Hello!
This story focuses on Boromir and Faramir's relationship and also Denethor's with his sons.
Do forgive my mistakes if you find any since I am not a native english speaker. :)

I hope you enjoy this first chapter!
Comments are appreciated. :D

_

Only Death will take Me from You

Chapter 1

It was a misty morning; the kind where you could actually see the cold.
Or so Faramir thought as he looked out the tall, pale window. He had just gotten out of bed and as he had suspected, he felt sore all over, especially in his arms. It took much to make his muscles sore, since he ran about pulling the bowstring many times a day. Yet Boromir always seemed to succeed in making his muscles ache. It was his damn swordplay.
With a small sigh the young man raised his left hand to his right shoulder and gently rubbed it. It felt like rock. Smiling to himself he walked across his mother's old room; a tall black banner hanging by the bed decorated with the white tree and the seven stars.
'What are you smiling for?' He asked himself in his thoughts as he shook his head.
'You're sore all over and your father still loves you like he loves the plague.' His thoughts seemed to wander and he didn't have the energy to stop them. Nevertheless he didn't stop smiling. He felt glad today. Boromir was home and could stay for some time. That was all he needed to smile.
Stretching his arms high in the air he yawned and walked to the balcony, removing the white cloth which hung before it as an entrance. It really was cold. He felt it on his bare arms and feet yet he remained on the balcony looking out at the city. His city. This was the greatest point to stand if you wanted to have a perfect view of Minas Tirith. This spot had always been his and Boromir's favorite location. From here you could see the Tower of Echtelion to your upper right, rising like a white beacon in the middle. And below you the seven plateaus were strewn; white as early snow and strong as the mountain that bore them. You could see the gate; its black stone gate decorated richly and in the far distance you could just eye the once great capital of Osgiliath. By the sight of it Faramir's smile disappeared. He loved Osgiliath; the mere mentioning of its name made the flame in his chest burn stronger. He had never lived there, nor had his father. It was long ago, in the time of Tarondor that the city had been depopulated. He wished for it to return to its former glory and so did his father. But it had been merely ruins filled with orcs and other filth for more than 500 years now. Was it even possible? It was the no-man's-land between Gondor and Mordor. It was the only veil between them.
Faramir did not realize how long he stood out there in the cold wearing only his undershirt and leggings. He had felt the cold sting his skin and nose but now it seemed he couldn't even feel it.
Suddenly he felt strong arms grab his shoulders and tilt him over the edge of the balcony, making him gasp out loud and desperately grab the side of the white marble-edge. Loud and familiar laughter broke out behind him as the arms hugged him instead.
"Boromir!" He turned around, his heart still beating rapidly. His older brother stood there laughing with his usual wide grin and now grabbed his brother's shoulders again, tightly as if to liven him up.
"What are you dreaming about, little brother?! I could have killed you!" Boromir laughed, now letting go of his brother, still smiling widely. Faramir's smile wasn't as wide.
"As usual, you're way too cheerful." He simply spoke as he started walking inside again. Boromir followed him, dressed in a red tunic under a black overshirt with a black belt, black leggings and his black muddy shoes.
"And you're naked." The older one spoke, now throwing himself on the bed with a content smile as he watched his brother put on his green overshirt. He tightened the brown belt around his waist.
"I'm not." He answered without looking and walked to the bed as well, where his brown boots had been placed. He slipped them on while Boromir leaned himself backward to lie on the bed.
"I really showed you yesterday, little brother. Are you rusting on your old days?" Boromir spoke, and Faramir could actually hear the smile on his voice. He couldn't help the small smile that formed on his own lips either.
"Why, brother, that must mean that you are indeed very old. How old will you be next summer? 41, is it?" The younger one spoke as he turned his head a bit to look at Boromir, who narrowed his eyes at the ranger. Suddenly he sprang up and made a mess of his brother's hair before standing.
"Well, at least I'm not rusting, Carrot-top." He spoke; a big smile plastered on his face since he knew and loved the reaction he knew was coming.
"Boromir! For the last time, do not call me that. Do I look like I'm 2?" Faramir almost exploded; he knew it was the reaction his brother wanted, and yet he couldn't let it slip and not give him the satisfaction. Carrot-top annoyed him more than anything. It reminded him of a little, useless, ugly toddler who couldn't do anything on his own.
"Actually, now that I look closer, you sort of do!" Boromir laughed, continuing the joke by answering Faramir's rhetoric question and laughing again. The younger one rolled his eyes as Boromir started walking toward the door.
"I will see you at breakfast! Come quick, don't let me be alone with father for too long!" He laughed as he walked out, closing the door behind him. He always had to joke. How could he be like that every single day?
Faramir shook it off and walked past the great mirror in the room, which made him stop. Boromir didn't even have the right to call him carrot-top. They both had the same nuance of blonde. He knew that wasn't true, his hair was much more orange. He wrinkled his nose in the mirror and then walked toward the exit to wash himself.

"Boromir!" Denethor's voice was unmistakable to the captain-general. He turned around to face his father with a slightly forced smile.
"Father!" He greeted in response and let the tall man hug him as he patted his back. They both smiled as they drew back from the hug and then walked to the dining hall together, where the servants were putting the food on the table.
"My son, I have great news." Denethor's voice was filled with excitement and his smile grew ever bigger as Boromir looked at him with an uneasy feeling. He did not know why, but his father's 'great news' usually wasn't that great at all.
As they got seated Boromir asked about the news and Denethor waited till the servants had left the room and the two of them were only waiting for Faramir.
"It concerns Osgiliath." The Steward began, and Boromir's eyes changed from uneasy to interested as he looked sideways at his father.
"What about Osgiliath, Father?" He spoke, his voice curious as he anticipated an answer. Denethor smiled before he would answer, and when he was about to, he stopped and looked around instead.
"There was a report… Somewhere here…" He pushed out his chair to go and get the report, but Boromir got up faster.
"Let me get it." He spoke, and pushed in his father's chair again, making the old man smile. His son fetched the report from the white counter and brought them back to his father. He did not sit down again but remained standing by his father's side to have a better look at the report.
"Here…" Denethor mumbled as he rolled out the scroll.
"This is the latest report, just arrived this morning. Three more have confirmed it before it. Boromir, orcs have been withdrawing out of Osgiliath. More and more of those filthy creatures leave the ruins and none have been seen for months on the west side of the bridge." The excitement was not hidden in the words spoken by Denethor as he let Boromir read the report through. Truly, the scout spoke of excessive withdrawal of orcs.
"They are becoming careless. They think we have given up Osgiliath…" Boromir mumbled to himself as he read on, becoming more and more interested. It was true!
"Exactly, my son!" Denethor exclaimed, glad that he could see it so soon. "Exactly! The dark forces know nothing of the endurance and strength of the stewards of Gondor! But we shall show them, son! Now is our chance to show them!" The steward whispered with an excited smile as Boromir put down the report and looked thoughtful.
"Indeed it could be true… That we should take back Osgiliath after 500 years…" He spoke, his voice merely a whisper as if it was too dangerous to say it out loud. Denethor sat nodding slowly in agreement.
"Father, I will have to re-read all of the reports from the last three months! Can I have them at my service?" The captain-general now spoke, a smile lingering on his face.
"Of course you can! You know where they all are." His father spoke, the pride clear on his face as he watched his firstborn put the scroll back and return to the dining table just as Faramir entered the hall.
"Good morning, Father." He spoke, nodding his head once and got seated beside Boromir, who smiled wide at him.
"Good morning." Denethor spoke, with a smile that surprised the youngest son. He managed to smile back in time for the old man to see, and he felt his chest burn softly.
"Little brother, little brother! Bright times may be on their way for Gondor!" Boromir said, unable to contain his joy as he patted Faramir's right shoulder once. The captain looked confused as his gaze turned from Boromir to his father.
"Good news, Father?" He asked, looking a bit clumsy as he awaited a response.
"You are to discuss it with your brother." The steward spoke, as he had started eating, which made Faramir turn to Boromir with raised brows. The older one simply smiled as he looked deep into the eyes of his younger brother. He nodded and Faramir would wait.

"Withdrawal?!" Faramir was uneasy about it. "Are they simply retreating without reason?!" He exclaimed again, having a bad feeling about it.
"No, there is a reason! They have grown tired and weary! They are leaving their posts. They think we have given up. They think us weak!" Boromir said, smiling as he explained to his brother. That smile seemed permanent on his face. Faramir grew silent as he had to think it through. He read through the latest report, and could not deny. But was it that simple? The city they had fought so hard for, were they simply giving it up after 500 years? He frowned and read the same line again and again.
"Little brother, it is true. Whatever their reason, they are falling back. I do believe they are forgetting. They are careless. Osgiliath is too close to Minas Tirith, they cannot stay there for long." Boromir said, sitting on the stone-bench in the courtyard with his little brother.
"But Boromir, they have stayed there for 500 years! Why now?" Faramir spoke, holding his voice low.
"They have not stayed there! They have not lived there! Osgiliath was abandoned, by men and orcs! It is a wasteland! Ruins! It serves only as a barrier between us and Mordor. We can take it back!" The captain-general was persistent, and Faramir wanted to believe, but his heart did not. Not yet. He would see it with his own eyes should he believe it.

"Captain Faramir, all is ready." Madril spoke, making Faramir nod once. Boromir stood by the gates, leaned up against the white stones that made the great wall. Faramir was once again clad in ranger clothing, in which he felt most comfortable. Especially with the bow and arrows on his back.
"So are you ready to ride out?" Boromir asked him, arms crossed and with his fur-lined coat over his shoulders. Five days had passed since their conversation in the courtyard and they had agreed that Faramir went and analyzed the situation before they would make any decisions.
The younger brother turned to his older with a smile.
"We are not riding. There is a reason we are rangers. You do know the concept of stealth? No of course that would be stranger to a boaster like you." He teased, securing the sword in his sheath as Boromir laughed silently.
"Have a safe journey, little brother. You take care." He spoke, looking serious for a moment, which cut deep into Faramir's eyes. He smiled at his big-brother as he put on the forest-green hood.
"I will." He spoke and now turned, about to command his men if his brother had not interrupted him. It was a low and sarcastic voice.
"A shame, really." Boromir spoke, making Faramir turn to look at him. He had that mischievous smile on his lips.
"That hood covers up your carrot-top." The older one finished, smiling his widest grin as Faramir gritted his teeth and sighed.
"Shut up." He spoke before he turned and ordered his men to line up. They were all dressed with the colours of the leaves and trees of the forest, on foot and armed with bows and arrows. The perfect silent dead.
Boromir walked back up the stairs, all the way up all of the seven plateaus and into his chambers. He walked in further and into their mother's room. He looked out from the white balcony but he could not see them.