Tower of the Guard

Boromir's eyes flew open to reveal unrelieved darkness. His throat felt as if he had been screaming, but the unbroken silence stifled even the sound of his own breathing. When he struggled to rise a hand appeared on his shoulder, as insubstantial as smoke, but the cold pressure of that hand kept him rooted in his seat.

"Your brother dreams, Lord Boromir. He met the Ringbearer in Ithilien as you saw, and saw clearly the burden the halfling carried. He resisted the temptation of the Ring then, but he has fallen now under the shadow of the Nazgul. He remembers his nightmares and forgets himself. Soon he will have wandered so far into darkness that even Lord Aragorn will not be able to call him back."

"I will not let my brother die!" Even as he said it, Boromir could hear the unfamiliar note of desperation in his voice. He did not like feeling powerless. He was a man of action; he preferred problems that he could face on his feet with a sword in his hand. He did not like to ask for help. "What can I do?"

"If he forgets himself you must remember for him. Your link with his mind grows stronger as he draws closer to this place. Close your eyes. Remember him. See him again as you last saw him, standing on the high wall of the Tower of the Guard."

There was no trace yet of the faint grey that would soon be showing itself on the eastern rim of the sky as Boromir stood with his face to the west. The city below and the fields stretching out beyond it were still black with night, only the small stars of the night torches sparked in the darkness. Boromir had sent away both the soldier and the torch that usually guarded this spot. There was only one person in the world he wished to speak to now, and he did not have the heart to rouse him. Faramir, too, had orders from the Steward, and they were no less dangerous than Boromir's own. Boromir was used to having his brother at his side when he rode out to face the enemy, but this time he was riding out alone, and he did not know what he would be facing.

A wavering red glow lit the stones at his feet, tentatively at first, but growing inexorably stronger. The footsteps were light, scarcely louder than the hiss of the torch. Boromir let out his breath and relaxed. He knew those footsteps well. There was no need to rouse his brother; Faramir had an uncanny ability to sense when Boromir needed him. Boromir spoke without turning, his eyes still watching the shadows cast by the torch. "I am glad you came brother. I hope I did not wake you"

Faramir set his torch carefully in a bracket on the wall, and stepped up beside his older brother. Boromir turned to look at the face beside him, shadowed in the torchlight. It was a slightly more delicate version of the strong bones he had inherited from their father. Faramir carried traces of their mothers more gentle face, but in profile the nose and lips were remarkably like Boromir's own, and the grey eyes that turned to meet his were identical save for small differences in expression. "You did not wake me."

"I wonder sometimes if you ever sleep. I don't think I have seen you sleep since we were children."

Faramir smiled faintly, gazing out into the night. "I sleep- sometimes." His face sobered. "I will not have much chance to sleep in Ithilien."

"No, you won't." Boromir's fist clenched on the parapet. "Damn them! We should not have to sneak like fugitives into our own land! It is not our way; skulking and spying."

"No." Faramir said with rare bitterness. "No. It is my way. I have heard from good authority that skulking and spying are what I am best suited for."

"Father did not mean that the way it sounded to you, Faramir. You are the best suited for this job. You have keener eyes, and you shoot more surely that anyone in Gondor, even Anborn." Faramir shook his head, but he did not reply. "And you move like a shadow in the forest," Boromir continued, with a sidelong glance at his brother, "not like a herd of wild boar, as I believe someone once described my attempts at stealth." He won a true smile from Faramir this time, although a very brief one. "It is a very delicate mission Faramir; Father knows that. He would trust it to no one else. He esteems- he loves you."

Faramir kept his eyes fixed on the darkness. "Then why does he not tell me so?"

Boromir turned to his brother and watched him carefully as he spoke. "When was the last time you sought him out Faramir, not as a soldier, but as a son?"

Faramir looked down at his hands, absent mindedly rubbing the hard calluses on them from holding bow and arrow. It was a while before he spoke. "I have done very little as anything other than a soldier for a long time now. I was hoping for some time to myself on the journey north."

"You were hoping for some time at the elven courts." Boromir said with some amusement. An answering gleam sparked in Faramir's eyes before he veiled them. "You cannot hide from your father forever, Faramir. He needs you."

Faramir's countenance was impassive. "So that is why you stole my quest. It was all for the good of the family. You are trying to force a reconciliation between Father and me. How noble of you!" After many long years, Boromir knew when Faramir was baiting him. He laughed and clapped his younger brother on the shoulder. "No, of course not! You know me better than that. If there is a need for someone to go galloping bravely into the unknown, I will be the one to do it. It's my prerogative as Captain-General." He put out his other hand and turned his brother to face him, before he continued soberly, "I am far better suited for long rough journeys than you. You know that. I need you here, watching over Ithilien for me. I need you here watching over our father. You will return to report to him often. Do not let the Steward despair. He is a proud man; I do not know what he would do in desperation. And watch yourself too, take no unnecessary risks; your life is too valuable to all of us."

Faramir gripped his arms tightly. "And to you dear brother, I might say the same thing. You too are a proud man. It would be a grievous loss to Gondor if you did not return, and an even more grievous loss to me." Boromir pulled his younger brother into a crushing embrace as the light of day began its slow rise in the east.

The sky was grey, and looked as moody as Boromir felt, as he rode down the winding road from the citadel to the great gates of the city. He looked up once and saw Faramir standing in the same spot, as still as the statue of a Numenorian lord. He looked back once again after he passed through the gates, and raised his hand in farewell to the crowd that had gathered, even at this early hour, to see Gondor's finest begin his great journey. He could not be certain, but he thought he saw, through the dim light and the distance, Faramir's hand raised in return. He turned his back on the white city, and rode into the still shadowed west.