Title: A Lucky Fall, Chapter 2
Author: Susana
Series: "Lucky Fall" AU of the Desperate Hours AU
Warning: AU.
Disclaimer: All recognizable elements are Tolkien's
Summary: One lucky fall changed Boromir's fate, and Faramir's.
Chapter Summary: Faramir fell, but that's not why he had his brother called back. It's not even part of why.
A/N: My thanks to everyone who reviewed or left kudos! Your support is very much appreciated.
Quotes:
"I would not take this thing, if it lay by the highway. Not were Minas Tirith falling in ruin and I alone could save her, so, using the weapon of the Dark Lord for her good and my glory. No, I do not wish for such triumphs, Frodo son of Drogo." - Spoken by Faramir in "The Two Towers" by J.R.R. Tolkien
"But it is a gift. A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe! Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy! Let us use it against him!" - Spoken by Boromir in "The Fellowship of the Ring" by J.R.R. Tolkien
A Lucky Fall: Chapter 2
Boromir rode his horse to the very doors of the House of Healing. In doing so, he garnered a number of strange looks. So great was his worry that he barely even noticed. Besides, the Steward's heir was accustomed to going where he wanted, when he wanted, and in such a manner as he wanted.
What he wanted most was to find his brother fine and well. Healers and their staff directed him quickly to Faramir's room, which was strangely not in the intense care wing of the building as Boromir would have expected. From within Boromir could hear the sound of his brother's voice, irritated and a little pained. His heart lifted. Perhaps Sergeant Menohtar had been mistaken about the seriousness of his brother's injuries. Boromir would have wanted to have been informed in any case, his planned departure on a perilous quest notwithstanding. Boromir threw the door wide open.
Faramir stood beside the bed, a vexed expression upon his fair face as he did his best to shoo away the Warden of the House of Healing with a forcibly calm, "My head's fine, Del. Leave it be." But when Boromir entered, Faramir's grey eyes flew to his brother's face.
Boromir smiled, relieved and irritated at the same time.
"Fell off your horse, did you, baby brother?" He teased, going to take his own look at Faramir's head. Catching his brother's hand as Faramir lifted it to stop him, Boromir tsked at the lump he found several inches above and behind Faramir's left ear.
"He should rest here this night, my Lord." The Warden informed Boromir, clearly grateful for his assistance with Faramir. Those who did not know them well might think Faramir the less obstreperous of Finduilas' and Denethor's two sons. Warden Del, however, knew them well enough to know that was not the entire truth of the matter. Faramir could be quite difficult indeed when his mind was set on something.
"And so he shall." Boromir commanded, with a quelling look for his little brother.
Faramir's chin jerked up in challenge. The dignity of the gesture was only slightly ruined by the sticky salve clinging to the left side of his bright fox-colored hair. "I'm not staying here, Brom." He said with iron determination, "And neither are you. I only had you summoned back here to talk to you. So we're going to talk."
Boromir boggled at his brother. The healer sighed in exasperation and said, "Obviously, Lord Faramir is not going to rest until you have eased his mind by conversing with him, my Lord. May I suggest that you do so- your Mother's garden should be quiet and empty this night."
Faramir left the room so quickly that Boromir found himself playing catch-up, despite his brother's injured state and his own rising temper with his sibling.
"What in the name of all the Valar is this about, Fara?" He snapped as they reached the relative privacy of the sweet-smelling garden. Faramir just stood there for a moment, his chest heaving as he took deep, calming breaths. Now Boromir was uneasy, heading towards scared again. Faramir was almost never at a loss for words.
"Father...spoke to you about the ring. Isildur's ring." Faramir said at last, "Before you left tonight, but after I had already gone. He told you to just take it, to bring it back here for him."
"Only as a last resort!" Boromir replied, shocked. That had been a private conversation. Faramir had not been meant to hear it, nor to hear of it, and Boromir did not have any idea how he had. Still, "I should not have to take it, brother. The ring rightly belongs to Gondor. It is we who face the might of the Enemy, and we who must defeat him. How better than with his own weapon?"
Faramir took another deep breath, then fell to his knees before Boromir. Kneeling like a supplicant, he pleaded, "Please, brother. Listen to me, I beg of you. If you have ever listened to me in all of your life, then listen to me now, for this is probably the most important thing I will ever ask of you. Do NOT take the ring. Listen to the wisdom of Mithrandir..."
Taken aback by his brother's dramatic and obviously heart-felt gesture, Boromir tried to rally by jesting, "Gandalf? That boring old fossil will be there?"
Correctly taking Boromir's remark as an attempt to lighten the mood - for both of the brothers knew that Boromir didn't dislike Gandalf that much - Faramir ignored it, and simply continued with his plea, "You cannot defeat evil with evil, Boromir. The ring belongs to Sauron; it is part of him in a way that we cannot properly understand. By taking it, you would make yourself into his own weapon, as he takes you over from within."
Boromir sighed in fond exasperation, "Faramir..."
"You do not believe me?" Faramir asked, desperation clear on his fine features.
Kneeling down beside his brother, Boromir cupped Faramir's face with one calloused hand. "Nay, little brother. Or rather, I believe entirely that you believe what you say." His mouth twisting into a wry, affectionate smile, Boromir patted his brother's cheek, adding, "But we both know that you are not perfect, nor all-knowing. Here I must believe our father, for it is he who is our elder and our Lord besides. In this matter, I think that his wisdom exceeds your own."
Faramir pushed Boromir violently away from him, and rose to pace the garden in one fluid movement. Boromir fell on his rear, so startled was he by his brother's unusual ferocity.
"What in Eru's name is WRONG with you tonight, Faramir?" Boromir demanded, confounded and angry. "Did you hit your head harder than you say?" That would explain his brother's bizarre behavior, and the mere possibility took Boromir away from the edge of anger back into concern. He stood, the better to corral and catch his brother should the younger man start to falter.
"So you think that our father is thinking clearly these days?" Faramir seethed as he paced, "You think that he has not let his all-consuming hatred for Mordor and paranoia about the Enemy's works blind him to the wisdom of what should be done to stop them?"
"He is not blinded, Faramir. Merely intent." Boromir said as patiently as he could, before commanding, "Now, you will cease this nonsense, and go and lie down as the Master Healer has commanded."
Faramir waved that order away as if he hadn't even heard it, "Do you deny, then, my brother, that I am important? Not as his son - that is a battle that I have long since given up, and it doesn't matter in the larger scheme of this struggle anyway."
His heart aching, for much of that was true, Boromir began gently, "Fara, he..."
"I'm not going to debate this with you." Faramir said firmly, although there was pain in his own eyes as he at last stood still again and met Boromir's eyes, "I don't give a damn what he thinks of me." They both knew that wasn't entirely true, but Boromir let it go, now paying careful attention as Faramir continued, "What I am asking you is, do you consider me important to the war? Important as the Captain of the Rangers of Ithilien and the spies, holding our southern border and bringing back important information on the Enemy's movements and plans?"
"Of course you are!" Boromir agreed, wondering where in the flames of Mordor his brother was going with this argument. Then Boromir's eyes narrowed into a glare as he realized that Faramir had mentioned one of Boromir's own pet peeves, "About the be-cursed spy network, Faramir, I think..."
"Goblins take the bloody spy network, Boromir!" Faramir said intently, his eyes snapping with gray fire. "Listen to what I am telling you now, and listen well! I am important to the war effort. No one can take my place easily in Ithilien, or with the spies. No one has the experience, the contacts or the cursed patience. Or even the status - our father may not like it, but I AM his son, and I use that. My being hale and whole and healthy to continue this work is IMPORTANT, Boromir. And our father does not care, about that. He would let me be harmed, even maimed, to silence me and enforce my obedience on the matter of the ring. And THAT...that is not wise. Its not reasonable. He's blind on this one matter, brother, and if you follow his lead, then you'll forfeit any chance we have to win this endless war. Sauron ruling himself here, or ruling through a puppet of you or father - it doesn't matter. Gondor loses either way."
Boromir's blood ran hot and cold. He didn't honestly hear everything that his brother said after 'harmed,' or rather he heard it, but only absently. "What do you mean, Fara?" He asked quietly, speaking now to reassure himself as much as to question his brother, "After the incident with his treasonous treasurer when you were small, he swore that he would ruin anyone who hurt you like that again." One of Boromir's worst memories was being called back to the citadel by the Wizard to find Faramir battered and bloodied. It hurt their father to even look at his brother. Sometimes Denethor hadn't been careful enough choosing who would be looking after the younger Faramir - but that had stopped. It had to have stopped.
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