Who's Boromir?!
Who is Faramir?
Light was becoming scarce at the hour that a certain Gondorian nobleman reached the Ford of Bruinen. He dismounted his horse to make camp. Elven lands were not too far away, not many foul things would linger here. He reached into his horse's pack for a few rations before allowing it to go graze freely. Gnawing away at his last full piece of cram, he noticed some tracks on the ground.
They were horse hooves, but there was something unnatural about them. He followed them; they were large and left heavy marks and every few steps dried blood was found near the prints. No horse graced by the elven stables would leave marks as these, and men do not travel by this road.
"Evil things were here." He said to himself tucking what was left of the cram securely into his pocket.
A sudden nervousness tightened inside of the man.
"Other fell things may not be long behind."
In a sudden panic he called his horse toward him. But a grunt was heard from behind him.
He unsheathed his sword in usual Gondorian fashion with the customary cry of "Show yourself!"
In the corner his eye, a few shrubs shook.
"Show yourself!" He belted out again.
A small rabbit scurried out of the shrubs in an awfully frightened state. After all, Boromir was this man's name. None other than the strapping young heir to the last strong nation of western men Boromir. And he had found himself uneasy over the presence of a rabbit.
"How embarrassing!" cried a voice above him. Boromir tensed, it was a feminine voice, in the wild?
"…Madam?"
He was answered with a dreadful shriek and a loud THUMP of a body hitting the ground from the heights of a tree.
Boromir could not help but stare at the young woman that lay whimpering a few yards from him. No men have lived in these parts for years, at least, that is what his brother had told him. His brother found occupation in lore and history; he was even a pupil to Mithrandir. But women…perhaps no one ever found it necessary to mention them? With sword still in hand, he stepped forward. Propriety demanded him to check on the health of the woman before any further words were exchanged.
"Are you hurt?" Which looked incredibly silly when the one asking the question was holding a sword.
Her whimpering stopped, and she raised her head to look around. Her eyes captured the unfamiliar trees, the unfamiliar sky and the unfamiliar river. Her eyes took in all of this, but her mind rejected all of it.
She gave a dizzy smile, "Much better than the zombie dream."
She raised herself off the ground and moved her hands as if she was dusting her pants. But her hands never touched her pants. She stood there, waving her arms above her thighs like mad for quite a few moments.
"Dust Dust Dust" she sang even if she wasn't truly dusting.
But enough moments had passed; Boromir was not very patient at the moment. A mad woman she must be. A mad woman living in the forest.
He strode forward gripping his sword, mad women should not be trusted after all. He opened his mouth to speak but was quickly cut off by a question from her. Apparently just noticing his standing there.
"Zombies, you a zombie?" she asked with utmost suspicion, pausing from her dusting.
"Zombie?" A word that might have never reached his ears ever in his life had he never met this woman.
She stepped back, "No no. Not a- " she lost her footing and tripped. But quickly regained her stance, one consisting of a drunken slouched posture.
That was what Boromir thought she was, a lone drunk mad woman living in the forest. After seeing that she had no intention to continue her sentence, he decided to ask her name.
"Hm? What? Name, oh. Your name? I think his name, well. Things have names. People have names." She paused.
Then with a smile and a nod she announced, "People are things."
Suddenly the woman began to sway towards him, holding her head with a face showing some serious pain. This made him draw back, he did not want to be near a pained lone drunk mad woman living in the forest. Just as sudden as the pain seemed to appear, it vanished. Whatever calmness left her face was immediately replaced with anger.
"Who the fuck is Faramir?!" She yelled at him.
Boromir was taken back, was she a witch who knew of her brother?
"What? I am Boromir and-"
"What?" She might have a hearing problem of some sort.
"Boro-"
"Boromir?!"
"Please-"
"Then who the fuck is the other guy then?!" She was becoming very serious.
"I never said-"
"WHO ARE YOU!?"
"PLE-" His hand gripped his sword. Most men would laugh at the thought of being intimidated by a lone drunk man woman living in the forest, but they were never granted the experience.
"Boromir?"
"Yes. But for the-"
"What? Frodo! That's his name!" Whatever rage she had left her and a smile spread wide on her face.
"What?! Mad-"
"Sam? You're Sam? Nooo." Scowling and muttering, she played with her fingers through a series of curses that erupted from Boromir's mouth.
"PEACE YOU MAD WOMAN!" He mustered what he could of his composure. His brows furrowed to see her swaying singing a song with her two index finger tips touching.
"Frodo and Sam looove each otherrr…!"
"Will you please!" The nobleman took a deep breath, "Just, please. Act with some civility. Who…what are you?"
Something had happened to her after that fall. She couldn't remember much if at all. Half asleep, dizzy, and completely disoriented with her situation, Corrine had passed through her meeting of this man without being able to recollect what had just been said a few seconds before.
"Were my dreams always like this?" she thought.
But now, she felt a bit more in control of her mind. And with every passing moment, she became more and more aware that all that was happening wasn't a dream.
"She looks as if water has been thrown on her face…" Boromir mused.
Corrine looked at her hands, then to the scenery. First in admiration, but this succumbed to horror. She wasn't supposed to be here. What was she doing here!?
Seeing her alarm, he believed it a good idea to begin the conversation anew.
"Boromir son of Denethor, that is who-" I am was the rest of his sentence, but the flummoxed girl clenched her fists and cried out to the heavens in unfathomable frustration,
"WHO THE FUCK IS FARAMIR?!"
Her last cry before promptly falling into the river.