Author's notes: This was a particularly difficult chapter to write. Fortunately I already had it halfway written because it was meant to be the end of the last chapter. I was going to leave you in horrible suspense, but it was taking too long to write and I wanted to get something posted. So now I get to leave you in horrible suspense at the end of this chapter! The next chapter is going to be a doozy too, and then I get the fun of making sure the rest of the story is not hideously anti-climactic….
Since this chapter and the next enter into serious AU territory, I must offer a revised disclaimer. The characters and backgrounds are still largely Professor Tolkien's, but I have also included a nod to the film (you'll recognize it when you get there) so I should acknowledge Peter Jackson and co. for planting ideas in my head. What I have done with said characters and ideas is entirely the product of my own dark and twisted imagination.
Faramir's Test
Faramir managed to hold off on more questioning until after the evening meal, but it was not easy. After the last of the food had been eaten, he led the halflings to a discreet corner, finally able to speak with them freely, and ask them things about his brother he would not want his men to hear. Boromir had been esteemed the best man in Gondor, and Faramir would have him remembered that way, not for any weaknesses that may have led to his downfall. Frodo did not speak of his errand, or the thing he carried, and Faramir did not press him. He did not really want to know. His heart was too conflicted. He wished to speak to Boromir but Boromir was gone and here before him was one who had known him in his last months of life.
Boromir was half intrigued and half embarrassed to hear himself spoken of from Frodo's point of view. Frodo began not at the Council, or at the departure from Rivendell, but in the snows of Redhorn, in the heart of a blizzard. The hobbits had nearly been buried in the snow. It was Boromir who had first spoken aloud his concern for them. When it had become necessary to carry them down the mountain, Boromir had gone straight to the youngest and smallest of the hobbits, the most vulnerable member of the Company, and carried him to safety first.
Boromir remembered the whole thing very clearly. Peregrin Took had been surprisingly light, and chilled to the bone. Boromir remembered how the small form on his back had trembled, and how the shivering had gradually died down as some of Boromir's own body heat seeped into him, and he remembered the warmth flowing back into him at the sight of the lad's grateful, glowing face.
After that Pippin contrived to be as close to the big man as he could at all times and wherever Pippin was, Merry was always close behind. Boromir had not objected at all to his new shadows. He had taken pleasure in teaching them the basics of sword play, and in extracting them from all the small difficulties they managed to get themselves into. Pippin in particular had a gift for running headlong into trouble. Boromir feared for what might happen to that innocence and enthusiasm out in the large world unprotected. Frodo's fears for his young cousins were plain on his face too, and the near certainty that he would never see them again. Faramir looked into his eyes and saw a reflection of his own deep grief, and for a moment his heart went out to the halfling, but the moment did not last long. Frodo at least had some chance, however slim, of finding his loved ones again. Boromir was lost forever.
Faramir's emotions were in turmoil. Boromir had found someone else to protect before he died. Faramir was surprised at the bitterness of the thought. Boromir could never resist the opportunity to protect the weak and helpless. He spent much of his life protecting me. He is, he was, as bad as Father. Neither one of them ever believed I could do anything on my own. In this matter now I must prove myself. Boromir felt a pain, and a strange sense of dread around his heart. Faramir was not himself. Or perhaps, thought Boromir, caught off guard, I never really knew him.
Frodo resumed the tale. He emphasized Boromir's valor, and his great respect for Gandalf and Aragorn, but he could not hide the fact that Boromir had clashed with the leaders more than once about the route that they were taking. Faramir was not surprised. Boromir was a proud man. If there was a great prize to be had Boromir would bring it home himself, or die trying.
Was that what had happened? Certainly two halflings could not bring down a man so powerful, but what of this Aragorn? It seems he had been in league with the elves and the wizard. Faramir had respected the wizard, even had some affection for him, but it seemed in this he had opposed Boromir. He clearly had not had Gondor's best interests at heart. Faramir realized that his hand was resting on his sword hilt and that it was painfully tense. He flexed it a few times and began to massage it with his other had, trying to keep his mind on his captive 'guests'.
The Ring was taking him, Boromir thought bleakly. Faramir's thoughts were not entirely his own. Still, he reflected uneasily, there must be a grain of truth in there somewhere. The Ring did not create thoughts. It found them in the darkest corners of your being, and twisted them to its own purposes. There were secret places in Faramir's heart that even Boromir had never been allowed to see.
The conversation had turned to elves. Samwise, it seemed, was very fond of them. At another time that might have warmed Faramir's heart. He was a scholar of old lore, and he himself had once loved the tales of alliances between men and elves, but not anymore. It was Elrond and the elves that had begun this foolish quest, and led to his death the one person Faramir cared for more than any other.
His hand was on his hilt again when it came out; the truth, at last. Samwise, who had spoken unwarily, clapped his hands over his mouth, horrified; Faramir stood up slowly drawing his blade. It all made sense now. The Ruling Ring; this was a prize Boromir would die for. Faramir's keen eyes were caught by the fine chain around the halfling's neck, leading into his tunic. He slid his sword under the chain and pulled it out. Isildur's Bane was before him. It seemed to grow larger under his fascinated gaze. His blade had grazed the perian's collar bone, leaving a thin line of blood. The servant had his hand on his own short sword, but Faramir ignored him. This was Boromir's legacy to him. He would not fail. His hand was trembling, the light on the blade was dancing, but the Ring lay perfectly still.
. He could not remember moving. It had been pure accident, it must have been pure accident, when his sword pierced the perian's throat clean through. The servant drew his sword with a startled yell, and Faramir reacted on instinct. The whole thing was over in a matter of seconds. His men were standing, some reaching for their own weapons, some just staring at their Captain and the two small bodies at his feet. In a daze, Faramir dropped his sword and knelt down to pull the fine chain over the perian's lolling head. Boromir's Bane was his.
Boromir was no longer breathing. His heart felt like a hot stone in his chest. He tried to cry out, but his throat was closed. He struggled against the great weight that seemed to have descended on his eyelids and willed himself to wake.