It was amazing, the sensation. Just moments after making his choice
mentally, Faramir found the construct around him flutter in and out- and
then resolve into the exact surroundings needed. He looked at the world
around him, at the city of Osgiliath and the surrounding countryside filled
with cheering droves of people, and smiled. Soon it would come, the moment
he waited for. . .
The words of the speech didn't matter. Once Faramir noted the flag raised and saw his brother again, cheering for the entire world to hear and proclaiming no more fear would reach this fortress, his heart broke. He knew the truth: without something to change it, that was simply a lie. This city was destined to fall again.
Faramir watched until Boromir began to back away from the roar of the crowd, then rushed towards him. As before, he was met with a caring, brotherly embrace and a hearty laugh. Another familiar conversation followed, Faramir careful to play nothing more than his part.
For now.
"Remember today, little brother," Boromir smiled, patting him on the back. "Today, life is good."
Faramir smiled. "You have no idea," he whispered drinking from his cup. Then he looked over, seeing his father.
"What is it?" Boromir asked, seeing the odd light in his brother's eyes.
"He's here," Faramir answered.
"Father?" Boromir asked. "But that doesn't make sense- you seem almost happy to see him."
"Father it is," Faramir said, draining the cup and setting it down.
Where to begin? Faramir had a job to do, and was wondering what would be the best way for him to accomplish it. As for father, how could he face him, knowing the future? Knowing that he was loved? Could he be the shut down boy he had been then?
"Where is Gondor's finest?" Denethor asked, looking at the older. "Where is my firstborn?"
Faramir watched the exchange, accepting Boromir's help as if he were still the younger- as though he didn't know what was occurring. When the two wandered off together, Faramir's mind began working overtime. . .
Denethor would offer his oldest the chance again, yet Faramir knew that was not how things must go. In his heart, Faramir knew the best thing was for the stronger to stay and aide the world of men while the other went on the quest of the Ring. Faramir was certain of everything in his mind: somehow, he must be more persuasive. He must get this job!
"My place is here," Boromir argued just loud enough for Faramir to hear in his haze. "With my people. . ."
And then all that followed. Faramir held his breath and finally let his moment come. "If there is need to go to Rivendell," he began, "let me go. The dream was mine."
Denethor stalled, taken aback by the argument. Faramir gave himself an inward smile, knowing he had begun the right path. "Besides," the younger continued, "should aught go ill on the way, it is I who is more dispensable to the kingdom."
"And if you succeed," Denethor calmly added, "you will have much to be heralded for. I see your plan- a chance for Faramir, Captain of Gondor to prove his worth? I don't think so. I will only trust your brother with this task, for he I know will not betray me in this errand."
And so there it was again. Denethor turned on his heel and retreated into the back of the towers. And Faramir watched after him, looking at the man. "You will realize it later," he whispered, shaking his head.
Boromir looked at his brother quietly. "Is there something amiss?" he asked, seeing the far-away glimpse in his eyes.
"There is," Faramir replied gently, turning with a new idea and purpose. He accompanied his brother downstairs, discussing as they went. "I cannot understand what is going on; the dream was mine, and lent forward. It is my errand to do! If Elrond needs men, I shall be the man who does it!"
Boromir had never seen quite a fire in the eyes of his younger brother such as what he saw then, nor that determination. "What would you see to do?"
Faramir smiled. "How long would it take father to notice which of his sons had gone missing?" he asked.
Boromir stopped, both because he had reached where the horses were billeted and from the insinuation in Faramir's comment. "What do you suggest?"
"My place for yours," he replied. "In the long run, it shall make father happy to have his jewel in command and I. . ." Faramir did not finish, for he knew what fate awaited the son of Denethor at Amon Hen and felt sure it was not likely to be different for another. Still, he was resolved: Boromir had a better chance of living the calm life, deserved more the comforting lifestyle of a Steward in the house of Aragorn.
After all, Faramir was only living the life his brother should have had.
"I shall be fine," Faramir assured at his brother's uncertain look, "but I would like to take care of my own tasks."
Boromir looked over at the younger, seeing the definite want in the other's stance and all. Faramir was, in fact, schooling himself to that which he often used in the court of Aragorn. It was quite imploring, used in order to sway the leaders to his way of thinking. And Boromir put his hand on Faramir's shoulder, tilting his head. "Do you really wish this, little brother?"
Faramir nodded.
"Then it is yours."
Faramir mounted his own steed then, straightening himself to look his part. Boromir lifted the last few supplies up, clasping the hand on the way. "Remember today, little brother," he whispered.
"I always shall," Faramir assured. "Always."
Boromir stepped away. "Take care of yourself."
Faramir held his brother in his gaze, knowing whatever happened this was likely to be the last time he saw him in life. He rode away, looking back. . .
. . . And then it faded into whiteness, and he ended up sitting on the floor in a heap. A hand materialized before him, attached to the man that offered the choice. Faramir accepted, seeing he was back to the projected image, and let his brows furrow. "I thought I got to see the consequence of my action from where I was taken?"
"There's a problem," the man answered. "The future does not include anything you can or would want to see. Frodo learned from you and Aragorn alone, and came to trust men too fully. He was never exposed to the true nature of the ring, as Boromir did, and therefore never left. When you died on the hilltop, it turned both your father and brother mad; Frodo brought the ring into the trap of Minas Tirith, and with the fall of the family of Stewards the world of men failed. Aragorn arrived too late- all collapsed in flame. In your time, orcs had men and hobbit enslaved. Gandalf imprisoned, fighting alone to save all."
Faramir shook his head. "Then taking my brother's place was not the answer to my riddles. It must lie elsewhere."
"You wish for a redo?" was the joking answer.
Faramir nodded with a sigh. "A redo."
"Perhaps," the man warned, "you are attempting to change the wrong thing.'
Faramir shook his head. "The answer lies in Boromir's survival," he told himself. "He was the better, the stronger- he would know what to do, would take my place, leaving me free to pursue a normal life. But how can I save him, without changing that which is necessary?"
"Maybe. . ."
But Faramir interrupted. "I know where- or I should say, when. I want a week before I learned of Boromir's death. . ."
The words of the speech didn't matter. Once Faramir noted the flag raised and saw his brother again, cheering for the entire world to hear and proclaiming no more fear would reach this fortress, his heart broke. He knew the truth: without something to change it, that was simply a lie. This city was destined to fall again.
Faramir watched until Boromir began to back away from the roar of the crowd, then rushed towards him. As before, he was met with a caring, brotherly embrace and a hearty laugh. Another familiar conversation followed, Faramir careful to play nothing more than his part.
For now.
"Remember today, little brother," Boromir smiled, patting him on the back. "Today, life is good."
Faramir smiled. "You have no idea," he whispered drinking from his cup. Then he looked over, seeing his father.
"What is it?" Boromir asked, seeing the odd light in his brother's eyes.
"He's here," Faramir answered.
"Father?" Boromir asked. "But that doesn't make sense- you seem almost happy to see him."
"Father it is," Faramir said, draining the cup and setting it down.
Where to begin? Faramir had a job to do, and was wondering what would be the best way for him to accomplish it. As for father, how could he face him, knowing the future? Knowing that he was loved? Could he be the shut down boy he had been then?
"Where is Gondor's finest?" Denethor asked, looking at the older. "Where is my firstborn?"
Faramir watched the exchange, accepting Boromir's help as if he were still the younger- as though he didn't know what was occurring. When the two wandered off together, Faramir's mind began working overtime. . .
Denethor would offer his oldest the chance again, yet Faramir knew that was not how things must go. In his heart, Faramir knew the best thing was for the stronger to stay and aide the world of men while the other went on the quest of the Ring. Faramir was certain of everything in his mind: somehow, he must be more persuasive. He must get this job!
"My place is here," Boromir argued just loud enough for Faramir to hear in his haze. "With my people. . ."
And then all that followed. Faramir held his breath and finally let his moment come. "If there is need to go to Rivendell," he began, "let me go. The dream was mine."
Denethor stalled, taken aback by the argument. Faramir gave himself an inward smile, knowing he had begun the right path. "Besides," the younger continued, "should aught go ill on the way, it is I who is more dispensable to the kingdom."
"And if you succeed," Denethor calmly added, "you will have much to be heralded for. I see your plan- a chance for Faramir, Captain of Gondor to prove his worth? I don't think so. I will only trust your brother with this task, for he I know will not betray me in this errand."
And so there it was again. Denethor turned on his heel and retreated into the back of the towers. And Faramir watched after him, looking at the man. "You will realize it later," he whispered, shaking his head.
Boromir looked at his brother quietly. "Is there something amiss?" he asked, seeing the far-away glimpse in his eyes.
"There is," Faramir replied gently, turning with a new idea and purpose. He accompanied his brother downstairs, discussing as they went. "I cannot understand what is going on; the dream was mine, and lent forward. It is my errand to do! If Elrond needs men, I shall be the man who does it!"
Boromir had never seen quite a fire in the eyes of his younger brother such as what he saw then, nor that determination. "What would you see to do?"
Faramir smiled. "How long would it take father to notice which of his sons had gone missing?" he asked.
Boromir stopped, both because he had reached where the horses were billeted and from the insinuation in Faramir's comment. "What do you suggest?"
"My place for yours," he replied. "In the long run, it shall make father happy to have his jewel in command and I. . ." Faramir did not finish, for he knew what fate awaited the son of Denethor at Amon Hen and felt sure it was not likely to be different for another. Still, he was resolved: Boromir had a better chance of living the calm life, deserved more the comforting lifestyle of a Steward in the house of Aragorn.
After all, Faramir was only living the life his brother should have had.
"I shall be fine," Faramir assured at his brother's uncertain look, "but I would like to take care of my own tasks."
Boromir looked over at the younger, seeing the definite want in the other's stance and all. Faramir was, in fact, schooling himself to that which he often used in the court of Aragorn. It was quite imploring, used in order to sway the leaders to his way of thinking. And Boromir put his hand on Faramir's shoulder, tilting his head. "Do you really wish this, little brother?"
Faramir nodded.
"Then it is yours."
Faramir mounted his own steed then, straightening himself to look his part. Boromir lifted the last few supplies up, clasping the hand on the way. "Remember today, little brother," he whispered.
"I always shall," Faramir assured. "Always."
Boromir stepped away. "Take care of yourself."
Faramir held his brother in his gaze, knowing whatever happened this was likely to be the last time he saw him in life. He rode away, looking back. . .
. . . And then it faded into whiteness, and he ended up sitting on the floor in a heap. A hand materialized before him, attached to the man that offered the choice. Faramir accepted, seeing he was back to the projected image, and let his brows furrow. "I thought I got to see the consequence of my action from where I was taken?"
"There's a problem," the man answered. "The future does not include anything you can or would want to see. Frodo learned from you and Aragorn alone, and came to trust men too fully. He was never exposed to the true nature of the ring, as Boromir did, and therefore never left. When you died on the hilltop, it turned both your father and brother mad; Frodo brought the ring into the trap of Minas Tirith, and with the fall of the family of Stewards the world of men failed. Aragorn arrived too late- all collapsed in flame. In your time, orcs had men and hobbit enslaved. Gandalf imprisoned, fighting alone to save all."
Faramir shook his head. "Then taking my brother's place was not the answer to my riddles. It must lie elsewhere."
"You wish for a redo?" was the joking answer.
Faramir nodded with a sigh. "A redo."
"Perhaps," the man warned, "you are attempting to change the wrong thing.'
Faramir shook his head. "The answer lies in Boromir's survival," he told himself. "He was the better, the stronger- he would know what to do, would take my place, leaving me free to pursue a normal life. But how can I save him, without changing that which is necessary?"
"Maybe. . ."
But Faramir interrupted. "I know where- or I should say, when. I want a week before I learned of Boromir's death. . ."