Dfic: A Lucky Fall, Chapter 1

Author: Susana

Series: "Lucky Fall" AU of the Desperate Hours AU

Feedback: rosasusana7 ...

Warning: AU..

Disclaimer: All recognizable elements are Tolkien's

Summary: One lucky fall changed Boromir's fate, and Faramir's.

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reads my stories and encourages me to keep writing. I am determined to finish this one, I have the next four chapters entirely written and ready to post whenever is a good time. This story is a distraction from my main time line for stories, but I do like the idea that Boromir might live, in some alternate universe, so this is my take on how it might happen (parts of which were written years ago). Returning to my work on this story was inspired by the alternative universe challenge on the group for last month, and by Karen's fine story wherein Boromir lived. And by so many other well-written "Boromir Lives" stories. Now, onto the story.

Quote:

Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened into the rose-garden.

T.S. Eliot

Chapter 1: A Lucky Fall

Chapter Summary: Boromir's planned departure for the Quest is interrupted.

"In a dream, I saw the Eastern sky grow dark. But in the West, a pale light lingered. A voice was crying:

'Seek for the Sword that was broken:
In Imladris it dwells;
There shall be counsels taken
Stronger than Morgul-spells.
There shall be shown a token
That Doom is near at hand,
For Isildur's Bane shall waken,
And the Halfling forth shall stand'."

The Fellowship of the Ring, "The Council of Elrond"

[Boromir POV]

It was on a chill summer eve that Boromir, Captain-General of Gondor, prepared to make his departure from Minas Tirith.

The Steward's heir brushed back a lock of blond hair as he stared up into the sky. Autumn had come too early this year. His father and his brother and some other tedious members of Gondor's council had spent the last few weeks worrying over the harvest. The numbers and statistics they had spewed forth to justify their unease had been difficult for Boromir to follow. As long as his armies and their families were fed, Boromir wasn't particularly worried about depletion of the city's long-term food stores. The summer campaign season was over, therefore it was the best time for him to leave. His father was still secretly displeased that Boromir was leaving at all, despite having ordered him to go. His brother, on the other hand, told Boromir that he had nearly left it for too late.

'If it had been Faramir's choice, he would have left just after Osgiliath, after he first dreamt the dream.' Boromir mused to himself. His younger brother was extremely dedicated to his posting in Ithilien, some might even say overly so, yet he had been willing to abandon that for this will o' the wisp. That alone told Boromir something of how important it must be. When Faramir was initially denied leave to go, the dream came also to Boromir. It was one of his first experiences with such dreams of prophecy, and he now knew why his brother considered this inheritance from their mother to be a mixed blessing. The dream had taken Boromir by force, and he, too, had gone to argue the merits of the journey to his father and Gondor's council. Faramir had been first chosen by the council to undertake this journey to Imladris, both for his greater passion and his lesser status as the second and more replaceable son, a mere Captain to his brother's Captain-General.

But then their father had come to Boromir, and counseled him to claim the errand for himself. Boromir had obeyed, for his father was his Lord, and beyond that Denethor had intimated that the journey would be dangerous and demanding, and that difficult choices might need to be made at the end. Denethor feared that Faramir would hesitate to seize Isildur's Bane and use it against Sauron, for Faramir ever was loathe to use evil means even to accomplish the most necessary of ends. Faramir, in their father's opinion, was insufficiently ruthless.

Boromir was the greater warrior, of he and his brother. Of that he had no doubt, and neither did Faramir. Yet Faramir had argued - and argued hard - in favor of his being Gondor's representative to this home of elves, this Imladris. Faramir had, in fact, used every ounce of the considerable cleverness, charm, and stubbornness he possessed, trying to dissuade Boromir from going. That alone was odd. Denethor's fear that the errand was too dangerous for Faramir...well, Boromir was the elder, and his was the choice. If part of the reason for his choice was to protect Faramir, well, that was Boromir's business. And his right, besides.

As for their father's fear that Faramir would let his natural inclination to take the high road rob Gondor of their only opportunity to prevail against Mordor...

Well, Boromir told himself that was justified, as well. It wasn't Faramir's fault, that was just the way he was. He saw things differently. But both he and Denethor thought it necessary to send someone to Imladris, and when Denethor and Faramir agreed on something, it was always important. Boromir loved his brother, but his obedience was to his father. Faramir had already gotten Boromir to run false troop deployment locations by their father and his staff. Oh, that someone was leaking sensitive information to the enemy, there was no longer any doubt. But that it could be their father or someone on his staff...Boromir didn't believe it. Couldn't believe it.

"Our lord father," Faramir had explained again, "Is not a traitor. But I am afraid that he is trusting someone who is." With their uncle Imrahil standing solemnly behind Faramir, Boromir had felt that he had no choice to agree. But in this, in judging Boromir the stronger, and the more capable of doing whatever was necessary, Denethor was not wrong. And Boromir had to trust that his father was not wrong about what Boromir should do with Isildur's ring. If it even existed, that is.

The soft sound of his horses whickering drew Boromir back to the present, in a stable on the first level of the White City. Boromir had said his goodbyes already to his father. He had bid his brother farewell and fair journey a few hours earlier, when Faramir left late for Ithilien. Boromir's only companions now were one of his former squires, who was saddling his mounts, and two old friends and fellow captains of Gondor. It was a small farewell party for the Steward's heir, but he didn't want to depart trumpets blaring. Boromir was not entirely convinced that this whole venture would not come to naught in the end but chasing after a fairy story.

Still, he managed to summon a reassuring smile and clap on the back for his former squire, young Lieutenant-the-Lord Minalcar, heir to the fiefdom of the Green Hills. As Minalcar trotted off, it was Captain Gendarion who spoke. The heir to the Ringlo vale was the most cautious and proper of Boromir's close friends, and he predictably had something doom-and-gloom themed to say.

'It will be a very dangerous journey, dear friend. One with an uncertain end. How can we even be sure that the elves still live in this place?" Gendarion said

"You worry too much, Gendan." Boromir replied heartily, meeting the eyes of his slightly older - and taller - friend, Captain Galdoron, over the head of Gendarion.

"But..."

"But nothing." Boromir sternly commanded, though his eyes twinkled fondly. He had been friends with Gendarion since early childhood, and could remember many happy boyhood hours spent playing soldiers with Gendan whilst their fathers spoke of affairs of state. "I'll be fine. You and the grinning idiot here," at that Boromir gestured towards Lord-the-Captain Galdoron, "Will be the ones hard-pressed, keeping order here."

"He's entirely right, Gendan." Galdoron agreed with tolerant authority, "Boromir will come home clothed in glory, like he did when he came back from the plains of Rohan. He'll probably come home with new boon companions just as nobly-spirited and highly-ranked as Prince Theodred and Lord Eomer, and strengthened and renewed alliances. Like he always does."

"And your father will probably make a fortune off of said alliances and the attendant reduced tariffs, like he always does." Boromir volleyed back, lifting his chin in amusement.

Galdoron shrugged good-naturedly. "Probably. Not that I'll see a copper of it. I'm still disinherited for going army instead of following in his footsteps as a merchant prince."

Boromir snorted. "As if your father the crusty old Lord Sendar doesn't pay for your armor upgrades and bar tabs anyway. Don't expect me to believe that the elves do that for you, as you always jest."

A light laugh greeted this sally, as Gendarion relaxed at last. Or at least accepted that he could not change his Captain-General's mind, old friend or no.

"Perhaps," Gendarion suggested genially, "You should thank the elves on Galdron's behalf, once you meet them."

"Perhaps I will." Boromir agreed. More seriously, he added, "Do try to keep my brother and my father from one another's throats, will you?"

Gendarion and Galdoron exchanged a long, resigned look. "We'll try." Gendarion agreed, "Easier said than done though."

"I'd almost rather go on this mad journey with you." Galdoron added wryly.

With a last hand clasp and hard embrace for each of his friends, Boromir bid them farewell. He knew that they'd do their best for Gondor, while he was gone. He'd trained them and trained with them, and they were good men, excellent soldiers, confident leaders. Both of them - and Faramir - were more intelligent than Boromir. None of them were as gifted a field commander as Boromir was, but Galdoron, at the least, came close. Boromir knew that he could trust these men, and his brother, and the other promising young officers like Minalcar, to hold Gondor if anyone could. Well, anyone but him, yet both Faramir and Denethor insisted that his errand was more important, as much a flight of fancy as it might otherwise seem.

Boromir thought again of his brother as he rode out the gates of the White City. He hoped that Faramir would be safe...until his thoughts and his journey were interrupted by a messenger in Citadel garb. One who ran almost under the hooves of his horse.

"Sweet Valar, you fool!" Boromir snapped, "Does your mother know that you have a death wish?"

"My pardon, my Lord." The messenger said with a deep bow and a worried mien, "I am sorry to interrupt your journey, but it's your brother."

"Faramir?" Boromir objected in surprise, "What about him? Speak, man!"

"He lies wounded in the House of Healing, your Lordship." The messenger spoke hastily, his unwelcome words tumbling like pebbles in a stream.

Boromir swore, and wheeled his horse around. Pulling the messenger up into the saddle before him, Boromir demanded, "What happened? He should be hours away, by now."

"His horse took a tumble." The messenger said in a squeak, "He hit his head. I know no more, 'twas his man who sent me for you."

That news hit Boromir like a sword-thrust to the chest. Faramir's horse stumbling and a knock on the head was unusual, frightening, surely. But that Sergeant Menohtar had sent for Boromir on this of all days...meant that it was serious. And that Faramir was in no condition to object to Boromir's being summoned, for otherwise he surely would have.

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