I liiiiiive! I went back to school and found myself wandering out of thought and time into other fandoms, but I have been called home at last by the clear ringing of my own conscience.
They made their way out of Moria in a sort of numb, grief-stricken haze. Half the group collapsed as soon as they were outside the mines; the other half stood, disbelieving and angry at the same time. Boromir restrained Gimli from going back in; Legolas wandered, looking confused and saddened at the same time. The hobbits were inconsolable; Merry and Pippin lay on the ground weeping while Sam sat up and did the same. Faramir stared into the distance, unseeing and unhearing. Aragorn alone did not grieve outwardly; he would save that for later.
"Legolas – get them up," he said to the dazed elf. Legolas seemed to snap out of it; he nodded.
"Give them a moment, for pity's sake!" Boromir protested. He had not been over-fond of the wizard but he had not wanted to see him dead, either. That Aragorn could shake off such a tragedy seemed callous to him.
"By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs! We must reach the woods of Lothlorien," the Ranger replied. Boromir did not protest again; instead he went to his brother, who started at the hand on his shoulder.
"Come; we must move on," the older Hurin said with a glower at their new leader. Orcs or not, he intended to have a word with the illustrious heir of Isildur about concern for the sensibilities of other people.
The next two days were a trial. The entire group was heart-weary; to add to that they were running low on supplies. Watch duty was tense; all of them were expecting trouble, if not from the mountain orcs then from the wolves they could still hear howling at night. The edge of the wood of Lothlorien was a welcome sight when they finally reached it.
Faramir felt a strange sort of languor come over him as he stepped beneath the giant trees of the Golden Wood. He had never truly understood the suspicion that his adopted people held of the elven realm, being of Gondor and widely read. Now, for the first time, he felt the strange atmosphere in the wood and understood. Not for nothing did Lothlorien mean "Dream flower"! He seemed to hear a strange whispering in the back of his head, not related to Gimli, who gave voice to the legends of Lothlorien as they existed among his people; he shook it off with a shudder and noticed that Frodo, too, appeared disturbed.
"Mister Frodo?" Sam questioned, seeing his master's unease. Frodo and Faramir locked eyes for a brief moment; the man nodded as if to say that he felt it too, and the hobbit took a deep breath, reassured that he was not hearing things.
"It's nothing," he answered. They continued on.
"Well, here's one dwarf she won't ensnare so easily," Gimli went on. "I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox." But Faramir was not listening. He had not been a Ranger for two years without learning to look up, and he was doing so now. He was somewhat alarmed to find a pair of elven eyes looking at him down the shaft of an arrow.
"Legolas, if you could speak to your kinsmen?" he asked faintly, not moving. Legolas whirled, drawing his bow as the other members of the patrol dropped out of their trees.
"The dwarf breathes so loud we could have shot him in the dark," a smooth voice said from in front of Faramir. The bow and arrow were lowered; Faramir breathed again. This, then, was the leader of the group, an elf with an air of authority and of pride. The elf scanned the group and seemed to nod. "Follow me," he ordered.
They reached Caras Galadhon the next day; Faramir found himself staring about in wonder, for the – could it be called a city? – had an ethereal feel to it, one which was added to by the strange lighting and the sheer splendor of the place. Even Haldir, the leader of the elven patrol, seemed somewhat awed.
Boromir was slightly less impressed. He was not a superstitious man, but surely it was not normal to be hearing a voice, someone else's voice no less, in one's head? Worse yet, the voice was offering words of comfort, which was surely at cross-purposes with its presence in the first place. Sleep in peace, Galadriel had said; Boromir could do no such thing.
"Take some rest," Aragorn advised. "These borders are well protected."
Boromir looked up and shook his head.
"I will find no rest here." He hesitated for a moment under Aragorn's questioning gaze before deciding to admit what he had heard. "I heard a voice inside my head," he said reluctantly. "She spoke of my father and the fall of Gondor. She said to me, even now, there is hope left, but I cannot see it."
Faramir had wandered over by now; he frowned. "You heard it too, then?" he asked, sitting down. Boromir shot him a grateful look; he had thought, briefly, that he might have gone mad.
"She spoke to me also," the younger Hurin said, his expression troubled. "She said… much the same of Rohan, though she spoke of King Théoden. But what of Gondor?"
Boromir took a deep breath and said, "It is long since we had any hope. Our father is a noble man, but his rule is failing, and now our... our people lose faith. He looks to me to make things right, and I would do it; I would see the glory of Gondor restored. Have you ever seen it, Aragorn? Do you remember… the White Tower of Ecthelion glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver, its banners caught high in the morning breeze? Have you ever been called home by the clear ringing of silver trumpets?"
"I have seen the White City, long ago," Aragorn said.
"One day, our paths will lead us there, and the tower guard shall take up the call, 'the lords of Gondor have returned!'" Boromir enthused. Then he looked at his brother and the smile disappeared from his face. "I am sorry, little brother… I forgot…" Faramir waved a hand dismissively, but it did not take a mind reader to see the pain buried in his eyes. Aragorn stood and padded away; Boromir let him leave, all intentions of taking him to task forgotten.
"Do you miss it?" Boromir asked quietly. Faramir turned away.
"I didn't leave out of a sense of aesthetics," he answered, as close as he would come to admitting that he did indeed miss Minas Tirith. He did not dare think on it too long; he could not come back to Gondor, and so… he would have to be content with his life as it was.
"If I vouched for you… or if Aragorn took up the throne…" Boromir started, but Faramir shook his head.
"I would still have to face our… your… father. As long as he lives… no, brother." He stood up, closing the discussion. "I for one am going to try to get some sleep. Gods bless." He walked away, leaving Boromir to ponder.