For the Love of a Brother
"If I leave by daybreak, I can probably pick up their trail." Faramir pitched his voice low so that the other Rangers gathered nearby would not hear. He knew they already suspected what he was proposing to his Captain, but there was no need, at least in his mind, to reveal his plans until the time came. Now, he and Captain Anduron stood close to the small fire kindled earlier, their conversation guarded.
"My lord," Anduron's voice was sharp even if only little more than a whisper. "You cannot go into Harad alone. It is madness." He crossed his arms and glared at his lieutenant. "You have never even been across the Poros. You know nothing of Harad's terrain. We must return to Minas Tirith and gather reinforcements." He made a small gesture toward the rest of the troop, waiting in the darkness, huddled around other small fires. "We have wounded, my lord, and the dead." He nodded his head in the direction of two blanket-covered bodies. "We are only twenty-six men left at strength. We cannot protect ourselves in hostile territory, let alone mount a rescue."
"Nonetheless, I cannot go to Minas Tirith," said Faramir, his voice firm. "If we go back, it will be at least a week before we can return in force. There will be no trail left to follow."
"Faramir," Anduron dropped the title of courtesy in an attempt to talk sense to his young lord. "There is little trail to follow now. Harad is a trackless wasteland, nothing but sand and rock." He tentatively grasped the arm beside him, feeling the muscles, iron-hard with tension. "I cannot let you go. Would you have me face your father and say that I sent you into Harad, knowing the danger?"
Faramir's blue eyes stared into the fire, haunted with terrible visions. He shuddered slightly before meeting his Captain's gaze. "Would you have me face him and say that I did not even try to find my brother?"
Anduron looked away, having no reply. He turned his thoughts to his Company of Rangers. The two wounded men had been cared for, as much as he was able to provide in the wilds of Ithilien, although Anduron suspected at least one of them would join those wrapped in shrouds before the night was over. The dead were beyond his help. As was Boromir, he was convinced. He sighed with frustration, looking up at the stars. Beside him, Faramir put his hands behind his back, the crackling flames seeming to rivet his attention. "He was only here because of me," he murmured.
His Captain shook his head, rejecting the unspoken thought. "That does not make it your fault, my lord." He looking at the young man before him, reminding himself he was only twenty, less than half Anduron's own age, nearly a boy to the older man. Although he had been in the company for little more than six months, Anduron had already grown fond of him. His quick wit, his intelligence, his way with the men that inspired their love and devotion; these things all marked him as one who would one day be an excellent leader, a brave and loyal soldier of Gondor. But now, he was just the younger brother, wracked with guilt because the elder had been lost while on a visit to him, taken in a lightning raid by the Haradrim. "You know that ever does your brother follow his own path," he said.
Faramir gave him a rueful glance, thinking back to Boromir's arrival in the Ranger camp yesterday. He'd ridden in mid-morning with no advance notice, his huge war horse plowing its stolid way through the quiet forest. The scouts had known of his imminent arrival an hour before he actually got there. Grinning mischievously, he'd slid down from the horse and engulfed Faramir in a hug, cuffing him on the shoulder when he finally released him.
"I thought I had better check on you," he said, "see how you are handling this Ranger life," his eyes laughing as he winked at his brother's captain. "What say you, Anduron? Will he make a Ranger, or shall I take him back home and return him to the library?"
Anduron had assured him that Faramir was making superb progress as a Ranger, adding that his knowledge of stories and lore kept them far more entertained around a campfire at night than Boromir's own stories of drinking and wenching, which all tended to run together into a muddle after a while. Boromir had laughed amiably and agreed, saying that was the way he preferred them.
He had brought a saddle pack full of honeycakes, a welcome treat for the midday meal in addition to the usual roasted deer and bread, enough for themselves and all the men. They had eaten, Boromir joking good-naturedly with the Rangers, and afterward Anduron had tactfully found an errand and left the brothers sitting alone to talk. They had remained silent for a moment, however and Faramir squirmed as he felt his older brother's appraising gaze. "What?"
"You look good." Boromir looked him up and down once more and smiled. "You've gained weight. That's not right. No one should gain weight out here in the woods!" He reached over and squeezed Faramir's knee with affection. "How are you, really?" His voice was suddenly serious, his interest evident in his green eyes.
Faramir thought a moment before nodding happily. "I am good. I like it here, most of the time. It is so quiet, and beautiful." He stopped all of a sudden and glanced over to make sure Boromir was not amused by his admission. To his pleasure, his brother was listening intently, no humor evident on his face. "It feels right, for me to be here."
"I am glad, then," said Boromir. "I hate having you so far from home, and never getting to see you, but if this is the right place, then you must stay." He hesitated. "Father sends his greetings."
Blue eyes met green ones and a look of suspicion crossed Faramir's face. "Indeed."
"You sound just like him when you say that." Boromir needled, knowing it would annoy his little brother. It did.
"No, I don't." Faramir frowned. "And I am guessing Father does not send his greetings, because I am guessing that he does not know you are here."
The almost imperceptible pause before his brother answered showed Faramir he was right.
"I told him I had several errands to attend to, that I needed to be away from the city for a week or so, perhaps I neglected to say if I would be visiting YOU," said Boromir airily. "But had I mentioned it, he would most certainly have sent greetings."
"Indeed." Realizing what he had said, Faramir quickly shot a warning glance at his brother, his brows furrowed. Boromir wisely remained silent. "Boromir," Faramir's voice softened as he continued, "you do not need to keep watch over me."
"What?" Boromir looked indignant. "This is the first time-"
"You were here two months ago."
"That was to bring dispatches to your Captain." His face was the picture of innocence.
"You also showed up only a month after I left Minas Tirith." There was amusement in Faramir's voice. "I am not stupid, brother. I know when I am being chaperoned." He leaned back against a tree and stretched his legs out before him, pushing his tousled reddish blond hair out of his eyes. "Understand me, I appreciate your concern, but –" he gave a short nod toward the other Rangers further away, "it is rather embarrassing."
Boromir grinned and shrugged. "In truth, I miss you." He methodically began to crack his knuckles, drawing a wince from Faramir. "It is strange to come home and you not be there. I get lonely."
"You do not have to tell me how lonely it can be." There was a hard edge to Faramir's voice as he thought of the emptiness of the White Tower without a brother to talk to. He quickly changed the subject. "We have been seeing quite a bit of activity across the Poros."
His brother's face lit up. "Haradrim?" At Faramir's nod he grew thoughtful. "They used to come across the river frequently, but I have not heard of any movements for a couple of years or so. Have you tangled with any yet?"
"Twice," said Faramir. "But both times they disappeared into the trees after just a few minutes." He hesitated. "It's different than killing orcs," he said quietly, "they are men."
"No, little brother," said Boromir with conviction, his voice suddenly serious, "they are not. When you have seen how they slaughter our people and butcher their captives, you will know they are not men."
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Faramir stared into the fire, remembering their conversation yesterday. Now his brother was in the hands of the Southrons, and his Captain was telling him to turn away, wait for reinforcements from Minas Tirith, let days pass while Boromir was taken deeper and deeper into the enemy's own land. His mind would not allow him to entertain the thought that he could already be dead. He chewed his lip and watched the flames leap and twist before him.
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When Boromir's horse had come ambling back into the camp, covered with dried sweat and foam and missing his rider, Anduron had quickly sent the Rangers out on a search. Boromir had left their camp only a few hours before, and his trail was easy to follow, especially for those among them with years of tracking skills. Faramir was already uneasy, remembering as he thought back that his brother had not even been wearing his armor, merely the heavy traveling cloak that their father had presented to him upon attaining the rank of Captain earlier in the year. Apparently he had felt no apprehension over a two-day ride through a relatively peaceful part of Ithilien. Faramir's stomach churned with each step he took.
At the edge of a meadow only a few miles from their camp they found their first sign of trouble. The knee-high grass was flattened and broken, the damp ground churned into mud and gouged by the sharp hooves of desert ponies. A broken arrow lay tangled in the grass, and further on a sharp-eyed Ranger found one of the crude bamboo spears the Haradrim often carried, shattered and crushed into the weeds by the passage of hooves and booted feet. The tracks led south, toward the Poros River, and Harad.
Without a sound the Rangers spread out, their arrows nocked and ready, senses alert and on edge. Faramir could feel his heart pounding and the slight queasiness in his belly that had accompanied his other two meetings with the dark men of the south. They approached the riverbank, hearing the splash and gurgle of water through the stand of trees that guarded its edge. Easing into the dim light under the trees, Faramir waited a moment while his eyes adjusted. It was silent, except for the sound of the river, each Ranger treading on noiseless feet.
The Rangers and the Haradrim rear guard saw each other at the same time, each company of men loosing their arrows at the other seemingly simultaneously. Faramir heard men cry out, heard the sibilant whispers of arrows threading through the trees, heard the soft hum of his own bowstring as he drew and fired at enemy figures. Behind him he heard the cries of a wounded man, but he moved forward, continuing to harry the enemy as they slowly pulled back across the river. He felt his heart thudding in his ears and his own labored breathing as he sought to kill the men before him. Suddenly in front of him there appeared a dark face, eyes wide and black. By reflex, Faramir drew an arrow and let it fly, hardly thinking about what he was doing until it was buried in the man's throat and he fell. He passed the body without a glance, scanning the trees around him for further enemy threats.
When he reached the riverbank, only those Haradrim felled by arrows remained, their bodies resting among the mud and rocks along the river. Faramir counted five dead. He saw no wounded, and wondered briefly if that was because their comrades had recovered them, or if some of the dead had been dispatched by his fellow Rangers.
Anduron approached him. "They were only a small group, left behind to see if anyone had followed. I think we got them all," he said with conviction. "They had no ponies, so whoever was riding those had already crossed over." He pointed to the opposite bank where a muddy track was evident leaving the water and leading into the sparse trees and scrub growing there. "You can see where they all came out of the water."
Faramir splashed across the shallows and climbed up the bank. From that vantage point he could see far across the plains of Harad, dry, sandy, dotted with stunted bushes and rank grass. No sign of any retreating Haradrim raiding party, however. No figures, man or animal, no cloud of dust to indicate a group traveling across the plain. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Anduron coming to join him. "If we started now, we could catch them," he said.
Anduron shook his head. "No, my lord. We have wounded to care for, and Garith is missing." He looked behind him, watching the rest of the company as they regrouped on the opposite riverbank, and rubbed his mouth. "Damron is dead, and I fear Athendor will follow soon." He saw Faramir's eyes scanning the country ahead of him. "My lord," he said softly. No answer. "My lord!" Faramir dragged his gaze back to his Captain. "We need to get the injured back to camp." He saw the protest forming and spoke swiftly to cut him off. "LIEUTENANT, we cannot follow, not now."
The commanding tone of the older man broke through to Faramir and without a word he turned and retreated across the Poros, immediately assisting in the care and comfort of the wounded. He remained quiet as the company made its way back to the campsite. His companions knew where his mind was fixed, and left him to his own thoughts.
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Now, as the night sky blazed above them, the Captain and his Lieutenant continued their hushed argument.
"Do you forbid me, then?" Faramir's voice was tight, his anger and frustration evident to Anduron, who felt nothing but sympathy for his young officer. He sighed and shook his head.
"I do not know what to do, my lord," he said truthfully. "If you were just another man, just a plain man in my company, I would forbid it without a moment's notice, and without regret. I would say to you that – forgive me," he apologized, "your brother is already dead and your death will not help him." He saw Faramir flinch at the word 'dead', his hands ball unconsciously into fists. "But I do not know that I can forbid a son of the Steward from anything, or that I want to forbid you from seeking the Heir." He shrugged and paced slowly before the fire. "If he were dead, we should have found his body by the river," he said thoughtfully. "The Haradrim do not usually take prisoners. Perhaps they know who they have and have taken him into their country to try and use as a pawn in some future political maneuvering."
"Do you believe that?" Faramir's icy blue eyes held his, demanding an honest answer.
Anduron hesitated before shaking his head. "No, my lord, I do not." He saw the disappointment fill his lieutenant's face. "That is not their way. I believe that if they have taken him, and he is still alive, it is only because they have some special devilry planned, and that he soon will be dead. They worship evil things in the southern lands, and ally themselves with the Dark Lord. Who knows what fate awaits those carried into the heart of the desert." He stopped before Faramir and grasped him by the shoulders. "If you go into Harad, Faramir, I fear it will mean your death, also. I cannot go home to tell your father both of you perished at the hands of the Southrons."
"Then come with me," said Faramir quietly. Seeing the shock on his Captain's face he gave a grim and ghastly smile. "For I am going, Anduron, at daybreak. I know in my heart that once the chance to follow them is lost, so is Boromir. I cannot wait as days pass, wait for reinforcements from Minas Tirith to arrive. I am going, alone if I must, but I would welcome a companion. My father would look kindly upon any who would help deliver my brother back safely to his arms."
Anduron looked at him in amazement. Who knew the honeyed tongue of the formidable Steward had been passed to his younger son? He was offering him a chance to both avoid facing the anger of Denethor, and if their mission was successful, to be known as one of those who had rescued his beloved son. True, it was also a chance to die plucked and skewered in some alien Southron ritual, he thought. But that might not be so different than facing the Lord of Gondor with news of the death of both his sons, Anduron felt. He was appalled to find himself actually considering going, and gave a quick nod of admiration to Faramir's powers of persuasion.
Nay, said a small voice in his mind. It is the power of love that drives him. He goes because he must, because he cannot conceive of not going. And because he loves so deeply, and so selflessly, he draws out the best in others. Anduron suddenly realized he was going to follow his young lord into the wilds of Harad, for no other reason than the love between the brothers that he had seen shine on both their faces so many times.
He released his grip on Faramir and stepped back, bowing his head. "I will come with you, my lord." He saw the surprise on Faramir's face and knew that he was pleased as well. "Let us inform the others and make our plan."
Together, they turned and approached the rest of the company.
TO BE CONTINUED