Interlude
Summary: At one starry night, the two brothers enjoyed a small gathering to discuss their hopes and dreams.
Disclaimer: Not one sibling moment.
Rating: T only for safety.
All of my stories are interconnected unless stated otherwise. My stories are now available in a form of a list in chronological sequence on my bio.
Enjoy!
~S~
Minas Tirith,
Gondor,
Late Third Age,
Boromir opened his door and stopped short at the guard outside his door. He stood straight as an arrow when Boromir looked at him.
"You are dismissed." Boromir said. The guard bowed his head and turned around, his armour clanking as he walked. Boromir shook his head wryly. Few years ago, the guards were under strict orders never to leave their posts because according to his father, the two brothers found the unlikeliest adventures when alone.
And he was right.
Boromir returned to his room and grabbed the furs off his bed, bundled them unevenly in his arms before stepping out the door.
The corridor was blissfully silent and empty, except for the guards stationed at points. They were far too accustomed to his ways to stop him, so his walk to the lonely tower right at the back of the Citadel was a peaceful one. There were two ways to go to the tower, one from the inside and one from across the garden. The night was too cold for a trek outside, so he took the dark corridor instead.
The Citadel had only one tower, that soon fell into disuse. It stood at a corner, meant to overlook the entire Citadel from the back but there was never a necessity to build it in the first place. It was simply a project of one of the Stewards long ago. It was definitely built well, so it was not in disrepair.
Boromir and Faramir grew interested in the tower after they grew into manhood. Their missions often drifted them apart. The tower was a perfect place for a retreat, a way to step away from the world and spend some time as brothers in a room high and forgotten by everyone else.
Boromir climbed up the steps, slightly annoyed when one of the furs managed to come under his right foot every time he ascended. He fisted the fur in one hand, raising the end of the floor as he took the last few steps with practiced ease. He reached the top and opened the door with a kick of his foot.
As he expected, he was the first one to come into the room. Boromir grinned before dropping the furs in a heap by the doorway. He lit the numerous candles around the room before dragging the furs inside.
"You're early." A voice spoke behind him. Boromir turned and looked over his shoulder. Aside from the tanned skin Faramir developed over his exploits, they both could easily be mistaken for twins.
"You're late," Boromir corrected. "What happened?"
"I slept too long," Faramir confessed with an embarrassed laugh. He held up the steaming mugs in both hands. "I got them. And you forgot the pillows."
"Well, one of us will have to go to fetch the pillows."
A long silence stretched between them as they stared at each other.
"I spent a month away from home." Boromir said.
"I was shot twice." Faramir said.
"It's not my fault you are inept at protecting yourself."
"It isn't my fault either if you are forgetful because of your old age." Faramir retorted. Boromir winced, yet there was a smile tugging each brother's lips.
"I am older." Boromir reasoned.
"Precisely." Faramir scoffed. Boromir ignored him.
"Therefore, you need to listen to me."
"I will not. Besides, I am more injured."
The long look Boromir gave his brother was entirely pitiless. Faramir grumbled but relented. He set the steaming mugs aside.
"Don't start without me." Faramir warned before disappearing through the open doorway.
While Boromir waited, he nestled the two warm cups of milk between the candles, hoping they remained just as warm when Faramir returned. Then he arranged the blankets and furs on the cold hard floor before sliding between them. Soon, Faramir reappeared with one pillow under each arm.
"There is a benefit of having a younger brother!" Boromir said in delight. Faramir looked at him wryly and tossed the pillows at him. He retrieved the two mugs.
"Aye. Now move and stop taking all the furs."
Boromir slid to the side, leaving some space for Faramir to crawl into. Boromir took one of the cups and raised it to his lips. The warm milk was soothing for his sore throat. He developed a slight cold ever since he returned to the city but he was expected to fully recover. Instead he hummed and leaned back, enjoying the peaceful solitude.
Boromir took another long sip from his cup.
"Are you sure you aren't tired? I doubt you are fully recovered from your exhaustion." He asked. Faramir's duties often carried him far and wide, usually to places more dangerous than those that Boromir visited. Boromir had the safety of numerous soldiers. Faramir led a small band of ten Rangers whenever he set foot outside on his expeditions.
"Not truly," Faramir answered. "But I slept enough to stay awake for a part of the night."
"When did you sleep?"
"Immediately after I excused myself from lunch."
"I thought you left to discuss matters with the city guard!"
"Did I?"
"Father seemed to think so."
"I was waylaid by a comfortable bed and an insistent healer who told me I'd be worthless until I slept a few hours." Faramir answered, downing half of his cup.
"The Warden of Healing Houses?" Boromir guessed. Faramir grimaced.
"Aye," Faramir nodded.
Boromir grinned in silent sympathy. The Warden was an elderly man as thin as a reed branch. He had a hunched back, a thin long nose, a grim mouth and age was certainly not kind to him. But he was a force to be reckoned with if he ever came across someone who did not properly look after his or her health.
"Tell me, did he tie you down on a bed, lock you in a bedchamber or give you a sleeping draught?" Boromir asked, grinning. Faramir flinched.
"When you meet a foe like the Warden," Faramir murmured. "It is best to fall asleep on your own without any further encouragement." Boromir laughed.
"I'll drink to that," Boromir said solemnly and the pair raised their cups in a silent toast before taking a sip.
"Nearly thirty summers and we still drink a cup of warm milk before bed when we are able." Faramir said with a shake of his head. "No wonder our men think we are odd." Boromir took a long sip.
"I see nothing wrong with it." Boromir answered. The truth was, the milk was just a ritual like the tower. It was not needed, but it was comforting. "You carry a book wherever you go," Boromir added. "Now that is odd."
"What is wrong with a good book?"
"How do you find the time to read a book?"
"I make time," Faramir said defensively. "And what of you? You linger close to storytellers and such whenever you can."
Boromir grinned in spite of the embarrassment rising its head in his chest.
"That is not odd."
"That is odd," Faramir said firmly. "And you ought not be ashamed of it."
They fell into a companionable silence. Boromir studied his brother's face hungrily. They were so alike, almost like twins. When it came to personality, they were as different as sun and moon, fire and water. There was a small scar on Faramir's left ear, like a small knick. Boromir reached forward and touched it lightly.
"What happened?" He asked.
"A close brush with death," Faramir grimaced. He touched the new scar with his fingertip. "An Orc archer took a shot at me. Fate smiled on me that day; I turned at the right moment."
Boromir's blood ran cold. If Faramir had not moved, he would not have been sitting in front of him right now. Faramir took a deep sip and looked at him.
"I am fine," Faramir said firmly. "Don't look at me like that."
"I could not imagine how it would be if I lose you, brother." Boromir confessed. Faramir paused.
"Not I you," Faramir returned. Then he flashed a smile. "An odd world we live in, do we not, brother? We take up arms for violence in the name of peace and freedom."
Boromir agreed.
"Any troubles along the borders?" Faramir asked, finishing the last of his milk.
"You read my report."
"I was not asking about the report." Faramir scoffed. Boromir sighed at the last part of his milk. It had grown cold. He set it aside.
"The borders are becoming hard to defend." Boromir admitted. Faramir discovered his unfinished milk and scowled at him. "You drink that cold milk if you want to. The Orcs are growing bolder. Sometimes they cross the border, attack a settlement and withdraw before we gather our arms." Boromir felt pensive. "There is something brewing in Mordor, I can feel it." Mount Doom had stirred, something that heralded the coming of the storm in itself. And Orcs were bold, as if they had a new master.
"I pray that Gondor is preserved, even if there is a war," Faramir said as he set Boromir's now finished mug aside. "How is the morale of your men?"
"Steady," Boromir said confidently. "They know their purpose and are forever eager to carry it out. It will take much more than a few raids to break their backbone." He folded his legs to his chest and rested his arms over his knees. "And what of you? How goes your expeditions?"
"You read my report," Faramir imitated Boromir.
"Don't be a pain."
"As well as it can ever be." Faramir shrugged. "I deal with lesser things. I search for conspiracies, arrest traitors and execute them, occasionally kill the Orcs that manage to scurry deep into the kingdom."
"The number of Orcs must be growing lately, I am afraid."
"Aye. The Steward's son manning the borders is doing a poor job." Faramir flashed a grin but when Boromir did not smile, it faded. "Boromir, I only jest. I meant no ill will."
"You spoke true." Boromir said quietly. "They move so swiftly, Faramir, that you are better off grabbing a film of oil in water with just your fingers! I know not what I must do." Boromir let his head fall to his chest. Faramir rested a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"You are but a man." Faramir consoled him. "Do not expect yourself to do tasks that are beyond your control. Had you known, and had the power, you would have stopped them from ever contemplating any attack on Gondor. But you do possess neither the knowledge nor the power. If you only think about your failures, brother, then you can spend your time dangling in the air like a puppet on strings without its master."
Boromir heaved a sigh, his chest expanding quickly.
"Sometimes you possess the kind of wisdom that frightens me since you are only my little brother."
"Well, wisdom tends to pass on to very few of the family," Faramir said loftily. Then he dived into the covers hastily as Boromir's fist swung through the air where Faramir's head once was. Boromir settled back on the hands of his palms and leaned his back a bit.
"Come on out."
"Nay."
"Quickly now, we don't have all night."
"You'll hit me again."
"Would I do that?"
"Surely you jest, you always do that!"
Boromir laughed and shook Faramir's blanket-covered shoulder.
"Up. I give you my word as your brother that I wouldn't do anything of the sort."
"I never trust your word when you give it as brother." Faramir's voice mumbled. Boromir laughed. His brother knew him too well.
"As a soldier then. Get out, I want to know more about your quest."
Faramir finally slithered out of his blanket but remained lying on his side with his head resting on a feather-stuffed pillow. Boromir gave a long, toothsome yawn to rival that of a sleepy lion and curled under the covers beside Faramir.
"Well, you know that I left Minas Tirith only a week after you departed." Faramir began. "My errands were simple enough; meet with the various nobles, boost the morale of our men wherever they are and deal with the spies wherever I may find them."
"How many did you find?"
"One," Faramir admitted. "They were fast. But we caught six traitors." His lip twisted in disgust. "I cannot imagine betraying your beloved country for the sake of a few gold coins."
"To a poor person who believes he has been wronged, it means the world, Faramir," Boromir said quietly. "Go on."
"The morale was a different thing. The centre of the kingdom is fine, but as you grow closer to the borders, the morale is lower. I stayed with them the longest. They needed a leader."
"You said you got injured."
"Once was a mistake on my part," Faramir admitted ruefully. He tugged his ear with his fingers. Boromir saw the nail of his first finger was torn, showing the plump and pink skin of nail bed where the nail should be. "We were overcome by Orcs while chasing our spy across the borders-"
"You went across the border?" Boromir demanded, shifting angrily. "Did you take leave of your senses?"
"I thought it sensible."
"That's a yes." Boromir said grimly. Faramir scoffed.
"You speak as if you are so wise. How many times is it now that you raced into the line of danger without any thought of your life or its importance?"
"I do not leave my friends or family where they may be harmed." Boromir set his jaw stubbornly.
"It will get you killed someday." Faramir said tartly but with grudging respect.
"Humph."
"Regardless," Faramir continued gingerly. "That spy slipped from our grasp because we were ambushed. We lost no lives but the chase was all for naught."
"And how did your conversations with the nobles go?"
His younger brother suddenly looked old and tired.
"You know how the nobles are." He muttered. Boromir nodded grimly. He knew. The nobles of Gondor were once well known for their valour, strength and honour. But as generations passed, they grew greedy and settled with their titles and wealth. Now they grappled each other, hungering for more power and never receiving it from the Steward. Controlling them was a chore. Only handful decent noblemen remained. "Deceitful hypocrites, the lot of them." Faramir scorned.
"I am surprised that father did not deal with them with a stern hand." Boromir observed. If Denethor did, none would blame them. The nobles tried to plot against him when he was knew to the office and one even went so far as to murder his firstborn. But Boromir lived and the nobleman walked free.
"They have their purpose." Faramir said lowly. "You can't kill a man just because he threatens your power, even if he did try to kill your eldest son." He added swiftly when Boromir opened his mouth, enraged. Boromir closed it with a click of his teeth. "Besides, not all of them are bad. Take Uncle Imrahil as an example."
"He's our uncle." Boromir waved his hand dismissively. "He doesn't count." Faramir chuckled.
"You shouldn't make light of your allies. Especially when they are few in number." Faramir paused. "Shall I tell you about Lord Beorn then?"
"You met Lord Beorn?" Boromir asked, ears pricked. The nobleman was tall, large and as hairy as bear. He had a bellow for a laugh and the sense of humour to make witty jokes. Boromir and Faramir both enjoyed his company for his jolly manners and fatherly nature.
"Aye, I passed through his domain. There, I met Lord Beorn as well as his daughter- are you listening?" Faramir asked when Boromir turned his head as if he was lost in thought.
"Aye, I am listening. Tell me about our Lady Candes." Boromir uttered the name with some fondness and more with admiration.
And Boromir had a reason behind his admiration. Candes was a young woman- or girl, really- but with the maturity and thought that few girls her age possessed. The two brothers first met her on a trip to the mines and found her, surprisingly dressed in men's breeches and a loose men's shirt with her hair in a loose knot at the nape of her neck. She was also untroubled by her own appearance in front of two unmarried and eligible lords. She was not a fool; meaning she did not pick up a pick axe and worked like other men when she obviously lacked the stature and the strength for the work. Instead, she stood at a corner with her arms folded and accompanied by two burly men on either side as she oversaw the men who mined. She was a quiet woman, cautious in speech and wary when presented with strangers. She warmed only a little bit towards the two brothers, further intriguing them.
"Is she still the same?"
"Yes, only more friendlier." Faramir quipped. Boromir laughed.
"She was never rude in the first place." Boromir reminded. Faramir chuckled.
"I know." He replied. "She was only aloof."
"Does Lord Beorn disapprove of her?"
"Oh, no. If anything, he is raising her like a son. She rides astride, wears breeches when going to the mines, sensible dresses that do not consist of too many skirts, knows more about lands and payments than you and I combined." Faramir admitted the last one ruefully. "Lord Beorn takes great pride in her."
"If she continues down this path, she will be a remarkable leader." Boromir predicted.
"Then it's a shame, really. When she will grow into a fine woman, the noblewomen will batter her with their ideas. They will force her to become one of them."
"Oh, she can handle them, I assure you."
"How can you be certain?"
"Trust me, Faramir. If Lady Candes had been a man, she would have had the strength of both words and arm to support her... And none of these advisors or nobles would have survived her onslaught. She can handle a group of old crimes well set in their ways while their skin decays off their bones."
Faramir roared laughing.
"Well, you certainly do not mince words." He said, shoulders trembling with mirth. "I'd suppose if she were any older, then you may have asked for her hand." Boromir made it well-known that he admired her. Denethor expected an outcome including a bride but Boromir refused to entertain the notion.
"I would." Boromir said with a nod. "But she is too young and I have no wish for a large gape of years between me and my wife."
"Regardless, I doubt father would have approved." Faramir mused. "Lady Candes is a bit... Unconventional." Boromir laughed at that.
"He wouldn't approve." Boromir agreed. "But he would give his blessings still. Fortunately, he realises that neither of us would marry until our hearts are set on it."
"Wisdom was always father's strong suit." Faramir commented. They laughed quietly. "But do you have a wife in mind?" Faramir asked.
"Are you mad?" Boromir demanded, incredulous. "I have been running from one end of Gondor to the next trying to safeguard our borders. A wife is farthest thing from my mind."
"If you do not let me know that you have someone, I will burn your hair on the day of your wedding."
Boromir laughed.
"And what of you? Did my little brother find himself a scholarly woman to call his bride?" He teased in return.
Faramir's smile dimmed but did not disappear.
"Nay," he said softly. "I suppose I shall keep looking."
"Ah, yes. And who would this lovely wife be, I wonder? Does she come with a dowry of books? Or perhaps she would- Ah!" Boromir snapped his fingers when a thought struck him. "I know! She would complement you so well that your lives will be lived in constant harmony with any trouble or strife."
"Perhaps it will." Faramir remarked, still smiling. Boromir knew his brother was indulging him. He looked at his younger brother solemnly.
"I hope not." Boromir said frankly. Faramir raised his brows in silent surprise but did not interrupt. "I do not think you should live a quiet life. It should be a happy life, with your wife having her own set of imperfections. It should be an exciting life, full of joy and love and sometimes a little adventure. A quiet life is too much, even for you."
"My, aren't we full of wisdom?"
Boromir flushed and dug deeper into the covers in response to his teasing. Faramir laughed and pulled him out with his hands gripping his wrists.
"I jest." Faramir confessed, eyes twinkling in mirth. "Don't fret. It makes me relieved, truthfully. There is some intelligence under all the brawn."
"Of course there is. Think you that I would have survived otherwise?"
"Idiots always have a tendency to survive."
Faramir laughed as Boromir lunged at him with a growl. They tussled, kicking and punching in a playful fight.
"You're fat!"
"I am not fat!" Boromir said, outraged as he weighed over Faramir. The younger brother pushed him off and grappled his neck in a tight noose of his arms.
"You're no feather either!" Boromir yelped. "Get off!"
Sometime later, both brothers lay on their backs laughing breathlessly.
"That's enough for tonight, I think." Faramir said, pulling up the covers to his chest.
"Aye, I think," Boromir said reluctantly. He personally did not want the night to end. Faramir mumbled a farewell and buried himself into the covers. Boromir grinned slightly; Faramir preferred sleeping completely under the covers. How he survived in the confines, Boromir did not know.
"Hopefully the dreams that have been plaguing me will not come tonight." Faramir's muffled voice spoke.
"Dreams?" Boromir asked, suddenly alert. "What dreams?"
But the annoying lump he called a brother only wriggled one last time and was still. Boromir glowered at him. Faramir sometimes gnawed his sanity, leaving him with only half the information and then occupying himself with some other errand.
He stared hard at his brother for a long time. Only a tuft of black hair showed from the large bulge hiding under the blanket where his brother burrowed himself into. Finally, curiosity won him over.
"Faramir?" Boromir asked, hesitant. "Are you awake?"
There was a long pause.
"Am I supposed to be?"
Boromir studied his brother's dark form and then landed a solid kick at his legs. Faramir yelped and moved indignantly under the covers.
"Well, you are now. So, listen!" Boromir said derisively. Faramir groaned and pulled the covers down enough to expose glaring eyes at him. "Tell me about these dreams!"
Faramir groaned again.
"Boromir, I am tired. I have worked and still have more work to do. Dreams can wait." He rubbed his eyes and tried to settle back into sleep. But Boromir yanked his covers back with brute force.
"Faramir," Boromir warned him. "Speak!"
Faramir glared at him with his grey eyes.
"When are you interested with dreams?" He demanded.
"I am plagued by some as well." Boromir retorted. "Now speak!"
Faramir started in surprise. Then he looked thoughtful.
"I am not sure what to make of it." Faramir said. "It started five days back, and reappeared every other day. I stood on a tall hill which overlooked the world. For some reason, it was taller even than the mountains yet it was smooth and green with grass. But I digress. There was shadow and ill wind from the South. But when I turned my attention to the North, I saw a bright white light and fresh wind. That is all."
"That is all," Boromir pressed. "Are you sure?"
"Indeed I am. Now tell me, what of your dreams?"
Boromir was sorely tempted to leave Faramir tormented with curiosity like he had been. But he was always the gentler brother when it came to teasing a brother.
"The same," he said. "But I tried to reach the light."
"And did you?"
"I am not certain." Boromir admitted. "I barely ever remember my dreams after I awaken. This is but the first time a dream stayed with me long after I woke."
Faramir pondered for along moment, his face serious.
"What do you suppose this means?" Boromir asked. "I know you are thinking something. I want to know what it is."
"We are the descendants of Númenór," Faramir said finally. "You know what they say about us. We often dream of an isle far into the Sea where it sunk into the depths. But often we dream of the future in the form of symbols and riddles to warn us for what may come."
"Do you really believe these fables?" Boromir said doubtfully. Then he laughed. "You spend too long with the elders, Faramir. There are no legends governing Gondor."
Faramir stayed silent, his lips now pressed in a neutral line.
"All legends have a grain of truth in them."
"Faramir-" Boromir began.
"We shall see." Faramir said thoughtfully. "Or perhaps, our children shall see. All we need is time or lack thereof."
Boromir sighed. This was one argument he and father never won against Faramir. Faramir always believed in the legends. Boromir and Denethor always thought of them as amusements for the lesser men. Instead, Boromir turned his thoughts to another subject. He turned back to Faramir, who was burrowing a tunnel into the covers again.
"Faramir?"
"Hm?"
"Does father seem... Different to you?"
"Father's always different."
"I mean more than usual."
Faramir poked his head out of the covers and rubbed his eyes wearily.
"He seems more interested in our expeditions in the South." Faramir said. "That is to be expected. The Orc's are bolder lately."
"Anything else?" Boromir asked. Faramir peered at him with narrowed eyes.
"What are you trying to say?"
Was it likely that Faramir truly not noticed the furtive glances Denethor threw in the way of his youngest? Or that there was a level of tension between the Steward and his second son. But Faramir still looked at him with guileless questioning way. He was not the kind to cause any undue tension between his father and brother. So he kept his silence.
"Never mind," Boromir said reluctantly. "I am sure it's nothing." Instead, he decided to keep a closer eye on his father's sudden odd behaviour.
"Can I go to sleep now?"
"No," Boromir burst, indignant. "We spent too long apart and I have missed my brother!"
Faramir groaned and pulled his pillow from underneath his head and smacked it on Boromir's face. Boromir lifted a hand to remove it, but Faramir dragged the pillow away and buried his head in it.
"Go to sleep." Faramir mumbled. "We have to get back to our rooms in the morning, for if father finds us out of our beds, he'd jump to the wrong conclusions and consider proper brides for the both of us."
Boromir smiled as he burrowed into his covers and gradually fell asleep.
~S~
Author's Note:
Don't you just love these marshmallows?
Candes is an OC who mainly appears in my "Ithilien Rangers" story.
Do leave a review!