's pale face, the pain on Imrahil's features...
He broke his thoughts off. "Yes." Boromir said, keeping his eyes to the white floor. He knew if he could have seen through it, the floor of the forest would have been hundreds of feet below... he suddenly felt glad he could not see it. It wasn't as if heights bothered him... not as much as other things...
But the sight of the forest floor beneath him so far would have been too much for his already disconcerted mind to handle without panic.
Soldiers did not panic.
"Are your dreams bothering you, son of Denethor?"
She knew. He hadn't even looked her in the eye for more than a second. Maybe someone had told her...?
No.
He knew that was not so. She didn't need people to tell her. She knew. No wonder she had earned a reputation as a witch... "Yes." He said simply.
"Would you walk with me, Boromir of Gondor?"
The thought of being alone with the elf queen sent him into a state near panic which he barely repressed. At least... with her husband right there... surely she wouldn't... Gimli spoke repeatedly of enchantments, and Boromir did not dare say he was afraid, far more afraid of the woman with the eyes that shone with starlight than he was of an orc horde of a thousand.
"If it would please you, my lady."
Soldiers did not panic.
They walked across the white wood hundreds of feet above the forest floor and began the descent downwards. Boromir knew it was long. He had walked it himself to reach Galadriel. They said the walk was hours... but Boromir had not kept record of the time. That was the secret to marching-- you set your feet to work, and you didn't think. He had not thought on the way up-- but now, his thoughts escaped him.
It seemed he kept looking for his answers with the elves.
He didn't like the answers he'd gotten very much yet.
The lady said nothing, and Boromir momentarily maintained the foolish hope she would have nothing to say at all-- but that wasn't the kind of answer he needed. He dared not look back at her, knowing that though eye contact might inspire some kind of important discussion, he wasn't brave enough to let her lead him in circles with his fears and pry too deeply into his thoughts.
Was it up to him to speak, then, if he would not look at her?
"About..." Boromir began.
"Your brother is safe... for now." Galadriel told him simply.
The words were like a weight off Boromir's chest. He dared draw in a long breath and glance back. He saw her without meeting her cool gaze, and was relieved to find there was the slightest hint of a smile on her face.
Pippin would be pleased to hear that all was well with Faramir.
The other words hit him then.
For now?
He was in danger?
Panic reared its ugly head again, and Boromir just barely shoved it down in time not to trip and go tumbling down the elven stairs he walked on.
"I would suggest holding the conversation until we are in a place where you will not stumble and fall." Galadriel said, her voice light, though Boromir knew her eyes were, as always, cool pale mirrors of stars upon the sea by cloudless day. The irony of stars by day did not escape him-- it was the kind of thing Faramir would have appreciated as a description.
Faramir.
Not dead... not yet?
That was hardly comforting.
They reached one of the lower platforms, devoid of any, elf or visitor alike. Galadriel gestured to one of the seats built onto the tall white Mallorn trees. Boromir sat, and stared at his hands.
"Your brother is, at this time, as well as he can be."
She was being enigmatic. Boromir was familiar with the use of enigma-- his father had often used it in discussion with Faramir, and Boromir couldn't count the number of times he had stood there as his father and his brother argued, debated-- bickered even.
Boromir found himself having difficulty breathing, as if his throat had been closed up.
"I cannot, however, guarantee you his safety for long."
The white floor beyond the white trees on his gloves began to spin. Boromir closed his eyes and put a hand heavily against the wood of the bench, trying to reorient himself.
"How long?" Boromir asked between clenched teeth. "When do I need to be home?"
Galadriel laughed softly, almost sadly. "You have much to learn, Boromir of Gondor."
He wasn't going home.
The spinning feeling increased.
He was going to die.
Boromir fought to keep from toppling over off the bench.
Was Faramir going to die too?
"I did not say that." Galadriel said softly.
"Do you have to?" Boromir asked violently, pulling himself back together and forcing himself to sit upright and open his eyes. The spinning feeling quieted enough for him to see once more. "I'm not some kind of stupid child who can't see the..."
"The painfully obvious truth everyone pounds upon you as if you don't understand?" Galadriel offered, almost coldly.
Boromir flushed and looked back at the ground. She was talking about the bane of Isildur again.
He didn't care about Isildur's Bane-- he had to get home!
"Faramir is more important than a piece of jewelry." He snapped.
"Is Faramir more important than Gondor? All of Middle earth?" Galadriel asked.
"Faramir." Boromir said in distinct tones, raising his head. "Is far more important that Isildur's Bane."
"That was not the question."
"It is the truth." Boromir insisted.
"So you think." Galadriel agreed. "What does Faramir say?"
"Faramir never believed in his own value." Boromir said, his head looking back at the ground once more. "Father has never helped him get rid of the illusion."
"No one person can be more important than the fate of the world-- their actions, with others, may decide things... but do not think anyone, even someone so dear to you as your brother, is more important than the quest your fellowship is on."
"So Frodo is the only person important in this world." Boromir muttered vengefully.
"Frodo himself is not important-- the destruction of the ring is."
Boromir said nothing.
"Tell me, Boromir... if you thought the destruction of the ring would save the world, would you destroy it?"
"The ring is not in my power." Boromir told her.
"If the destruction of it could save your city, would you destroy it?"
"The ring is not in my power." Boromir repeated insistently.
"If destroying it saved your brother?"
"I don't have it, and I don't want it!" Boromir shouted. "Stop making it sound as if I do!"
"What if," Galadriel said, her tones silky and quiet. "What if by having it, you could save your brother, even at the cost of your soul? Would that be worth owning it, ruining yourself, and even your city, if it kept him safe?"
Boromir did not answer.
"Is one person more important than your city, than your country, than the entire world?"
Boromir said nothing at all. He couldn't say anything, because the voice in the back of his mind said yes, of course, because nothing was more important than keeping Faramir safe, not even himself. He wasn't important-- Faramir was important. Finduilas had believed in Faramir's importance, and Boromir did too. Denethor tried to deny it-- but Boromir believed Faramir was important.
Boromir had promised to die for his brother.
He meant it, too.
He'd take the ring if that meant Faramir would live.
"Think on it carefully, Boromir of Gondor." Galadriel said. "Do not be so hasty to assume the importance of any one over another... nor even that anyone is more important than anyone else... nor even that people can be more important than an ideal."
"And who says ideals are more important than people?" Boromir snapped.
"Think on it." Galadriel repeated. "Think hard." She turned and left him, and Boromir did not watch her go.
A voice that sounded remarkably his mother soothed his thoughts. She insisted that the right causes were more important than any one person, any number of people, and when the cause was just and true, no sacrifice was too great.
But Boromir wasn't even sure his cause was the one he thought it should be... if he even had a cause.
He wanted to go home.
He wanted to go home so badly.
There was a huge, empty, gaping place inside when he thought about the lady's words... and what she hadn't said...
He wasn't going home.
Not on his own.
The destruction of his soul... they all thought the ring would kill him from the inside out... no matter for what reason he took it. No matter how short a time he kept it. What if he just borrowed it... to go home... and make sure all was well with Faramir...? Surely that would not hurt, nor kill the quest...
Two questions kept nagging at him.
How did he know they were right?
How did he know they were wrong?

Pippin was waiting for him. Boromir had an almost painful jolt of guilt at the expectation on the young hobbit's face. He looked so like Faramir had in his childhood, it was all Boromir could do to keep from pulling the hobbit into a hug and smothering him. He didn't want to die without seeing Faramir again... he didn't... he didn't want to die far away from home, without his family...
"Well?" Pippin asked.
"A dream." Boromir said quietly. "Just a different kind of dream."
He walked on past the hobbit, his eyes to the grass.
It took him very much by surprise when a little hobbit hand slipped inside his own.
"All bad dreams end." Pippin noted. "You just have to wake up."
What, Boromir mused, if life was a dream? And all he had to do was... wake up?
Somehow, it made the idea of dying a little less painful.
Since it was going to happen anyway.