Once again, thanks for all the reviews :) I really appreciate them!
*reads last chapter again* Poor Faramir, he doesn't deserve that... Yeah, Boromir has some *cough cough* issues, but so do most of the characters in LOTR.
Anyway, because you're here to read the story, and not my babbling, I'll continue...
____________________________________________________________
Boromir stood in place, staring numbly at Faramir as he retreated quickly across the golden grass. The elder brother seemed incapable of thought. The blade of his sword was still clutched in his hand, and he hardly noticed as it slowly began digging into his palm.
A voice spoke inside his head, his own voice, though it seemed completely separate from his mind. "Why did you do that?" it asked calmly, almost sinisterly, as if it already knew the answer to the question. "You drew your weapon against your brother for what? A stupid bow! You might have borrowed a bow from your father, if you had simply thought to ask!"
Boromir attempted to reply. "I......I.......I....just.....I..." he stammered, his lips unable to form coherent words.
"You don't really have an answer, do you?" At the back of his mind, his thoughts were echoed by the voice.
"I....I....He deserved it!" yelled Boromir, as his mouth began to work again. "He should have loaned me the bow! I could have hit the buck! But, no, he had to have all the glory for himself!"
However, deep in his heart, Boromir abruptly realized the foolishness of his own shouted words. His younger brother wasn't really driven by pride, or by glory, though he might pretend it occasionally. To Faramir, the buck had been something to hunt, but the happiness he got from the experience was the simple fact that he was using his bow, his own bow, to catch the animal. Even if he had been unsuccessful, it wouldn't have mattered much.
"I can't believe what a fool I am!" exclaimed Boromir unhappily. "All I wanted was the glory of bringing back a trophy to show Father, and I just made a mess of things. The whole of Gondor would be ashamed to call me one of their own. And now..." Boromir winced as he spoke, as if the great reproach he felt was weighing down his body, "I don't even know where Faramir is, or if he's alright..."
He looked down at the bow that lay near his feet. Boromir hesitated to pick it up, but he realized that his brother might never see it again if it was simply abandoned in the middle of the wide grass plains. The boy slowly, gingerly picked it up, as if he thought the mere touch of it might be painful.
"Well," he mumbled, his eyes downcast, "I have the bow in this moment, but it suddenly doesn't seem worth it." He choked on a small sob. "I guess the only thing I really wish for now is my brother, and a chance to....apologize..."
********
Faramir stumbled through the grass, paying little attention to the direction in which he was heading. Tears ran down his bleeding face, and his lungs burned from the effort of his swift running, but still, he forced his legs to keep moving. There was only one goal implanted firmly in his inconsolable thoughts: escape.
The younger brother ran quite a distance before he finally collapsed on to the ground, panting for breath and sweating. He reached up and cautiously felt the right side of his face. It was still bleeding, though not as much as before, and it was beginning to swell. Faramir drew his hand back quickly, to avoid the pain that shot through his head as his fingers brushed the gash.
After a few moments, the boy's breathing slowed a bit, but he was unable to cease his sobbing. The wound on his face still ached, but even at his young age he understood it would eventually heal. He had received many cuts and scrapes in the past, after all. Instead, it was the wounds on his heart that he feared would never heal.
"Why did he hit me?" Faramir cried, sitting up and hugging his knees to himself. "I didn't do anything to him!" He sobbed harder, and world blurred before his eyes.
Suddenly, another thought, more bitter than anything he'd heard before, crossed his mirthless mind. "Maybe...maybe...maybe Boromir doesn't want a brother like me anymore," Faramir whispered. "Maybe he's mad because he wishes for a brother like Mergil or Beregond."
Feeling as though he might drown in his own sorrow, the little boy slowly dragged himself to his feet. He pulled the short wooden sword from his belt, which he had mostly ignored until this point, and let it slip from his hands on to the soft ground. Then, he turned away, and walked with dragging feet, without a destination, through the tall yellow grass.
********
Boromir trotted in the direction that his younger brother had fled, studying the ground to see if he could find any trace of footsteps. He had heard many stories in which the DĂșnedain of the South, who patrolled Ithilien, often tracked man or beast in this way. Unfortunately, he lacked the skills necessary for the task, and soon gave up the hunt for footprints.
Instead, Boromir had to trust to hope. Perhaps if he continued in his current course, he might find his brother somewhere among the grass. Now and then, he stopped to shout.
"Faramir! Faramir, where are you?!"
Eventually, as time began to pass, Boromir became more desperate. He was traveling further from the city walls than he wished, and, if he wanted to return ere the setting of the sun, he needed to hurry. However, he did not give up in his search.
"Faramir, where are you? Please come back! I didn't mean to hurt you, and I need to apologize!"
Still, there was no sign of his younger brother. Boromir was filled with guilt as he imagined Faramir, somewhere alone on the Pelennor, perhaps nearby. Maybe - and the thought was painful to Boromir - maybe, he was indeed only a few feet away, hidden among the grass because he did not wish to see his elder brother again.
In frustration, Boromir spun around quickly, as if he expected the younger boy to suddenly appear among the grass. He imagined Faramir silently standing nearby, still bleeding from the blow he'd been dealt, with distress in his soft gray eyes as he refused to acknowledged his brother's presence.
The image chilled Boromir to the bone, and, despite the heat that still remained in the early evening air, he shivered slightly. "How could I be so cruel?" he said to himself. "What kind of a person am I? I deserve to be locked up for the rest of my life, alone and friendless, for that is how my brother must feel this very moment!"
A sudden shadow crept over the boy. He unsuccessfully attempted to push the guilt out of his mind, and looked back towards the city. Startled, he noticed that a few hours had passed, and the sun was slowly beginning to sink in the sky.
"It's getting late!" he thought, panicking slightly. "I have to return to the city, or Father will be furious, but I can't leave without Faramir. We were supposed to stay together!" Though he did not admit it, even inside his own mind, Boromir was terrified at the prospect of returning to Minas Tirith, alone, and being forced to admit that he'd been the sole cause of their separation. At the same time, he realized that it might be extremely difficult, even in the light of day to find a single boy in the vastness of the Pelennor, and as darkness fell it might prove impossible.
In one last desperate attempt, Boromir called out again. "Faramir! Please come back! It's getting late, and we have to go home!"
The shouts went unanswered. With a heavy heart, Boromir forced himself to turn in the direction of the city gate. He knew he needed help in the search for his brother, even if it meant having to face the wrath of an infuriated Denethor. Slowly, he took off his cloak, in the slim hope that Faramir might find it in case he needed warmth after the setting of the sun. Then, Boromir trotted back towards the city, still grasping both sword and bow loosely in his hands.
"I'm sorry brother," he whispered silently, fighting the dread that seemed to engulf his heart and mind.
********
Though Boromir had called out many times during the day, Faramir was too far away to hear his cries, whether or not he would have heeded them. Even in his desperation to flee, he'd been careful to change directions a few times, in hopes that his brother would be unable to track him.
Now Faramir sat upon the soft ground, pulling his cloak around his knees. He noticed the setting sun, and realized that it would soon be dark outside. The boy remembered his father's words, and despite his current unhappiness, he realized that he was supposed to be returning to Minas Tirith soon. Denethor would not be pleased if he was late.
Sighing, Faramir pushed his dark fair off his face, wincing as his fingers made contact with his cheek. Then, he stood up slowly, glancing around in order to reorient himself. Unfortunately, he had gone down a bit of a slope in his wandering, and the city walls were hidden from his sight.
Faramir panicked, forgetting momentarily the unhappiness that had previously engulfed him. He was completely lost, in the middle of the vast Pelennor! There were no landmarks nearby, nothing that he knew, for in his eight years he had rarely been outside the walls, and certainly not this far away. With wide eyes, he spun around a few times, as if he expected the city to suddenly appear within his sight. However, the little boy believed in the back of his mind that his actions were in vain.
"What do I do now?" he asked himself, shivering in fear. "Where am I? I want to go home! I want Daddy! I want-" Faramir was about to wish for his brother, out of habit, but at the thought of Boromir, his heart grew unhappy. Dispair seemed to fill him, as he remembered the previous anger the older boy had shown towards him. His next words were no more than a whisper.
"I may wish for Boromir, but he does not wish for me." At that, Faramir collapsed on the ground again, and curled up with his cloak around him, shaking in misery.
********
It was only moments before the last rays of the sun prepared to leave the sky. Boromir was now sprinting desperately towards the tower. He'd been much further from the city than he originally thought, and was unable to take any breaks to ensure that Denethor's curfew would be met. "Of course," Boromir muttered to himself as he ran on, panting, "I drove Faramir away, and that was far worse than anything else I could have done!"
Finally, he burst through the last city gate, and bolted across the wide courtyard to the door of the great hall. Boromir shoved the door, and it slammed open, much to the surprise of those who were standing nearby. He skidded across the floor, slipped on the smooth stones under his feet, and lost his balance. Denethor saw him as he arrived.
"Boromir?" he asked, slightly displeased as he watched the scene his elder son made as he waved his arms wildly to keep from falling. "I see you have returned, but I am a bit busy right now..." The Steward's gestured towards a tall, flaxen-haired man who was seated next to him.
Boromir gasped in surprise, and momentarily forgot his worry. The man seated beside Denethor wore a crown upon his head. Though the boy had never laid eyes on him before, he realized that the crown, coupled with the light hair color could only mean one thing. Boromir had just burst into a discussion between his father and the King of Rohan! He reddened slightly.
The Steward spoke again. "My son, now that you are back, could you kindly leave us in peace? As I have said, we are busy." Then, his eyes narrowed. He had expected to see his youngest enter the great hall, not far behind Boromir, but the door was silent. Denethor's voice grew hard as he suddenly noticed the bow carried by the boy, though there was worry too, written upon the man's face. "Where is Faramir?"
Boromir found himself unable to meet his father's gaze, or even to reply at first. Guilt engulfed him. Not only was he forced to admit that he'd been cruel to his younger brother, but he had to say it in the presence of both his father and the King of Rohan! The unhappiness was almost too much to bear.
Finally, he opened his mouth and a few shaky words came. "I....I....I don't know, Father. I...I struck him, and he ran away. I lost Fara-." His voice broke on the last word, and he was unable to finish.
*reads last chapter again* Poor Faramir, he doesn't deserve that... Yeah, Boromir has some *cough cough* issues, but so do most of the characters in LOTR.
Anyway, because you're here to read the story, and not my babbling, I'll continue...
____________________________________________________________
Boromir stood in place, staring numbly at Faramir as he retreated quickly across the golden grass. The elder brother seemed incapable of thought. The blade of his sword was still clutched in his hand, and he hardly noticed as it slowly began digging into his palm.
A voice spoke inside his head, his own voice, though it seemed completely separate from his mind. "Why did you do that?" it asked calmly, almost sinisterly, as if it already knew the answer to the question. "You drew your weapon against your brother for what? A stupid bow! You might have borrowed a bow from your father, if you had simply thought to ask!"
Boromir attempted to reply. "I......I.......I....just.....I..." he stammered, his lips unable to form coherent words.
"You don't really have an answer, do you?" At the back of his mind, his thoughts were echoed by the voice.
"I....I....He deserved it!" yelled Boromir, as his mouth began to work again. "He should have loaned me the bow! I could have hit the buck! But, no, he had to have all the glory for himself!"
However, deep in his heart, Boromir abruptly realized the foolishness of his own shouted words. His younger brother wasn't really driven by pride, or by glory, though he might pretend it occasionally. To Faramir, the buck had been something to hunt, but the happiness he got from the experience was the simple fact that he was using his bow, his own bow, to catch the animal. Even if he had been unsuccessful, it wouldn't have mattered much.
"I can't believe what a fool I am!" exclaimed Boromir unhappily. "All I wanted was the glory of bringing back a trophy to show Father, and I just made a mess of things. The whole of Gondor would be ashamed to call me one of their own. And now..." Boromir winced as he spoke, as if the great reproach he felt was weighing down his body, "I don't even know where Faramir is, or if he's alright..."
He looked down at the bow that lay near his feet. Boromir hesitated to pick it up, but he realized that his brother might never see it again if it was simply abandoned in the middle of the wide grass plains. The boy slowly, gingerly picked it up, as if he thought the mere touch of it might be painful.
"Well," he mumbled, his eyes downcast, "I have the bow in this moment, but it suddenly doesn't seem worth it." He choked on a small sob. "I guess the only thing I really wish for now is my brother, and a chance to....apologize..."
********
Faramir stumbled through the grass, paying little attention to the direction in which he was heading. Tears ran down his bleeding face, and his lungs burned from the effort of his swift running, but still, he forced his legs to keep moving. There was only one goal implanted firmly in his inconsolable thoughts: escape.
The younger brother ran quite a distance before he finally collapsed on to the ground, panting for breath and sweating. He reached up and cautiously felt the right side of his face. It was still bleeding, though not as much as before, and it was beginning to swell. Faramir drew his hand back quickly, to avoid the pain that shot through his head as his fingers brushed the gash.
After a few moments, the boy's breathing slowed a bit, but he was unable to cease his sobbing. The wound on his face still ached, but even at his young age he understood it would eventually heal. He had received many cuts and scrapes in the past, after all. Instead, it was the wounds on his heart that he feared would never heal.
"Why did he hit me?" Faramir cried, sitting up and hugging his knees to himself. "I didn't do anything to him!" He sobbed harder, and world blurred before his eyes.
Suddenly, another thought, more bitter than anything he'd heard before, crossed his mirthless mind. "Maybe...maybe...maybe Boromir doesn't want a brother like me anymore," Faramir whispered. "Maybe he's mad because he wishes for a brother like Mergil or Beregond."
Feeling as though he might drown in his own sorrow, the little boy slowly dragged himself to his feet. He pulled the short wooden sword from his belt, which he had mostly ignored until this point, and let it slip from his hands on to the soft ground. Then, he turned away, and walked with dragging feet, without a destination, through the tall yellow grass.
********
Boromir trotted in the direction that his younger brother had fled, studying the ground to see if he could find any trace of footsteps. He had heard many stories in which the DĂșnedain of the South, who patrolled Ithilien, often tracked man or beast in this way. Unfortunately, he lacked the skills necessary for the task, and soon gave up the hunt for footprints.
Instead, Boromir had to trust to hope. Perhaps if he continued in his current course, he might find his brother somewhere among the grass. Now and then, he stopped to shout.
"Faramir! Faramir, where are you?!"
Eventually, as time began to pass, Boromir became more desperate. He was traveling further from the city walls than he wished, and, if he wanted to return ere the setting of the sun, he needed to hurry. However, he did not give up in his search.
"Faramir, where are you? Please come back! I didn't mean to hurt you, and I need to apologize!"
Still, there was no sign of his younger brother. Boromir was filled with guilt as he imagined Faramir, somewhere alone on the Pelennor, perhaps nearby. Maybe - and the thought was painful to Boromir - maybe, he was indeed only a few feet away, hidden among the grass because he did not wish to see his elder brother again.
In frustration, Boromir spun around quickly, as if he expected the younger boy to suddenly appear among the grass. He imagined Faramir silently standing nearby, still bleeding from the blow he'd been dealt, with distress in his soft gray eyes as he refused to acknowledged his brother's presence.
The image chilled Boromir to the bone, and, despite the heat that still remained in the early evening air, he shivered slightly. "How could I be so cruel?" he said to himself. "What kind of a person am I? I deserve to be locked up for the rest of my life, alone and friendless, for that is how my brother must feel this very moment!"
A sudden shadow crept over the boy. He unsuccessfully attempted to push the guilt out of his mind, and looked back towards the city. Startled, he noticed that a few hours had passed, and the sun was slowly beginning to sink in the sky.
"It's getting late!" he thought, panicking slightly. "I have to return to the city, or Father will be furious, but I can't leave without Faramir. We were supposed to stay together!" Though he did not admit it, even inside his own mind, Boromir was terrified at the prospect of returning to Minas Tirith, alone, and being forced to admit that he'd been the sole cause of their separation. At the same time, he realized that it might be extremely difficult, even in the light of day to find a single boy in the vastness of the Pelennor, and as darkness fell it might prove impossible.
In one last desperate attempt, Boromir called out again. "Faramir! Please come back! It's getting late, and we have to go home!"
The shouts went unanswered. With a heavy heart, Boromir forced himself to turn in the direction of the city gate. He knew he needed help in the search for his brother, even if it meant having to face the wrath of an infuriated Denethor. Slowly, he took off his cloak, in the slim hope that Faramir might find it in case he needed warmth after the setting of the sun. Then, Boromir trotted back towards the city, still grasping both sword and bow loosely in his hands.
"I'm sorry brother," he whispered silently, fighting the dread that seemed to engulf his heart and mind.
********
Though Boromir had called out many times during the day, Faramir was too far away to hear his cries, whether or not he would have heeded them. Even in his desperation to flee, he'd been careful to change directions a few times, in hopes that his brother would be unable to track him.
Now Faramir sat upon the soft ground, pulling his cloak around his knees. He noticed the setting sun, and realized that it would soon be dark outside. The boy remembered his father's words, and despite his current unhappiness, he realized that he was supposed to be returning to Minas Tirith soon. Denethor would not be pleased if he was late.
Sighing, Faramir pushed his dark fair off his face, wincing as his fingers made contact with his cheek. Then, he stood up slowly, glancing around in order to reorient himself. Unfortunately, he had gone down a bit of a slope in his wandering, and the city walls were hidden from his sight.
Faramir panicked, forgetting momentarily the unhappiness that had previously engulfed him. He was completely lost, in the middle of the vast Pelennor! There were no landmarks nearby, nothing that he knew, for in his eight years he had rarely been outside the walls, and certainly not this far away. With wide eyes, he spun around a few times, as if he expected the city to suddenly appear within his sight. However, the little boy believed in the back of his mind that his actions were in vain.
"What do I do now?" he asked himself, shivering in fear. "Where am I? I want to go home! I want Daddy! I want-" Faramir was about to wish for his brother, out of habit, but at the thought of Boromir, his heart grew unhappy. Dispair seemed to fill him, as he remembered the previous anger the older boy had shown towards him. His next words were no more than a whisper.
"I may wish for Boromir, but he does not wish for me." At that, Faramir collapsed on the ground again, and curled up with his cloak around him, shaking in misery.
********
It was only moments before the last rays of the sun prepared to leave the sky. Boromir was now sprinting desperately towards the tower. He'd been much further from the city than he originally thought, and was unable to take any breaks to ensure that Denethor's curfew would be met. "Of course," Boromir muttered to himself as he ran on, panting, "I drove Faramir away, and that was far worse than anything else I could have done!"
Finally, he burst through the last city gate, and bolted across the wide courtyard to the door of the great hall. Boromir shoved the door, and it slammed open, much to the surprise of those who were standing nearby. He skidded across the floor, slipped on the smooth stones under his feet, and lost his balance. Denethor saw him as he arrived.
"Boromir?" he asked, slightly displeased as he watched the scene his elder son made as he waved his arms wildly to keep from falling. "I see you have returned, but I am a bit busy right now..." The Steward's gestured towards a tall, flaxen-haired man who was seated next to him.
Boromir gasped in surprise, and momentarily forgot his worry. The man seated beside Denethor wore a crown upon his head. Though the boy had never laid eyes on him before, he realized that the crown, coupled with the light hair color could only mean one thing. Boromir had just burst into a discussion between his father and the King of Rohan! He reddened slightly.
The Steward spoke again. "My son, now that you are back, could you kindly leave us in peace? As I have said, we are busy." Then, his eyes narrowed. He had expected to see his youngest enter the great hall, not far behind Boromir, but the door was silent. Denethor's voice grew hard as he suddenly noticed the bow carried by the boy, though there was worry too, written upon the man's face. "Where is Faramir?"
Boromir found himself unable to meet his father's gaze, or even to reply at first. Guilt engulfed him. Not only was he forced to admit that he'd been cruel to his younger brother, but he had to say it in the presence of both his father and the King of Rohan! The unhappiness was almost too much to bear.
Finally, he opened his mouth and a few shaky words came. "I....I....I don't know, Father. I...I struck him, and he ran away. I lost Fara-." His voice broke on the last word, and he was unable to finish.
