Author's Notes:  In this chapter, I have fabricated quite a bit of how the Ithilien Rangers are perceived in Gondor and by Boromir.  Nowhere in the book can I find anything to support or refute this (though the book is so long and detailed, I might have missed something).  Take what I have assumed concerning the Ithilien Rangers with a grain of salt. It is one interpretation among many that happened to work for my story.

A special thanks to everyone who helped me with feedback and comments on my Live Journal.  You'll be happy to know that the story is remarkably guerrilla free now.  :D

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Chapter Two – Disappointment

The ride to Henneth Annûn lasted far longer than I would have liked, under the circumstances.  The newly mended Mablung rode at my side; he wore a pained look of anguish as his wounds were cruelly jarred by the ride.  He uttered no complaint, seemingly as determined as I was to reach our destination with haste.  Behind us rode a mounted company, kicking up a great cloud of dust in their wake.  Any hope in secrecy was waylaid by the pounding of our horses.  The enemy would know we were coming long before we were in sight.  I cared not.  A small part of me hoped they would take it as a warning and retreat at once; but mostly, I hoped to engage and annihilate those who had dared to attack my brother and his men.  Determined, I urged my horse to take a quicker pace.

I must admit that part of my haste was inspired by a desire to push undesirable thoughts away from my mind.  The guilt I had felt towards the rift between Faramir and I had quickly vanished when I learned of my brother's peril.  I found that my resulting thoughts were only that of anger.  Anger towards Faramir.  The old argument rang anew in my troubled mind: Faramir did not belong in Ithilien.  He deserved better than to be stationed as a mere Ranger.  He belonged at my side, in Gondor's army, but he would not see reason, nor would our father.  The unpleasant memory revisited me as I rode.

I had pleaded with my father on that dreadful day when Faramir's captaincy over the Rangers had been announced; it was the last day I had seen Faramir before he left for Ithilien, six months ago.

"You cannot really mean to allow this?" I had asked my father accusingly.

"You question my decision?" Denethor responded.  The eyebrow he raised in my direction was not a gracious one.

"He does not have the skill," I argued through clenched teeth.  "Not yet anyway."

"Faramir's skill with the bow has surpassed even your own, Boromir.  That will prove useful to him in Ithilien."

"I realize that and do not resent him for it.  But it is his ability to lead so far from authority that I question."

Denethor considered my words.  "Indeed, it is something to be concerned with.  Faramir has shown more than once that he possesses a free spirit, but he cannot prove himself unless I give him opportunity to be loyal to me."

I bit my tongue, attempting to control my frustration.  "Your decision is final, then?"

"It is."

I was angry with my father for some time after we spoke, fearing news Faramir's death would reach my ears within the week.  Storming from the great hall, I went immediately to find Faramir.  At first opportunity, I grasped my indignant brother by the tunic and hauled him to privacy so that I could thoroughly yell at him.

"The Ithilien Rangers?" I bit out.  "Are you insane?"

Faramir's eyes grew wide and round in a most irritating manner.  I did not like it when I was reminded of the child he once was, for it caused my anger to wane.  I held onto that anger with everything I had, reminding myself that it was born out of the desire to see him safe.  "Why are you saying this?" Faramir asked quietly, ever playing the innocent victim in times of accusation.

"You belong in Gondor's main army, Faramir, not some remote unit," I explained, beginning to pace angrily about the room.  "It is dangerous in Ithilien.  There is a good reason why it has been abandoned.  Moreover, you will never receive honor or recognition as a Ranger.  Of what consequence is such a position to you?"

"I do not seek recognition.  Can you not be happy for me, brother?" Faramir asked in disbelief.

I spun around furiously, eyes brimming with tears.  "Happy for you?  No, Faramir, I cannot.  You are acting like a fool.  I will not support a decision that would cause your downfall."

"You do not know that," he responded, shaking his head slowly.

"I know it in my heart," I said, pressing a gloved hand to my chest for emphasis.

"And I know in mine that it is what I am supposed to do."

"You are young.  You do not know your heart."

"I am twenty-eight years old," he argued indignantly.  "And you are only just thirty-three."

"You can learn a lot in five years.  I do not wish to see you dead, Faramir.  I fight you on this because I love you."

"You are being overly protective."

"I am your Captain-general."

Faramir's eyes steeled.  "And my father is the Steward.  I will do as he commands, even over my Captain-general.  I value your opinion, Boromir, but I am going to Ithilien nevertheless."

"When I am Steward," I bit out, "that will be the first thing to change."

With that, I stormed away and did not see my brother off on his new mission.  I was furious, too caught up in my anger to think of anything but the injustice of it all.  I felt most guilty when I learned Faramir was gone.  He left me a note, wishing me well, saying he had no hard feelings.  So wretched and guilty did I feel for my actions, I never wrote back to him.

As I raced towards Ithilien to my brother's aid not six months after our argument, I could not help but feel a little satisfied.  My forebodings had proven correct.  A very small part of me almost wanted Faramir to be wounded so I could make my father see reason—so that Faramir could come home once again.  But such thoughts were foolishness—if Faramir was indeed injured, there would be no feelings of satisfaction on my part.  Only grief.  He was my baby brother, and I loved him more than anything.  That, however, would not stop me from yelling at him when I saw him.  Nothing but death would keep that from him.  I felt it my brotherly duty.

We reached the Gorge Pathway at sunset.  I dismounted and ordered the men to do the same.  After sending out a few scouts, I took Mablung and the healers with me deeper into the thick woods.  Henneth Annûn was well hidden and a distinct pain to find.  Wounded or not, I was thankful for Mablung's assistance.  We climbed up a steep ravine, watching our breath freeze in the frigid night air.  A light misting of rain began to fall, making the steep path dangerous.

When we arrived at the top, I heard a slight rustling before me.  Beside me Mablung gave a long, low whistle that cut through the trees.  More movement ahead of me, and suddenly two cloaked Rangers emerged from the copse.

"Captain-general!" they cried when they recognized me.

Ignoring the questions that soon followed, I pushed past them towards the caves that contained the stairs that led down into Henneth Annûn.  The roaring of a waterfall could be heard, and the air was thick with frigid moisture.  I shivered, despite my warm cloak, and pressed on.  When I reached the caves, I saw that many men were laid out upon the ground.  All around me was blood and pain, and though it was a sight I was not unused to, I choked back a cry of revulsion.  The healers set down their supplies and got to work on the many bodies lying here and there.

"Why have these men not been brought below to safety?" I asked, my eyes nervously scanning the bodies for Faramir's familiar profile.

"The stairs, sir," a Ranger provided.  "Many of them are too wounded to be moved further.  Some are still at the site of the attack."

I cursed long and slow under my breath.  "That must be remedied soon, if we are to keep this base hidden.  Where is your Captain?"

Pointed in the direction of the woods, I found him on his feet, of course, tending to a gravely wounded man who was obviously unable to be moved further.  Several others lay here and there.  When Faramir caught sight of me, he heaved a great sigh of relief and bowed low before me.  He was cloakless and dirty, shivering uncontrollably in the light, freezing rain.  I glanced down at the wounded man to see that he was covered in Faramir's cloak.  I called loudly for one of the healers to tend to the man.

"You are come," my brother said breathlessly.  "I did not expect to see you personally, Captain-general."

"Why do you speak in this manner?" I answered, slightly offended when he did not move to embrace me as we always did.  Perhaps my sensitivity was founded more on the fact that we had not left on good terms the last time we were together.  "Are we not brothers?"

"You are still my superior, sir," he said, and I instantly recalled our last conversation, when I flaunted my position in his face.

I grit my teeth.  "Then as your superior, I order you to drop the pretense and speak to me as you used to."

"It is not pretense, I assure you.  Only respect."  The fight left my brother quickly, and his shoulders drooped.  "I am glad to see you, Boromir.  I just thought—well, never mind.  Thank you for coming.  We have many wounded and cannot take another attack.  We will be decimated if the enemy discovers our location."

"There are mounted troops guarding the road and the gorge.  Do not worry.  Father has seen to it that we are well-protected."

He heaved a great sigh of relief and promptly winced in pain.  It was then that I noticed how he clutched his side.  My torchlight was dim, however, and I could not see the cause.  "You are wounded?"

"Not badly."

"Yes, I am quite sure you speak the truth," I bit out, signaling one of the healers over to us.  "Forgive my doubt in you, but I recall how much honor you pay to your own well-being."

"With all due respect, Boromir, there are many who are in grave need of the healers.  My wounds are not serious.  I can wait until the others have been seen to."

That was the breaking point.  My anger quickly reached its peak, something the men should not have to witness.  My brother, however, was going to witness it if he liked it or not.  Grabbing a few medical supplies, I seized Faramir roughly by the tunic and hauled him deeper into the woods.

"Where are you taking me?" he argued.  "The men…"

"…will be fine," I said, effectively cutting him off.  "And I am taking you somewhere private where I can yell at you to my heart's content.  Do you wish me to embarrass you in front of your men?"

He did not respond.  When I saw him grimacing painfully, I relinquished my hold on him and allowed him to walk unaided.  When we were out of sight, I roughly unfastened his tunic and threw it aside.  Faramir glared at me hotly when I started on his bloodied shirt, tearing it away in my anger.  "You dishonor me, brother," he said quietly, his eyes full of silent fury.

"Faramir, I love you more than my life," I said, "but sometimes you infuriate me beyond all reckoning."

"Likewise," Faramir said, bristling.  "But if I have ever felt anger towards your actions, I have never let it cloud my judgment of you or mistreated you."

Ignoring his pointed words, I cursed loudly when I caught the sight of his wound in the moonlight.  He was right in that it was not the most serious of wounds, for it seemed as though his thick leather tunic had saved him from the worst of whatever blow had caused it.  However, the wound was completely untreated and unbandaged, still leaking blood slowly.  "Have you no sense at all, leaving a wound like this untreated for so long?  I should finish the job and kill you myself, little brother," I rasped angrily, unaware that I had managed to utter a threat and an endearment in a single breath.  "I should shake you and curse you and beat you."

"Yes, well, would you please get on with it?" he deadpanned.  "I have men to care for."

"You will do what I say.  I am the ranking officer here," I bit out, pushing him down upon a fallen tree with what little gentleness I could muster.  Kneeling before him, I began to dress his wound.  "You should have never come to Ithilien.  If you were under my watch, this would have never happened."

"Meaning you think me incapable of performing my duties properly.  I grow distinctly weary of this argument."  He winced away from me violently when I applied a thick layer of ointment to the gaping wound in his side.  I gripped his shoulder, silently comforting him despite my anger.

"I do not think you incapable as a warrior, Faramir, but you have too much heart to be a leader in times such as these**.  Why did you not send word earlier?"

"I did.  When help did not come, I assumed the men I sent had been captured."

I stopped short before responding, hearing a noise in the distance.  Faramir heard it as well, for he leapt to his feet and gave a low long whistle.  When no response came, he looked at me in alarm.

I glanced back at him, noticing his conspicuously bare waist.  "Where is your sword, Captain?"

"You drew me away on a whim.  I did not have the chance to grab it."  After a moment, he added, "Sir."

"Perfect," I muttered, ripping a bandage in half.  Not feeling as though we had the opportunity to waste anymore time, I pressed it to his side.  "Get up.  We're going back."

"At last you see reason."

"Do not start—"

And that was as far as I got before an arrow came whistling through the trees.  It would have hit me square in the chest had Faramir not pushed me to the ground.  I was on my feet instantly and drew my sword.  Together we raced back towards the encampment, and I cursed myself for my foolishness as another arrow sailed past my right ear.

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To be continued.

Author's Notes:

**"I do not think you incapable as a warrior, Faramir, but you have too much heart to be a leader in times such as these."  My reasons for this statement of Boromir's stem from Faramir's possession of a free spirit and a propensity to follow his heart in times of decision.  I value this in Faramir's character—an example would be when he allowed Frodo and the Ring to go free.  It is a noble quality.  However, I think in a military sense Faramir's free spirit would not be kindly looked upon by his father and superiors.  Keep in mind that this story is told from Boromir's point-of-view, and many of these little nuances that stand in Faramir's defense are not directly disclosed.  Boromir will have to discover them for himself.  ^_~

Writing these two arguing was more fun than I'd like to admit.  :D  Keep in mind that I'm not trying to make them enemies or anything.  I'm just trying to portray what a brotherly argument between these two might be like.

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