Summary: a few more years have passed, and Boromir has grown up. He's no longer scared of battle, but a fierce fighter. This chapter also tells a little bit about his relationship with his brother. He's decided to forget about Legolas and is moving on, but then one little memory comes back. And dont expect this chapter to be one of the best because its not! i admit it, its kinda weak and stuff... apologies to you.
A/N: oke on my way to the comp I came up with a better summary but I forgot it when I found out someone left the nintendo on! I just cant resist making 2D mario run through a fire-filled castle. ^_^
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"Boromir! Boromir!"

"Calm down or you'll burst in flame."

"But I'm so happy!"

"Walk in on your men changing?"

Punch.

"Just a question."

"You know the maiden Eithne, our cousin's wife's sister?"

"Now there's a title."

"Do you remember her?"

"Is that the girl you've been madly, passionately in love with and can only stop talking about long enough to draw another breath?"

Ah, yes... The joys of watching your older brother make a complete fool out of himself. Is there anything better?

Frown. "I suppose, if you shall word it that way. But, oh! Do you know what she said to me last night, Boromir? Have you any idea?"

By the look on his face, I would've thought she said they were eloping, moving to a faraway fantasy place and having thirteen children.

"No, I have no idea."

"She said she wants to marry me! She wants to be my wife!" If he had smiled any wider, his mouth might have fallen off his face.

But a happy Faramir is rare, especially as of late, so I simply smiled and congratulated him.

"Have you told father yet?" I asked casually as we made our way back inside.

He almost laughed. "Not yet... I suppose I should, soon."

"Probably."

I'd lost much of my feeling for anything but the thrill of fighting, so I didn't truly care about Faramir's news. There was always one girl or another wanting to marry him, but what mattered is if he wanted to marry her. Saying nothing, I made my way back to my chambers.

*

Over the last few years, I've become more determined, more strong. I've pushed myself to the limit, beyond and back again. I'm one of the strongest men in Gondor, one of the most skilled fighters, but I am still no captain of an army, nor will I ever be. That is simply because - as my father always says - "You do not have a way with people."

What an understatement.

I despise people. I used to just dislike people, but now I really hate them. There's always someone out there trying to con or trick you, telling you lies and making you look like a fool.

So no more. I do not wish to control an army of men; I'd rather be in the fight with them. And that is precisely what I do. I fight; that is really my only reason for living now. My other reason left long ago.

But I do not linger over that anymore. I have given up all hope, and I do not dream about him anymore.

When he first left, I dreamed he was with his people, smiling and happy, glad that I was gone.
But that was just a dream...

...Right?

*

"Boromir! Wake up!" Somebody shook me from a not-so-peaceful sleep.

"What?" I muttered, not opening my eyes.

"They're attacking! The South is attacking!" my father cried. "Get up!"

I jumped out of bed, grabbing my clothes off the floor. "Give me less than a minute!"

*

The Southern Orcs attacked us that day - we do not know why, but we did not care. Under Faramir's orders, we defended. We defended and slaughtered. It was quick and not an enjoyable way to spend the morning. The few survivors fled back the way they came.

Blood on my sword and clothes, I headed back, following other soldiers.

I spat Orc-blood off my lips as Huandil, one of the younger soldiers, clapped me on the back.
"Good fight, Lord Boromir!" he said.

"Do not call me that," I grumbled.

When soldiers fight alongside me, they soon learn I do not like compliments. But Huandil scarcely knew my name, so instead of snapping at him, I just walked away.

As Faramir talked to the soldiers, I headed inside to clean off.

I dropped my sword in the armor room and ordered that it be cleaned and sharpened, right away.

"Yes, sir," they men replied, and I left, going upstairs to try and finish my day in peace.

*

The sky soon darkened with the threat of a storm, so I decided to stay inside rather then risk getting wet and cold, especially when I didn't feel up to it.

Sighing, I wandered down to the library, as it is referred to, but should really just be 'the room with some books'. That's all it is. We only have two shelves with books, for they are not plentiful, not around here. I tried talking father into getting some, but he said maybe. Maybe, for him, means 'no'.

So I sat down in the 'library', lit a few extra candles as clouds grew heavy and selected a book on the ancient folklore of men I had started to re-read a few days ago.

*

A few rainy days later, I was reaching the end of my book, when I heard footsteps in the corridor.

"Are you in here, Boromir?" a quiet voice tore me away from my reading.

"Faramir?" I looked up, closing the book. "What's wrong?"

His eyes were red, he looked like he'd just awoken from a sleepless night, and he was wringing his hands nervously.

He averted his gaze to different points around the room, pacing.

"Faramir?" Placing the novel on the chair, I stood, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Faramir, tell me what's wrong."

Even more rare then a happy Faramir was a sad or distressed Faramir. When you have a sad Faramir, you have a reason to worry.

"It's Eithne," he pulled away from my grip. "She's... sick."

"Sick? What do you mean by sick?"

"Sick! Dying! It means she's going to leave and never come back!" he cried, slamming a fist against the stone wall.

Eithne sick? It was really ironic, what with her father a healer, and she planning on becoming one some day...

"It's all right, Faramir. It'll be all right," I didn't care what he thought he wanted, I knew he needed to be held, and it didn't matter by whom. That in mind, I threw my arms around my brother's shaking shoulders and hugged him tight.

*

But it was not all right. Eithne died only nine days later, Faramir at her side.

The healers had guesses about what killed her; some strange new disease from the east, or maybe it was poisoned food, or even a poisonous plant she'd put in a stew.

Of course, they wouldn't tell us that. They said she died of a horrible fever, but that was only in part, true.

But that is beside the point. The point is that Faramir was broken-hearted. He was shattered to pieces, almost literally.

Neither father nor I knew what to do for him, so we let him be. He locked himself in his room, almost never coming down for meals. Or we'd find him wandering aimlessly around the halls in the night.

But a few months passed and my brother slowly began to return to normal. Although now he had a longing for quiet, and I watched one day as he stumbled upon the entrance to my hidden garden.

Watching him walk through the trees made me feel at ease about his troubles, and I knew he'd be fine soon enough, and gave any worry about him.

*

I noticed a change in my bother because it was the same change in me, once. He became more quiet and reserved, putting all his pain and energy into training for battle, secretly hoping Orcs will attack just so you have an excuse to slaughter something.

On the rainy days when you couldn't train, you'd pace around the halls, or fence by yourself if there was no one to practice with. Or you could be found sitting in a corner, simply staring around the room and watching. That was the oddest behavior either of us had ever displayed.

But for the time being, before the sun would shine again, I once again went to the library, and stretched out on a couch, after selecting some random book I hadn't read for years.

Flipping through the first few pages, the book suddenly opened to one page, where a slip of paper lay in between the pages. I eyed it curiously; there was writing on it, but I couldn't -

"Elvish."

Picking it up carefully with two fingers, my eyes scanned the words, and somehow I knew what it said.

"'May the sun always shine in your eyes, and the Valar protect you in battle. Signed, Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood.'"

He had written it for me before our last departure, wishing me luck for my future fights. After telling me what it said, he made me learn to read it, and I did, for him.
I sat silent, for a few minutes, staring at the tiny script, words written that I shouldn't know what it says.

An urge to rip the paper to tiny pieces washed through me, but I didn't. Instead, I carefully lay it on the page like it had been before, closed the book and put it back on the shelf, then walked out of the room.

*

I lay on my bed, remembering. Remembering him. How he would secretly slip into my room at night and would surprise me by being there when I woke up. How he would smile at me from a distance when I was in council with my father, reassuring me that nothing would go wrong. Or how he would always sing if he knew I was trying to find him. Just little things like that.

But I knew I shouldn't be thinking of him anymore.

He's left me, gone back to his people and forgotten about me, too.

"He's forgotten about me, and doesn't care for me anymore. I've forgotten about him and I don't care for him, either," somehow, saying the words out loud made them sound more final.

*

"Where have you been?" my father asked as I sat down at the table for dinner.

"I was sleeping," I replied monotonously.

He frowned, something he did often. "We have matters to discuss."

'Ooh, how formal,' I thought irritatedly, picking up the wine-filled goblet in front of me.

"There is a growing threat from the South. I am not going to bother telling you everything now; you will find out the rest from Elrond."

"Elrond?" I almost choked on my wine.

"Yes. We are going to Rivendell to seek his aid. He will know what to do," my father replied. "Now eat your dinner before it gets cold."

I sat there, frozen in shock, still holding my goblet. Blinking myself out of it, I set it down and tried to eat.

*

"Rivendell? What if- no, he wont be there. The threat is from the South, and Mirkwood is so North, even more so than Rivendell. He will have no business there," saying it softly to myself as I tried to sleep that night, I felt better knowing I wouldn't see him once more.

*

Only a few days later, my father and I packed our horses and set out for Rivendell.
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A/N: Awww those poor brothers. Both their girlfriends died. ^_^; am i mean or what? (that was rhestorical please dont answer!) um, this part was kinda hard because I originally intended to change some of it, then take some out, add some in, etc etc... So hang on for the next part, it's sure to be more interesting then this. oh and Eithne is pronounced 'enya'. you know, like the singer. ^-^ Review if you like, but no flames, please. Ja~!