Title: Fate Spares Him For Some Other End

Author: Adalanta

Email: adalanta14@yahoo.com

Rating: PG-13 for a few gruesome images.

Characters: Boromir, Faramir

Categories: Angst, Drama

Summary: Caught alone in the wilderness, the sons of Denethor are suddenly attacked by a band of orcs, leaving one brother gravely wounded and the other to ensure his survival.

Disclaimer: Boromir and Faramir are Tolkien's. The situation is mine.

Author's Note: Thank you, O Blessed Reviewers! (humbly bows to computer screen) Your words of encouragement have brightened my days and filled my heart with the desire to write more! Please, please, keep it up!

Fate Spares Him For Some Other End

Chapter Three – Thoughts in the Darkness

Daylight had long since passed, followed closely by twilight, and then it completely disappeared as a heavy darkness took hold of the land. The blackness was broken only by a single fire, a dim glow from far off, shielded from unfriendly eyes by a ring of stones that surrounded the small blaze. And by the fire, a man sat quietly, staring, mesmerized by the dancing yellow, red, and orange flames that flickered erratically, the light illuminating a solemn face and a pair of sightless eyes.

He should have woken by now, his mind muttered uneasily. It has been hours since the arrow was removed, and he has yet to stir and show signs of life.

No. That is not true, he countered, angry with himself for even considering the possibility. He reached over to touch the right hand of his brother, who lay quietly beside him. See how his skin is warm to the touch. The clamminess is gone, as is the coldness that had afflicted him. And his face has more color than it did only a couple of hours ago. He is growing stronger, I am sure of it. With that, he firmly closed the door on that worrisome, traitorous part of his mind.

But no matter how much he justified his slumber, he still wished that Faramir would wake up…just to be certain.

Looking into that pale face, he was shocked to discover how much his little brother had grown and changed over the past few years. Most of Boromir's time lately had been spent far away from Minas Tirith, away from his father and brother and the confines of the Stewardship. His father had granted him this time to sharpen his fighting skills and, most importantly in Denethor's eyes, to gain the trust of the men with whom he served. In truth, Boromir gave little thought to his father's reasons, preferring instead to concentrate on more important matters…such as learning – and staying alive.

For Boromir, the only time that he felt completely whole and satisfied with his life was when he was out in the field with his men, tracking down Southron spies and battling orcs. He felt…alive, then, with blood pumping furiously through his veins and his sword flashing, slashing this way and that, knowing that each enemy he killed would mean one less threat to Gondor and her people. He knew beyond any shadow of doubt that his future lay outside the City's walls. But how could that be when he was destined to be the next Steward? Lately, that question had been more often on his mind than not, and he had yet to find an acceptable solution to the problem.

But there was one other matter that darkened his perfect life as a soldier…Faramir.

He and Faramir had always been close, more so after his mother's death, perhaps, but that was only natural. With Denethor's harsh attitude present and their mother's warm, caring nature gone forever, Boromir had stepped in and taken a more active role in his little brother's life. The bond between the two brothers was as strong as the best steel, tempered and weathered by life's battles, but emerging as a sword fit for a King. And though they both were vastly different, Boromir involved in warfare and Faramir more interested in scholarly pursuits, their differences only served to strengthen their brotherly bond. Together, they seemed more whole than they ever did apart, their strengths and weaknesses complimenting each other until there were none left.

It had been sorely difficult to go for such a long period of time without seeing Faramir. He had only returned to the City for perhaps five days total in the last two years, and those only to report to his father on the enemy's movements and their own actions to thwart them. There had been only one time that he had spent the night inside the White Tower, and he had had the misfortune of arriving during Faramir's sole excursion down to Dol Amroth to visit with their Uncle, Prince Imrahil, and their cousins. He had been greatly saddened by the missed opportunity to see his brother but had at the same time been thankful that Faramir had traveled to the other city, for he had known how much he had longed to see their Mother's brother after so many years apart. After that time, he had briefly entertained thoughts of the possible existence of a plot to keep he and Faramir separated. However, he had finally dismissed those disturbing thoughts as nonsense. He could see no reason to keep them apart.

"Oh, how you have changed, my brother," he muttered aloud, seeing for the first time how Faramir's face had narrowed and matured, now a young man of seventeen years of age. "The little brother I once knew has disappeared and a stranger has taken his place." The words were sadly true. He had been absent for so long that he would have to rediscover who his brother really was and what else had changed other besides his appearance. "But I swear that this time I will stay until it is accomplished, no matter how long it may take."

One thing he had learned over the past few years – and especially over the past few hours – was how swiftly life can change. Today's battle could have gone so differently, he thought, turning away to stare into the fire.

After a little while, he allowed his eyes to close and his mind to clear of all his thoughts, a relaxing technique he had learned after a few months of fighting. Immersed in the night, he listened to the popping and snapping of the fire and felt the cool breeze blow gently against his skin, the faint scent of burning wood lingering in the air. The soft sounds of the local nightlife reached his ears, and he absently identified each individual creature, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

"Boromir?" a voice whispered weakly in the cool, night air.

"The sleeper awakes," Boromir grinned, opening his eyes, and turned to see his brother's wan face looking up at him. "How do you feel?"

Faramir blinked and appeared to think before answering, "Sore…tired."

"Thirsty, perhaps?" The older brother held up a water skin with a knowing expression.

"Yes, a little."

Shifting over a couple of feet, he gently cradled Faramir's head, lifting it slightly with one hand while holding the water skin up to his mouth with the other, and watched to ensure that he did not take too much at once and begin to cough, a dangerous possibility as the abrupt motion might reopen his wounds and cause him to bleed again. I do not think he can afford to lose any more blood, not in his condition. The young man finally shook his head and was soon settled back on Boromir's thick cloak.

"How long was I asleep?" he asked in a somewhat stronger voice, rolling his head to the right to peer up at his older brother, a curious expression drifting over his face.

Boromir shrugged noncommittally, suddenly reluctant to reveal the exact number, knowing it would worry his patient. "A couple of hours," he hedged.

"Only a couple?"

"Yes," he said simply.

He got the distinct impression that Faramir did not believe him, but the younger man did not press the issue, a fact that both surprised and concerned him. He must be more weary than I thought, he decided, a fact that was confirmed only a moment later when he realized that those intelligent gray eyes had closed and that he appeared to be asleep once more. With a silent sigh, he turned back to the fire, adding a few more sticks to keep it burning and watching as the rush of air from the newly added wood tossed up several glowing cinders into the dark sky.

His mind drifted away as silence overtook their small campsite once again, but instead of contemplating such things as he had previously, his thought turned to the fierce battle that was only a few hours passed. The images of the fight flashed before his eyes so vividly that he felt as if the attack were happening right then, that it was not just a memory. As before, most of the images were foggy, but the ones that surrounded Faramir's wounding were even clearer and more distinct than ever. Those few seconds replayed themselves over and over in his mind. He heard Faramir's alarmed shout, saw him deliberately move in front to shield him, and then saw the arrow plunge into the front of his body and partially out his back. Again and again the memory repeated itself, and each time Boromir grew more disturbed and upset by the scene.

Why is this happening to me? Why am I torturing myself like this? he cried out mentally, trying in vain to stop the flood of images. I do not understand!

Suddenly, a strange thing happened. The image simply…froze…stopping completely just as the bloody arrowhead emerged from the back of Faramir's upper left shoulder. In his mind, Boromir scrutinized the wound's exit point and his own position directly behind his brother.

And then he understood.

If Faramir had not moved in front of him…

If Faramir had not taken the arrow for him…

He would be dead.

The arrow would have struck him right through the heart. He would have died instantly.

Faramir had not just taken the arrow for him…he had saved his very life.

It was the height difference, he realized numbly, his mind sluggish, frozen by the frigid truth. Faramir and I are practically the same height, but our horses…his horse is but a couple of inches shorter than mine, which is why he was struck in the shoulder and not through the heart as I would have been. He shuddered violently, horrified by how costly his brother's sacrifice might have been. And close behind that came another, even more disturbing thought. Did…did Faramir even know about the height difference? The mount he was riding was not Mellon, his usual horse, who is the same height as my own. It all happened so swiftly. Did he have time to think about it before he moved?

Would he knowingly sacrifice his life for mine?

The answer was painfully clear.

The dark-haired man whipped his head over to where his brother lay asleep, awed and utterly shaken by the young man's selfless act of love and devotion. He knew – had always known – that their bond was unusually strong, but this…this was beyond his comprehension.

How could he – why would he ever choose to do such a thing?! He is my brother, my best friend, my confidante…the only bright spot in my life. Does he not understand how important he is to me?! I…I could never have lived with the knowledge that my brother had died for – in my stead. That would be too cruel a burden to live with.

He knew that he would sacrifice his own life for Faramir in an instant if the situation required it. That had always been his right, his duty, as the elder brother. He would fight and protect his brother with every muscle of his being, with his very life if need be. That was the way of things. The older brother shields the younger one from harm. It did not go the other way around.

Stunned, he shifted his eyes to the fire, staring sightlessly into the flames for a time, his mind and heart in such turmoil that they seemed ready to fly apart. He sat there completely lost in thought until a quiet voice broke the heavy silence, startling him with its suddenness.

"Whatever is troubling you, brother?" Faramir asked softly, a hint of concern shadowing his fair voice. "You seem distracted…distant…as if your mind had flown away to some far off land and left only the shell of your body behind to sit at my side."

"I thought you were asleep," he replied, avoiding the question entirely. "You have lost much blood, and you know that the best cure for that is to rest."

The younger man shook his head slightly. "I will rest after you tell me what it is that preys upon your mind and disturbs your thoughts so."

"My thoughts dwell on many things," he snapped, refusing to meet his brother's keen eyes, preferring to study the sparsely covered ground instead. He instantly felt remorse at his harsh words but stubbornly refused to withdraw them; he did not yet wish to discuss what was troubling him.

"Such as?"

"Faramir…" he sighed. "Can you not leave this alone? We can discuss it later." If you remember to, that is, he added mentally.

"You never know what tomorrow might bring, Boromir." Faramir's calm, wise words echoed his earlier thoughts, sending a chill down the other man's spine though he fought hard to suppress it. "I wish to know what bothers you. Is that so wrong?" he entreated quietly.

Boromir heard the pain in his brother's voice – a pain that he had inflicted upon him – and knew he could not deny his wise counsel. Perhaps if I tell him some of my thoughts, he will be satisfied and agree to rest. If I refuse outright, he will continue to hound me until either I give in or he passes out from exhaustion. Neither of the last two options appealed to him, so he reluctantly decided to proceed with the first, hoping that his plan would succeed.

"I was just thinking about how much you have grown these last few years," he hesitantly began. "When I left, you seemed but a child, and now…now I can hardly reconcile the boy you were with the young man you are. You have changed so much…" his words trailed off, and he made no attempt to continue, uncertain as to where the conversation was leading in the first place.

"Change is inevitable, brother. Sometimes it is for good and sometimes it is for ill, but there is naught we can do to stop it either way." Faramir paused for a moment. "Do you desire that I should forever remain a child, helpless and dependant upon others for my welfare and survival? Would you truly wish that upon me? Or for yourself for that matter?"

He was quick to disagree. "Any person who saw you fighting today would be deemed insane if he called you 'helpless.' I am certain the orcs that you slayed would agree most readily – if they could still speak…which, of course, they cannot."

"No, I suppose not."

"I had not realized that you had progressed so far in your training," he admitted, taking a small sip from the water skin he was holding and then offering it to the prone man who declined with a small shake of his head. "The way you fought today…It was an amazing sight to behold – you sitting there upon your horse, confidently bringing down every foul creature that dared to challenge you. Faramir, you fought with more skill and tenacity today than I have seen in men twice your age and with a dozen years' experience in the army. Come now," he admonished lightly as Faramir lowered his eyes to the dark blanket and his bandage-covered chest. Does he receive praise so infrequently that he is embarrassed by it? a small part of him questioned at the strange behavior. "You need not be embarrassed by the truth. I know of that which I speak, Faramir. You should be proud of your skills for they are a rare gift for someone so young as yourself. Surely you must see that."

The young man lay silently, staring up at the night sky and the brilliant sea of stars that stretched high overhead, visibly contemplating his brother's words with a thoughtful expression upon his pale face. Finally, he rolled his head slightly to the right and met Boromir's gaze, his weary eyes glowing brightly in the fire's light, a sight that, for some odd reason, made the older man's stomach churn nervously though he was uncertain why. "Things change, as I said before. I am not the same person I was when you first left…but then neither are you. The years have changed us all and rightfully so, for if we had remained as we once were, today might have ended quite differently."

He abruptly reached out and grasped his brother's forearm, his grip surprising strong for one so gravely injured. His eyes bored into Boromir's as he finished, the gray depths filled with conviction, an intense pain lying just below the surface. "And I would have you know that I would rather lie here wounded by your side, brother, than have stayed back in the City, safe and unharmed, but lacking your company. I want – " his words were cut off as his eyes slammed shut, his teeth gritting together, body stiffening with pain. The darkness seemed to close in about the fire as Faramir struggled to regain control of his mutinous body and master the pain that had stolen his breath.

Boromir sat helplessly by his side, unable to relieve his brother's suffering even the slightest bit, cursing the orcs for the damage they had wrought on the young man. He covered Faramir's tightly clenched fist with one hand and gently smoothed back a lock of dark hair from his damp forehead with the other, frowning slightly at the heat that met his fingers.

In the end, the wounded young man was unable to muster the strength to open his eyes and finished his sentence in a breathless whisper. "I need you…to understand that, brother. I…need you to…believe it. Please," he pleaded weakly, his voice so faint that Boromir was forced to lean in to hear him clearly.

"I believe you, Faramir," he reassured him softly, evenly, while fighting to hide the concern that threatened to betray his calm words and destroy their soothing effect. "Now, try to get some rest. You have fought against sleep for long enough." Boromir stayed next to him and held his hand, watching by the light of the flickering fire as sleep slowly crept up upon his little brother. He sighed heavily as the wounded body sank fully against the ground a while later, completely asleep, and carefully added a second blanket overtop him, tucking him in securely to ensure that the cool air did not cause him to wake later in the night and thus disturb his much needed sleep. Then, wrapped up in a blanket of his own, he made his weary body as comfortable as possible and settled in for a long night of watch at Faramir's side, hoping that nothing would happen…but knowing that the matter was no longer in his hands.

TBC…