Author's Note: This work of fan fiction has been revised, as I have improved in writing (or so I hope) since my last update in May of 2008. Therefore, you may or may not notice that I have combined my first two chapters into an uninteresting, but necessary, prologue. You may read it, or skim through it if you wish, but all that really matters is the end. Anyway, if you've even bothered to read this far I might as well tell you that this story is about young Boromir and Faramir going to Rivendell and their experiences there. This is entirely AU. Read, review, and I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all of the characters within belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.

Bitter Rain: Prologue

He sat quietly in his chambers, curled up in a corner and clutching a book with trembling hands. His eyes scanned the pages vacantly, sifting through meaningless words. They did not matter though. He wasn't paying any attention to the words, simply using them as a distraction, for at this time his mind was elsewhere. He needed something to do.

He still grasped the book in cold fury, his eyes glazed over with unshed tears that stung his eyes. He released a shuddering breath as his grey eyes flickered around the dimly lit room. It was nearly empty, save a few vital pieces of furniture. There was a small desk beside the window he sat below, and a great bed perched in the center of the room. In the corner of the room that was a small wardrobe, and a dresser just beside. The only admirable portion of his chambers, or so the boy believed, was the magnificent bookshelf that towered beside the entrance.

The boy warily lifted his gaze as three quiet knocks sounded on the wooden door across the room. The small boy made no sound as the door creaked open slightly and candle light flooded into the room through the small opening at the doorway. Behind the candle, the boy could clearly make out a pair of shining eyes gazing at him curiously, and the large silhouette of his brother.

"Faramir." Came the low voice of Boromir beyond the doorway. "It's late." His voice was barely more than a whisper. Faramir thought he heard a hint of anger in the older boy's words. He flinched away as his brother came nearer, clutching the book desperately to his chest.

Boromir paused, his heavy footsteps now quieting. "Little brother?" Boromir's eyes became concerned and he placed the candle onto the nearby nightstand. He knew what ailed the youngest son of the Steward, who now cowered in a corner like some kind of terrified animal. Today had been their Mother's birthday .

Faramir was holding a book of Elvish poetry, huddled beneath a mass of blankets. His hair was disheveled and his eyes shone brightly in the candlelight, and while he could not be sure, Boromir wondered if the young lord had been crying.

The warrior emitted a low growl, not out of anger, and stepped forward to sit beside his brother. He sighed as he sat down, his eyes drifting towards the licking flame of the candle that danced before his eyes. They sat like that quietly for some while, each enjoying the simple presence of the other, as they watched the flickering of the flame. It was Boromir who broke the silence.

"I'm sorry Faramir." He breathed, still not averting his eyes from the candle. Boromir spoke sincerity, diverting his eyes to stare at the floor boards a few paces in before him. Faramir watched his brother, silently contemplating the truth in his words. Faramir sniffled, rubbing his eyes and feeling the heat that radiated from his cheeks. Swallowing thickly, Faramir spoke.

"It was my entire fault." His voice was barely audible, and Faramir searched for some kind of reaction from his brother, but all the older boy seemed to do was hug his knees to his chest and stare vacantly in the direction of the wall across from him. Faramir chewed his lip miserably, trembling in either sadness or fear. Perhaps even disappointment. Boromir grimaced, resting his forehead on his knees as Faramir continued. "Weak… useless. Bloody foolish." Faramir blinked as tears welled up in his eyes and slid down his cheeks. "No." And then Faramir choked back a sob. Boromir frowned, staring at the opposite wall as Farimir began to weep openly. Boromir sighed, putting a gentle arm around his brothers shaking shoulders. Pulling Faramir closer, Boromir tried to speak calming words.

"I'm sorry." Boromir whispered.

--

The nighttime ocean, dark as pitch, rolled and swelled around him. It sprayed his face with a salty mist; the waves crashed over his head, engulfing him beneath the icy waters. Cold, it was so cold. He swam blindly beneath the crashing waves. The ocean gripped him with its own cold breath. He could not breathe, and the black depths called to him. He could not breathe. He could not—

Faramir awoke with a start, sucking in a very deep breath of hair and tumbling out of his bed in a tangle of sheets. The boy blinked, rolling onto his back and breathing heavily. It was then he realized he was drenched with sweat, his nightclothes nearly soaked through. It was almost dawn, Faramir could tell, judging by the blue-gray sky just outside of his window. He groaned, pushing himself up and stumbling towards the washroom, making sure to bring a stack of clothes along with him.

Feeling refreshed and very much awake upon leaving the washroom, the young lord dressed in a simple tunic and britches and entered Boromir's chambers. Boromir, much to Faramir's chagrin, was still quite asleep. His tall form was sprawled across his mattress in a rather undignified fashion and he was snoring very loudly. Either way, he still had to come to breakfast.

Faramir cleared his throat loudly causing Boromir to stir only slightly and then once again, resume his original position. Faramir rolled his eyes, taking a few steps closer.

"Boromir!" He hissed. "Wake up you idiot sloth! Or else you'll have to explain to father why you were late to breakfast!" At this, Boromir jerked awake, blinking a few times before glaring darkly towards his little brother.

"Alright." Boromir growled. "I'm awake." Faramir left as Boromir tossed his bed sheets away and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Faramir had not forgotten that his Uncle Imrahil had sent word that he was to arrive today. Faramir deemed it most appropriate, considering that the previous day had been Finduilas' birthday.

--

"Uncle!" Faramir cried, running up to greet his Uncle as he entered the Seventh Level of the White City. Dismounting his Horse, the Prince of Dol Amroth strode towards his nephews with open arms, only to be nearly trampled by Faramir who had been long awaiting for his Uncle's arrival. Prince Imrahil chuckled, tousling the small boy's fox colored hair. Faramir grinned, turning as Boromir approached, followed by his father who greeted the Prince with a brief nod and a warrior handclasp. There really was no need to be so formal.

"Valar, how you've grown!" Boromir smiled sheepishly at that comment, knowing that they hadn't seen their Uncle for almost two years. "Boromir, what are you… nearly sixteen, yes? And Faramir, eleven, am I correct?" Faramir nodded vigorously, close to bursting with excitement.

"Faramir, please settle down. Allow your Uncle some peace, he has just traveled a great distance, and is very weary. Go dress for supper. Your Uncle will still be here when you get back." Imrahil frowned, honestly not minding the presence of his young nephews, but said nothing.

"Yes, my Lord." Faramir gave a small bow before dashing off with Boromir quick on his heels.

"Come." The Lord Denethor beckoned. "I shall have someone show you to your quarters."

--

Supper consisted of much talk, sharing tales and stories of battle and lore. Boromir, having recently participated in one of his first "battles", had much to say on his own behalf, while Denethor remained mostly quiet, making comments here and there, complimenting Boromir's recent sparring victory and speaking of Gondor's continuous troubles with Osgiliath. Faramir, for the most part, had not made a sound. He quietly picked at his food, not daring to make eye contact with his father, or even speak in his presence. He'd much rather not be chastised before his Uncle's.

However his silence did not go unnoticed by the Price of Dol Amroth. He watched the young boy as Boromir spoke happily, shoveling food into his mouth as he did so.

It was a rather comical sight actually, watching Boromir attempt to eat and talk at the same time.

As supper came to an end, the Prince of Dol Amroth excused himself politely, bidding the Lord Steward a good night, and began weaving his way through the dimly lit corridors he knew rather well by now. It was relatively easy to find yourself lost in the House of the Steward, having personally run into a few dead ends himself.

Quickly, the Price came upon the chambers of his nephews, only to find Faramir already standing outside of his older brother's quarters, his hand on the doorknob, looking as if he was contemplating whether or not he should enter.

"What are you up to, young one?" Imrahil inquired. Faramir jumped at the sound of the man's voice and turned warily. Prince Imrahil noticed the pale face of his nephew glowing in the darkness, his eyes so wide it looked as if he had seen a shade. Perhaps he had.

"Uncle! I'm sorry. " Faramir grinned sheepishly. "I just meant to ask Boromir something." Faramir shifted uncomfortably, a gesture that made Imrahil frown. He then nodded sharply.

"I must speak with you both before you turn in. That is, if you don't mind."

"No. No, of course not." Faramir shook his head, allowing his Uncle to enter before him. Imrahil smiled, stepping forward and knocking gently upon Boromir's door.

"What!" Came the muffled reply. The Price of Dol Amroth pushed the door open, followed by a hesitant Farimir, and was greeted by the surprising sight of Boromir struggling to awkwardly pull his night shirt over his head. Boromir jumped in surprise at the sudden appearance of his Uncle.

"Valar! I thought it was only Faramir!" Boromir stumbled backwards to sit on his bed, Prince Imrahil only just noticed the lad's muscular frame. Indeed, the boy had grown. Faramir scrambled foreword to sit beside his brother, and Prince Imrahil nodded in understanding. The man paused before his two nephews, his hands clasped behind his back. He tilted his head to one side and raised and inquiring eyebrow. Faramir thought he looked rather amusing.

"I hope you both are packed." The Prince eyed them cast them an impish grin. Boromir and Faramir exchanged curious glances before turning back to their Uncle and hesitantly shaking their heads.

"Well, I suggest you begin!" Prince Imrahil exclaimed. The boys flinched in light of their Uncle's sudden outburst. He leaned in closer, his voice now barely above a whisper.

"We leave for Rivendell tomorrow."

--

Farimir yelped loudly, jumping out of the path of a rather brawny work horse, lugging a large cart of harvest crops behind it. It snorted angrily and tossed its head as it past, its hooves clopping loudly against the cobbles. Farimir clutched desperately at Boromir's tunic as the two Sons of Gondor past through the bustling city. Noisy chatter hummed around their heads and people rushed by them, eager to finish the day's errands, some nodding their heads in acknowledgment as they passed. Distinct smells wafted lazily through the air, the smell of foods, drink, animals, and medicines, all somehow meshed into one. There were men, women, children, and even stray animals roaming the streets, each going about their business. The sound of wooden wheels against the cobbles could be heard above a good portion of the chatter, though the voices of the salesmen and craftsmen rose above most, in hope of earning some coin this day.

It was summer, and the sky was clear and bright, the air crisp, showing almost no trace of the gloomy weather that had surfaced earlier this morning. The sun shone brightly above their heads and bathed the brothers in a warm light. Boromir smiled to himself, taking Faramir's hand in his own as they approached the stables.

Upon entering, they immediately found their Uncle tending to his own chestnut mare only a few rows down, just past the small tack room.

"Boys!" the man exclaimed. "Come, come, we have a long day ahead of us. I assume you both have packed?" Boromir shook his head distractedly before answering.

"Yes, last night." Boromir nodded but his attention was then won by the gray steed that whickered in the stable to his left, bobbing its head excitedly up and down. Boromir snorted, directing his attention back towards the Prince.

"Right. You have it with you." He nodded to the packs that were slung over their shoulders. "Silly question." He mumbled. "But the weather has cleared, yes? Beautiful day, beautiful day!" Boromir narrowed his eyes as his Uncle began to ramble. Obviously something was on his mind, but Boromir let the matter rest and instead quickly changing the subject.

"So what horses have you arranged for us?" he inquired, casting a cursory glance towards the gray steed. This movement, however, had not gone unnoticed by the Prince of Dol Amroth. He knew Boromir had always felt very awkward atop a horse, though perhaps this little trip would change those feelings.

"None." He admitted with a rather undignified shrug. Boromir gaped at him.

"You can't possibly expect us all to fit atop a single horse!?" The reaction roused a fit of laughter from the Prince.

"No! Of course not, my boy!" As his laughter subsided, leaving Boromir rather distraught, he continued. "I am sorry." He grinned and then nodded towards the gray mount. "You can use him if you like. Both of you can share one horse." Boromir glanced down for Faramir's approval who nodded eagerly, moving to read the name etched into the wood of the stable door.

"Talagor." He said, opening the stall as Boromir fetched a lead rope. They carefully lured the horse from his stall and began to prepare him for their journey. As Faramir began brushing the steed, Boromir wandered towards their Uncle who had resumed loading his own horse with supplies. Boromir patted the steed's shoulder, and it immediately twisted its head around to greet him. His Uncle then looked up from his chores and noticed his nephew standing there.

"Yes, Boromir?" he asked in a hushed tone. When Boromir didn't reply, Imrahil resumed his work and then suddenly Boromir spoke.

"Why are you bringing us to Rivendell uncle?" Boromir gazed at his uncle sadly. Imrahil frowned, considering his answer before speaking in a low voice.

"I figured you both needed a bit of a vacation." He replied. Boromir narrowed his eyes slightly, obviously not accepting his answer, but said nothing. He only nodded, and stalked off in search of a saddle and blankets.

Boromir returned with a saddle and blankets in hand, also carrying reins and a bit, which Faramir took from him without a word. It was when Imrahil finished with his own horse and made his way towards Faramir he noticed that the brothers were both clad in travel wear, Faramir in leather and a cloak, Boromir a mail shirt and leather jerkin, each bearing the crest of Gondor upon their breasts.

"Are we ready then?" he inquired, eyeing Boromir as he draped their packs over the saddle.

"Aye." He replied, lifting Faramir comfortably atop Talagor.

"And you said your farewells to everyone you wished?"

"Aye."

"Then we are ready. We shall simply lead our horses to the main gates, and be on our way. I'm assuming the Lord Denethor has already alerted the guards of your departure, so we should have no problems." He nodded and led his mount foreword. "Come quickly now, I wish to reach the border before dusk." And with that, they exited the stables.

--

Faramir gripped the gray steed's mane as he sat atop the horse. Boromir and Prince Imrahil led their mounts before him, marching defiantly through the city. Faramir could not contain his excitement, knowing their ultimate destination, yet he knew what he was leaving behind as well. He would miss all the little things that he'd never known meant everything. He frowned, absorbing the many sights of the White City as he passed them, knowing he would not be returning for some time.

"Ho' there! Guards!" Boromir called as they approached the gates. The nodded, and slowly the large stone gateway began to open. "My thanks!" He called once more as he and the Prince of Dol Amroth climbed onto their mounts. Faramir released Talagor's mane as Boromir placed his arms protectively around his younger brother.

"Hold fast, little brother." Boromir whispered into his ear as they charged after their Uncle across the great plains of Gondor. The wind whistled in his ears and whipped his hair around his face as Boromir spurred the steed onward. Faramir spared one tentative glance over his shoulder only to see the glorious White City, standing proudly in their wake.

To be continued…