I want to thank Chris for her great beta reading job, thank you very much, pal.
This story is dedicated to all people who are around and support me: Mirka, Tanicka, Shaytis, Jo and of course all Faramir fans.
* * *
Prelude to Innocence
by Akin
Life in the city was waking up, but the clamour of the lively Gondorian society did not reach the silence of Faramir's darkened room. The only thing that reminded Boromir of the existence of light behind the walls was a narrow stream of sunshine slipping in between the half- drawn, heavy curtains.
Boromir leaned heavily against the chair and continued to look at the small particles of dust swirling in the single ray of light. On his knees was resting a heavy book of war strategies. Its edges were uncomfortably digging into his tights, but he did nothing to change its position, simply too tired. He had ceased in reading it a while ago, when he had realised that his concentration was too drained to be kept on the lines of small letters.
Boromir massaged his tired, aching eyes and looked at his dozing brother.
It was already more than ten days since they had with Mithrandir's help found out about Faramir's sickness. They had kept on fighting it since then and yet, it still was not defeated. Boromir felt deep inside that he should be thankful that Faramir was alive at all, but the nagging feeling that this circle would probably never break kept on returning and his own impatience made him feel like a spoilt ungrateful brat.
He had never been known for his patience and this time he tried really hard for the sake of his sick brother. He wanted to be the support Faramir needed, wanted to care with love.
So the time went by and he did not even notice when he became the loving, serene carer. Boromir snickered. The thought was ridiculous.
He wished for his brother to be well again, but the healing was slow.
As a soldier, he had learnt to be indifferent to the physical pain inflicted upon him, or his companions. Yet he felt very uncomfortable by the sight at the raging fever, which kept its hold on Faramir.
It did not bring pain, but despite that, it was plain to any eye, however blind, that Faramir was suffering under it. It was leaving him weak and drawn.
Boromir sighed quietly and rolled his eyes, he had to be patient.
After the late night vigil Mithrandir had gone to bed and so Boromir was left with Faramir alone. He could not help, but cringed at the thought of the wizard.
The man was taking batter care of Faramir than any healer could, preparing the right mixture of medicine and then staying up long into the night to administer it. Yet after what Boromir had heard in father's office, his feelings for the wizard had gone several degrees colder.
//Faramir could be the new-made knot binding together the broken line of the Elves and Men. I wanted to take him to the Elves so he can learn from them.//
Since the encounter of Denethor and Mithrandir, not a single word had fallen about Faramir leaving Minas Tirith, or Gondor.
The Steward, with underlying anger, pretended that nothing had happened and Boromir chose wisely to keep silent. And yet both men, the son like his father could not forgive the wizard for having the sole idea of taking Faramir away and although Boromir fairly doubted that the motivations behind their actions were the same, he was glad that the Steward despised the wizard as well.
So despite his efforts and all the care he showed, Mithrandir was merely tolerated in Gondor, but not welcomed.
Faramir on the bed stirred and whimpered and so interrupted the thread of his brother's grim thoughts.
Boromir stood up heavily. He had been too tired to move, but now it felt good to flex his strained muscles a little. He reached to the table, took the prepared medicine and returned to his brother's bed.
Faramir had pushed himself up on one elbow and was watching him. His blue, previously clear eyes were glazing from fever again. Boromir handed him the drink. Although the cup in Faramir's hands was trembling a little, it seemed that his brother was looking better and was probably finally taking the right course to getting well.
To his brother's good, Boromir had to admit that Faramir was a good patient and in healthier moments also amusing and nice company and although they had always been very close, Boromir had a feeling, that in these moments of clarity something new was developing between them, deeper- a kind of mutual understanding they had not shared before. The silent dependence of his ever so strong and witty brother struck a silent hitherto hidden accord in him. Boromir was not so sure whether he wanted to hear its soft humming.
*The next thing I will find out is, that I would make a great father.*
Boromir smiled at the thought, but his smile faded, when he looked at Faramir slowly sipping his medicine, eyeing him over the rim of the cup. The observing, assessing look made Boromir flinch inwardly in nervousness and reminded him that there were still depths of his brother's soul, he did not know.
*One can be never too sure what to expect when he looks at you that way.*
"Is Kiriel dead?"
//Kiriel gwanale...Boromir lav nin wanya......lav nin wanya!//
Boromir froze at the question. He was not sure if, or how clearly Faramir remembered his feverish cries at the balcony of his chamber. It had been the day after the tournament, when the fever had started. It had been the day when they had found out that Faramir had most likely caught the sickness from Kiriel. And the day when Kiriel had died.
Boromir shuddered. He was not afraid of death, neither of his own nor of someone else's. During the years spent with his company in Osgiliath he had learnt that death was a part of life: dancing together hand in hand, like two lovers embracing, one could not exist without the other.
Yet the strange connection Faramir had felt to his dying friend was sending shivers through him and the assessing look his brother was giving him now made him wonder if Faramir beheld some memories of this connection, though tingled red with the brush of fever.
*Is he simply asking because he does not know? Shall I tell him? And is there at all a gentle way how to tell that you friend had died? Valar help me! The best would be I will just say it.*
"Yes. He had died one day after the tournament. That was ten days ago."
Faramir's eyebrows sunk lower as he tried to utilise what he just had been told.
"Oh."
Boromir had always shrunk back from emotional outbursts, but his brother's indifferent reaction made him doubt to what degree Faramir's feverish mind was exactly able to comprehend the words it received. This was not like Faramir at all. It was impossible that his emotional brother would react to his best friend's death with a simple 'oh'- a stance so similar to Denethor's that it made Boromir's hackles rise. Faramir always had more in common with their father as they were both willing to admit. Boromir secretly suspected that might be the reason why they did not get on well, but this way of likeness disturbed him.
*How much would it take to make from passionate Faramir cold Denethor? Or is it likely that his sickness is the reason for this?*
Faramir handed him the empty cup, lay down again and curled in his sheets.
Boromir stood up to go away , when he heard a small muffled sob escape from under the covers. He turned back.
There was no way he could help Faramir with this pain. Gently, he caressed brother's dishelved, slightly curly hair sticking from underneath the covers and went out.
He did not have a good feeling from leaving Faramir alone with his pain alone, but on the other hand it had always been Faramir who had been the source of wisdom beyond his years, level-headed with quick wit. There were no words of counsel he could offer that Faramir had not been thinking of before. It was time for taking care of his own personal matters.
* * *
Boromir returned to his silent vigil later that day, shortly after the lunch. When he opened the door of his brother's room he was surprised to find the chamber empty, except for Ioreth, who was changing the bed- sheets. The merry healer was singing to herself softly and except for her greeting she did not pay any attention to him at all.
"Good day, master Boromir."
Ioreth's musical voice was not so infectious today. Boromir shrugged the greeting away getting straight to the matter of his pressing concern. "Where is Faramir?"
Ioreth looked at him and although she had noticed his grim mood, she did not show a sign of being influenced by it, continuing in the same tone, "He was feeling better after the lunch and so master Mithrandir allowed him to spend a little time in the fresh air in the Gardens of Healing. They left after master Faramir had eaten."
Ioreth returned to her task. Boromir grunted and went out into the sun. In long paces, which allowed no stopping, he hurried to the Gardens of Healing in the Sixth ring. With a little feeling of grim satisfaction he realised, that everyone he was passing by was trying to get out of his way. Not even the guards by the Citadel-gate were asking questions, a thing which under normal circumstances would have been a serious mistake, yet Boromir was thankful for it this time. He was too angry to answer for his burning temper.
Soon he entered the gardens, a place absolutely unique in its beauty and peace in Minas Tirith. He always had a feeling that life and to live bore a totally different meaning here, despite the fact that Boromir did not like to spend time in the Houses of Healing, or the nearby Gardens because it often meant he was sick or wounded.
However now, even despite the anger and worries lingering beneath the surface, he felt its peacefulness touching and soothing like a soft breeze.
Although the Gardens were large he did not have to search for long to find his brother.
Faramir was sitting on one of the wooden benches with his back turned to Boromir. He appeared like a marble statue of their ancestors - proud with touch of sadness. Only occasional blinking, or intake of breath revealed that this descendant was still alive.
For the first time in days was the air was warm despite the night rain warm. The ground was still wet and the smell of soil hung heavily in the air. With everything around awaking even the wind seemed green.
Boromir watched his brother quietly. At first he thought that he had caught Faramir thinking - he was starring plainly into the open space without a move, his back frigid. Only when he looked closer, he realised that his brother was looking at the top of the tower of the Cathedral visible showing between the few planted trees.
When he heard Boromir's steps in the soft grass, Faramir tensed a little, but he did not turn to his brother, nor did he greet him. Boromir opened his mouth to chide Faramir for being incautious with his still fragile health, but when he saw his brother's sad eyes, he decided against it. He sat down on the damp bench and looked into the same direction.
For a moment they both gazed in silence before Faramir suddenly turned to him.
"What do you see when you look at me?"
Boromir sighed. He had grown accustomed to his brother's strange questions, but he could never tell what would be the result of his answer- a fact that made him feel uncomfortable.
"I see my brother," he responded plainly.
Faramir looked at him discontent with the answer and asked once again, insisting. "What do you see when you look at me?"
Boromir loved his brother dearly, more than anyone else, maybe even more than their father, but to voice it was getting more difficult with each passing year. For a moment, he wished that everything could be so easy as it had been when they were small children: he would embrace Faramir and tell him lightly how much he loved him. Faramir would giggle and hug him back as the most precious thing in the word. And they would be the most content people in the whole City.
But things were not so easy anymore. And although Boromir knew that he most likely was the most precious person in his brother's life, he knew, it would not get easier to say it anymore. After a short moment of intense thinking, Boromir responded slowly,
"I see my brother, a good man, one I would trust with my life."
Although it was an answer as close to his feelings as he dared to give, it still did not appear to be the thing that Faramir longed to hear.
"Do you see a man born in the shadow of the Cathedral?"
Boromir raised an eyebrow, getting more and more confused. "Of a noble origin? Yes."
"No. A man born in the shadow of the Cathedral. Do you see such a man in me?"
Faramir looked at him hardly and then he chuckled softly at Boromir's confusion, but the chuckle faded into a whimper.
"The last time I was with Kiriel, when I had found out about the tournament...Kiriel told me, we'd better not meet anymore. He said, that I was a man born in the shadow of the Cathedral."
Although Faramir's voice was even, Boromir divined how hurt Faramir was and he cursed Kiriel for causing so much pain.
"You know, I have always believed, that no matter what will happen, that Kiriel and I, we would be friends. I would have never believed that our friendship would break from inside. It is not fair that we could not be friends only because I am the son of the Steward."
Boromir wanted to tell Faramir that there were many things in life, which just were not right, or fair. He wanted to slap Kiriel for being such a coward and then tell him, that many things were not what they appeared to be. But Kiriel was not there anymore.
"Did you know that a long time ago the Cathedral used to be a library? It was guarded by the wisest men in the city, but before our father started to rule, it nearly burned down by a mishap. After that, convinced by the council, the Steward had it moved into the House. Since then the Cathedral has only been a place for the crowning of Stewards. It used to be a centre of all scholars, sorcerers and people skilled in many ways of mind."
Boromir sighed. He was confused by the sudden change of their topic, but relieved that Faramir started to had started to talk about something that was close to his heart and not about his pain, which was maybe closer, but history did not make Boromir feel so awkward.
Although he wanted to listen to Faramir's problems, he felt strangely inapt for not being able to help him. Suddenly, thinking of what he had heard, a strange thought occurred to him. At length he started, "The people, who used to live in the Cathedral in the times when there still was the library, were they wealthy, or respected?"
Faramir frowned at Boromir's surprising interest in their topic, but answered,
"no. They were mostly studying books and scrolls there. They had brilliant minds, but that was probably at the same time the only possession they had,"
his arms flew up in a for Faramir uncharacteristic exasperated gesture ", and respected? Remember brother - Minas Tirith is a fort, beautiful, big, but a fort."
Boromir picked in his brother's statement bitter truth about the priorities of life in Minas Tirith, but despite its severity, he chuckled a little. Then he grew serious again,
"I believe you were wrong all the time, brother mine. The message Kiriel wanted to give you was that you cannot be friends anymore because you are too different, that is right. But not because you are the Steward's son of noble origin."
Faramir's eyes fixed on him, question shone in them. Boromir smiled nervously. It was very unusual for him to tell Faramir about the behaviour of others. Usually, their roles were reversed and it was Faramir, who explained to him the furthest stirrings of souls of the people surrounding them and their motivation to do things which Boromir found absolutely incomprehensible. Now it was Faramir, who was looking at him, wide- eyed, holding close to his heart every word Boromir spoke.
"You know, many people think you are like our father."
Faramir breathed in sharply to retort that comment, but Boromir's gesture stopped his protests, before they could even start.
"You have the same ability to look through a man right into his mind. And thanks to your knowledge and talents, you are a master of many skills which appear like sorcery to simple minds. As you have already said, in the Cathedral used to live scholars and masters of many ways of mind. And in many ways you are like them. Maybe Kiriel wanted to tell you that your place was not with him, a simple boy probably meant to die defending his city, but to be one of those who do not fight but rule by their wisdom. Wisdom which is far superior to his. "
Faramir frowned deeply. When he asked, his voice was sharp, "are you telling me that Kiriel thought I am too wise to be his friend?"
"More like he has nothing to offer to you."
The idea quickly passed through Faramir's mind and Boromir could tell that although his brother had only thought about it only shortly the thought had been met with immediate, fierce disapproval.
"That is not right! I could never betray a friend by thinking of him lower than of myself!"
Boromir smiled briefly, "I know that. But the feeling of inferiority is not a feeling easy to defeat, especially not in a friendship."
"But I have never done anything to make him that way!"
Boromir sadly looked at Faramir, "You did not have to, brother mine. Your very presence makes people feel smaller, less apt."
Faramir frowned with a little desperate twinkle in his eyes, "Why so?"
Boromir laughed silently with a certain bitterness, then answered, "Part of family heritage maybe."
Faramir hung his head, "does this mean I will never have friends? Just because I am too much son of our father?"
Boromir looked away, not sure how to answer this. Yet, this his gesture alone answered Faramir's question.
"It is not entirely right. It will only take a little time to find people, who are willing to look further beneath the surface of the son of the Steward."
Suddenly Faramir shivered from cold. Boromir stood up and looked down at him with concern.
"Come brother, it is time for you to rest and heal."
Faramir glanced thoughtfully at the Cathedral one last time, "At least you will be at my side, Boromir."
"I will. Always. Now come." Boromir's voice was heavy, when he realised that this vow might cost him a lot in the future. Yet, there was nothing he would not sacrifice for his family.
* * *
Kiriel gwanale...Boromir lav nin wanya......lav nin wanya! (elvish)- Kiriel is dying...allow me to go (to him)
If you have any questions or didn't like something, just drop me a line I will surely respond. Constructive criticism is more than welcomed.