Title: A Warrior And A Captain
Authors: Halo Son and Rosalyn Angel
Rating: PG
Genre: Drama/Angst (Emotional)
Disclaimer: Neither Rose nor I own the chars involved, nope.
Summary: One is a warrior, one is a Captain. One is favoured, one is not. Yet, they both serve a purpose, and they are brothers.
A/N: Inspired by stuff in the Extended version of The Two Towers. It would help understand the time and place of this ficlet if you've seen it, but if not, no worries. It takes place just after Osgilith has been taken by the enemy, before it is reclaimed by Gondor (as seen in Extended TTT).
A Warrior And A Captain
By Halo Son and Rosalyn Angel
Faramir didn't know how long they had been walking, or perhaps limping and struggling onwards were better terms for the current situation of him and his men.
Many had died, he knew that, the survivors were few and it was a bitter blow not just to him but to Gondor as well. The time was coming closer and closer when Sauron would strike them hard and fast, now more than ever they needed every man and every strength of arms to prepare for that.
Stumbling slightly, Faramir reached up and wiped the blood still trickling from a deep laceration on his left temple. Osgilith had been taken by the enemy, even more bad news to return to his father, Denethor, the current Steward of Gondor.
To say his father would not be pleased was an understatement. He knew what his father's reaction would be and it made him cringe.
From the trees did Faramir and his surviving men come forth, a river ahead of them, for Faramir recognised the sound of running water.
'Our numbers were too few.' He tried to reason with himself. 'I had sent word for aid to come but....'
It had never reached them.
Faramir stumbled again, this time down the small inclination of the river bank and into the shallow water at the edge. Exhaustion now gripped his body and he felt too tired, too weary to get back up.
He heard his men, wounded though they were, gather around him and shout, trying to get him back up. Few of them knew healing techniques, which was why so many were on the verge of collasping themselves. But, they agreed, the fate of their Captain mattered much more than themselves.
It was then when one man called out loud, but it was not a sound of distress or pain, but rather of joy and elation. For ahead in the spanning grassy field was an army of men, led by one Boromir son of Denethor, brother of Faramir, proud, tall, and strong in all of his might.
Faramir lifted his head and a faint smile curved unto his lips at the welcoming sight of his brother and those he brought with him, even though it was too late.
Yet the weariness in his limbs held him down and he could not rise unaided to his feet to greet his brother.
Some small part of him however, did not feel joy at seeing Boromir. He hated that his brother should find him, in this state, with badly wounded men and wounded himself. It made him feel weak in contrast to his brother.
But then, Boromir had always been a pure warrior at heart.
The bleeding upon his split temple refused to stop, so once more it trickled down his head, his face and collected under his chin before dripping into the shallow water.
Head near the ground, Faramir could hear the small army's pace quickened, accompanied by shouts. The loudest and fastest of all was Boromir, who darted over the plain so swiftly that none could catch or stop him. He pushed aside whoever got in his way until he was able to cross the shallow river to meet his wounded brother on the other side.
His lower half heavy with dripping water, Boromir lowered to his knees, not minding the mud that would cling to his pants. Many backed away from the pair, knowing not to disturb them. While Boromir tended to Faramir, the other men began to rest and the uninjured comforted and tended to the injured, asking questions about what had happend.
"Little brother," Boromir whispered, grasping his gloved hands around Faramir's shoulders and holding him up. "What happened? Are you hurt much? Can you stand?"
"Osgilith was over run....by the enemy....we could not hold it..." Faramir gasped and wheezed, swallowing hard as he fought to keep his breathing and rapid heartbeat under control. He felt his chest constricting, making it much more difficult to breathe, but he did not wish to alarm his elder brother, did not wish to let on just how injuried he was. "I am alright Boromir, just tired, though many of my men are wounded and need tending to."
Boromir gave him a critical look, a question in those dark green eyes about the truth of Faramir's state. He would see to the other men soon; all that mattered right now was his brother's health. "You are not lying to me, are you?"
Despite the situation, Faramir let a faint laugh fall from his lips as he raised an eyebrow and looked back at Boromir.
"Would I ever lie to you brother?" He jested, but regretting it when a wave of pain and nausea swept over him and he lurched forward, almost being sick, but instead began coughing hard. Worryingly, Boromir's sharp eyes caught the trickle of blood that slipped from the corner of Faramir's mouth, even though the younger brother quickly wiped it away.
"Aye, I think you would," Boromir said, smiling slightly when Faramir's fit stopped. But that smile quickly twisted in a stern frown. "Especially when you are thinking yourself as weaker than me, little brother. You do not like showing you think so."
Faramir sighed a little, shaking his head before looking back up Boromir.
"You are the warrior Boromir, not I, you know this, father knows all too well."
Boromir grimaced at the mention of their father. He brushed the thought of the old man aside, and quickly assisted his brother in standing up, slinging the younger man's arm around his broad shoulders. He called for a healer from his group and then directed his attention back to Faramir.
"Aye, a warrior I am indeed, and you are not," Boromir said truthfully. "But remember, little brother, your strength lies not in a sword. It is elsewhere, in a place very important."
"Very important indeed." Faramir spoke quietly and with a hint of bitterness that did not suit him at all. "The war is closing in on us Boromir. Each day we lose more people and our numbers grow fewer. It is does not bode well being my strength lies not with the sword or any other weapon."
"Do not sound so dark," Boromir chided. He began walking Faramir over to a mat that the men had laid out for him, near the forest's edge. "That is my job, little brother. And perhaps you have another role to play in this war, besides a warrior. Have you considered that?"
"I do see what other role I have yet to play, though I have not considered it and yet it is possible." Faramir sighed wearily. "I am tired Boromir, tired of this war, tired of this fighting, tired of the suffering we see each day. It seems every day that passes is the same as the last."
"It is monotone, seeing my people die around me," Boromir whispered despairingly as he carefully laid out his brother on the mat. He frowned at the cut over Faramir's temple, but discarded the thought. "But we will make it through this, little brother, together. Do not despair. The people look up to you to see your reassuring smile."
"Boromir...." Faramir's let his words trail off, because they didn't seem to matter anymore. All that mattered that here and now, when he had been pushed down, Boromir was there to give him his hand and help him back on his feet, as he had always done.
Faramir knew that of the two of them, Boromir was the warrior and the one Gondor looked to to see through the next day and the next. Denethor favoured him because of this and Boromir had undying respect, loyalty and love to his father, yet he knew Boromir also loved him and cherished him as a brother would. Many a time had Boromir defended Faramir, whether it be from their father or others. Boromir kept a responsibility to look out for him, even when he had become a man, he still did and Faramir now remembered how grateful he was to his brother for doing so.
Faramir smiled at his thoughts, causing Boromir to raise an eyebrow though he smiled in returned.
"Thank you my brother."
"No need for thanks. I am very happy to come to your aid, whenever you call," Boromir said, smiling softly still. He noticed the healer coming to them. "When you are better, we will talk some more. For now, you must rest, little brother. The new day will come."
Faramir nodded slightly before touching his older brother's arm, staring right into his eyes, conveying silent thanks and much more in a mere moment. Then, he was guided to lay down on the mat. He inhaled deeply, feeling secure for the first time in a long while, he always did when his brother was with him.
Keeping his hand on Boromir's arm, Faramir let his eyes close as rest beckoned him, a familiar presence of warmth and protection surrounding him.
A warrior and a Captain; they were brothers, they always would be.
The End
Authors: Halo Son and Rosalyn Angel
Rating: PG
Genre: Drama/Angst (Emotional)
Disclaimer: Neither Rose nor I own the chars involved, nope.
Summary: One is a warrior, one is a Captain. One is favoured, one is not. Yet, they both serve a purpose, and they are brothers.
A/N: Inspired by stuff in the Extended version of The Two Towers. It would help understand the time and place of this ficlet if you've seen it, but if not, no worries. It takes place just after Osgilith has been taken by the enemy, before it is reclaimed by Gondor (as seen in Extended TTT).
A Warrior And A Captain
By Halo Son and Rosalyn Angel
Faramir didn't know how long they had been walking, or perhaps limping and struggling onwards were better terms for the current situation of him and his men.
Many had died, he knew that, the survivors were few and it was a bitter blow not just to him but to Gondor as well. The time was coming closer and closer when Sauron would strike them hard and fast, now more than ever they needed every man and every strength of arms to prepare for that.
Stumbling slightly, Faramir reached up and wiped the blood still trickling from a deep laceration on his left temple. Osgilith had been taken by the enemy, even more bad news to return to his father, Denethor, the current Steward of Gondor.
To say his father would not be pleased was an understatement. He knew what his father's reaction would be and it made him cringe.
From the trees did Faramir and his surviving men come forth, a river ahead of them, for Faramir recognised the sound of running water.
'Our numbers were too few.' He tried to reason with himself. 'I had sent word for aid to come but....'
It had never reached them.
Faramir stumbled again, this time down the small inclination of the river bank and into the shallow water at the edge. Exhaustion now gripped his body and he felt too tired, too weary to get back up.
He heard his men, wounded though they were, gather around him and shout, trying to get him back up. Few of them knew healing techniques, which was why so many were on the verge of collasping themselves. But, they agreed, the fate of their Captain mattered much more than themselves.
It was then when one man called out loud, but it was not a sound of distress or pain, but rather of joy and elation. For ahead in the spanning grassy field was an army of men, led by one Boromir son of Denethor, brother of Faramir, proud, tall, and strong in all of his might.
Faramir lifted his head and a faint smile curved unto his lips at the welcoming sight of his brother and those he brought with him, even though it was too late.
Yet the weariness in his limbs held him down and he could not rise unaided to his feet to greet his brother.
Some small part of him however, did not feel joy at seeing Boromir. He hated that his brother should find him, in this state, with badly wounded men and wounded himself. It made him feel weak in contrast to his brother.
But then, Boromir had always been a pure warrior at heart.
The bleeding upon his split temple refused to stop, so once more it trickled down his head, his face and collected under his chin before dripping into the shallow water.
Head near the ground, Faramir could hear the small army's pace quickened, accompanied by shouts. The loudest and fastest of all was Boromir, who darted over the plain so swiftly that none could catch or stop him. He pushed aside whoever got in his way until he was able to cross the shallow river to meet his wounded brother on the other side.
His lower half heavy with dripping water, Boromir lowered to his knees, not minding the mud that would cling to his pants. Many backed away from the pair, knowing not to disturb them. While Boromir tended to Faramir, the other men began to rest and the uninjured comforted and tended to the injured, asking questions about what had happend.
"Little brother," Boromir whispered, grasping his gloved hands around Faramir's shoulders and holding him up. "What happened? Are you hurt much? Can you stand?"
"Osgilith was over run....by the enemy....we could not hold it..." Faramir gasped and wheezed, swallowing hard as he fought to keep his breathing and rapid heartbeat under control. He felt his chest constricting, making it much more difficult to breathe, but he did not wish to alarm his elder brother, did not wish to let on just how injuried he was. "I am alright Boromir, just tired, though many of my men are wounded and need tending to."
Boromir gave him a critical look, a question in those dark green eyes about the truth of Faramir's state. He would see to the other men soon; all that mattered right now was his brother's health. "You are not lying to me, are you?"
Despite the situation, Faramir let a faint laugh fall from his lips as he raised an eyebrow and looked back at Boromir.
"Would I ever lie to you brother?" He jested, but regretting it when a wave of pain and nausea swept over him and he lurched forward, almost being sick, but instead began coughing hard. Worryingly, Boromir's sharp eyes caught the trickle of blood that slipped from the corner of Faramir's mouth, even though the younger brother quickly wiped it away.
"Aye, I think you would," Boromir said, smiling slightly when Faramir's fit stopped. But that smile quickly twisted in a stern frown. "Especially when you are thinking yourself as weaker than me, little brother. You do not like showing you think so."
Faramir sighed a little, shaking his head before looking back up Boromir.
"You are the warrior Boromir, not I, you know this, father knows all too well."
Boromir grimaced at the mention of their father. He brushed the thought of the old man aside, and quickly assisted his brother in standing up, slinging the younger man's arm around his broad shoulders. He called for a healer from his group and then directed his attention back to Faramir.
"Aye, a warrior I am indeed, and you are not," Boromir said truthfully. "But remember, little brother, your strength lies not in a sword. It is elsewhere, in a place very important."
"Very important indeed." Faramir spoke quietly and with a hint of bitterness that did not suit him at all. "The war is closing in on us Boromir. Each day we lose more people and our numbers grow fewer. It is does not bode well being my strength lies not with the sword or any other weapon."
"Do not sound so dark," Boromir chided. He began walking Faramir over to a mat that the men had laid out for him, near the forest's edge. "That is my job, little brother. And perhaps you have another role to play in this war, besides a warrior. Have you considered that?"
"I do see what other role I have yet to play, though I have not considered it and yet it is possible." Faramir sighed wearily. "I am tired Boromir, tired of this war, tired of this fighting, tired of the suffering we see each day. It seems every day that passes is the same as the last."
"It is monotone, seeing my people die around me," Boromir whispered despairingly as he carefully laid out his brother on the mat. He frowned at the cut over Faramir's temple, but discarded the thought. "But we will make it through this, little brother, together. Do not despair. The people look up to you to see your reassuring smile."
"Boromir...." Faramir's let his words trail off, because they didn't seem to matter anymore. All that mattered that here and now, when he had been pushed down, Boromir was there to give him his hand and help him back on his feet, as he had always done.
Faramir knew that of the two of them, Boromir was the warrior and the one Gondor looked to to see through the next day and the next. Denethor favoured him because of this and Boromir had undying respect, loyalty and love to his father, yet he knew Boromir also loved him and cherished him as a brother would. Many a time had Boromir defended Faramir, whether it be from their father or others. Boromir kept a responsibility to look out for him, even when he had become a man, he still did and Faramir now remembered how grateful he was to his brother for doing so.
Faramir smiled at his thoughts, causing Boromir to raise an eyebrow though he smiled in returned.
"Thank you my brother."
"No need for thanks. I am very happy to come to your aid, whenever you call," Boromir said, smiling softly still. He noticed the healer coming to them. "When you are better, we will talk some more. For now, you must rest, little brother. The new day will come."
Faramir nodded slightly before touching his older brother's arm, staring right into his eyes, conveying silent thanks and much more in a mere moment. Then, he was guided to lay down on the mat. He inhaled deeply, feeling secure for the first time in a long while, he always did when his brother was with him.
Keeping his hand on Boromir's arm, Faramir let his eyes close as rest beckoned him, a familiar presence of warmth and protection surrounding him.
A warrior and a Captain; they were brothers, they always would be.
The End