Author's Note: This chapter was written all by the lovely Jenn. Please send all of your praise to her at jholsh1@towson.edu.

There is no sibcest in this chapter. This goes back one year to when Boromir is getting ready to leave for his twelve-month journey. Boromir and Faramir are 19 and 14 respectively.

Reviews and constructive criticism are always very much welcome :-)

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Before dawn, Boromir was awake and preparing to depart. Where he was to go was to the Gondorian borders, visiting the outliers of hamlets and military outposts that lay very near the neighboring territories to the north, south, and west. The steward had received tell of raids upon the defenseless villages by ragtag troops of orcs and wild men, pillaging and burning towns while invoking fear and terror into the hearts of the pilgrims settled far from the White City. "The garrisons are all but snuffed out," Denethor stated, tone grim and icy as usual. "As High Captain of the Citadel, I ask you, Boromir, to restore order."

What other task would he have Boromir, the golden child and future steward, do? The command was inescapable, and with a spirit bent on keeping his beloved land secure, Boromir acquiesced. He had known very well that danger was afoot on the borders of their realm; it seemed that each day more bands of men were sent to reinforce a vulnerable fort. It was only a matter of time before a travelsick messenger galloped to the gate with a dispatch for aide, calling for Boromir's exceptional skill as a captain and leader of men. Boromir rued the day when it came, but as he had begun to understand, there was more to life than frittering away the days away as he saw fit. He had responsibilities, duties. No more carefree mornings and idle pastimes, but above all, no more langorous afternoons with Faramir, tucked away in their garden or exploring the shady glades outside the city.

But Boromir understood all of that, and had accepted it as the way things were, just another part of growing up. The only sticking point was the short notice. It was not until the night before he was to leave that Boromir had received his assignment, right on the eve of Faramir's fourteenth birthday. Denethor knew full well the depth of affection that his firstborn harbored for Faramir, but nonetheless Boromir was to leave at first light. "Do not trouble yourself with that brat of a brother you have - he will get over it." Boromir's mouth always burned with gall at the disparagements.

"But father, it's his birthday! Could I not wait until that has passed to leave on this errand?" His voice was brash, defiant. Boromir had not grown up so much emotionally, despite his ability as a fighter, as he still retained an impetuous streak.

But of course the answer had been no, flat out, and Boromir was powerless to challenge the steward's rule.

The sky was just beginning to brighten as the first rays of the sun illuminated the roof of clouds as night gave way to day. Boromir was saddling his horse in the stables with a heavy heart. Outside, twenty of his best men, most of them older than he but less skilled in leadership and warfare, were milling about collecting foodstuffs and spare gear for the impending excursion, items that would be essential for a journey projected to span twelve months. Boromir, too deep in sorrow at his parting from the city he loved, did not hear the soft footfalls on the hay blanketing the floor approaching timidly as he slung his heavily-laden saddlebags over his steed's back.

A small tug on the sleeve of his tunic jarred him back into cognizance. He whirled around to see Faramir, still garbed in his threadbare nightclothes, staring up at him with doe eyes. "Oh, Faramir..." he breathed, a cloud of remorse clouding his rugged, handsome face.

Faramir's eyes rapidly began to glitter with unspent tears and his lower lip trembled. "Boromir, where are you going?" Faramir asked in a thin, tinny voice that threatened to crack with emotion.

Boromir averted his eyes; he could not stand to leave his brother like this. "Faramir, you should be in bed..."

"Where are you going?" Faramir reiterated, this time shrilly and with more force. A stray tear spilled over his lower eyelid and rolled down his rosy cheek as he sniffled.

Boromir reached out, bringing Faramir flush against him, holding his quaking shoulders with strong hands. "Father bids me to depart immediately for the borders," he said solemnly.

"But it's my birthday, today, Boromir!" Faramir sobbed, face buried against Boromir's stomach and his tears staining the fine cloth of Boromir's raiment.

Stroking Faramir's messy hair, Boromir cooed softly "I know, rosebud. I begged him to let me remain another day, but... he refused." The last words were barely audible as Boromir found it difficult to keep his grief in check.

"But you've never missed my birthday before!" Faramir cried, though it was muffled against Boromir's abdomen.

Boromir knelt down so that Faramir's sorrow-etched visage was just above the top of Boromir's sandy head. He grasped Faramir's thin forearms tightly and looked hard up into Faramir's moist cornflower blue eyes. "I'll be here, Faramir."

"You won't! You'll be leagues away!"

"Shh. Physically I will be absent, but I will always be here in spirit, Faramir."

Faramir took a shaky breath in an effort to steady himself. "It's not the same," he croaked woefully.

Boromir brought Faramir closer and nestled his face against Faramir's chest, breathing in the delicate scent of orchids that always seemed to linger around his brother. "I do not want to go, Faramir, but I must." Gently, he left a kiss on the ivory white skin just visible under the open collar on Faramir's shirt.

A teardrop splashed onto Boromir's cheek as Faramir unleashed his misery, sobbing and quivering as the tears fell. Boromir suppressed a gasp himself, and reached up to wipe away the hot, salty moisture staining Faramir's porcelain cheeks. All of a sudden, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a smooth figurine hewn from the finest, purest marble. It was in the shape of six-pointed star, one of which had a hole drilled through it as if it could be worn as a pendant.

"What's that?" Faramir asked, his childlike curiosity shining through.

Boromir held the trinket up to Faramir between his fingers. "This is something that our mother had. She always wore it on a silk cord around her neck." He paused, seeming to be reflecting back to a decade ago when their mother was still living, searching for an old image of her wearing the amulet.

He sighed, breaking free of his reverie. "She gave this to me shortly before she passed. Father doesn't know about it. Anyway..." he looked up into Faramir's glimmering, wide eyes... "I'm giving it to you."

Faramir hesitantly ran a small finger over the cool stone surface, fingering the finely crafted points. "But she gave it to you, Boromir," he whispered in uneven tones, though a dim ray of hopefulness surfaced in his azure eyes.

"It's yours now, Faramir," Boromir said as he folded his brother's hands over the amulet. He got to his feet and used his thumb to remove the final drops of moisture from his brother's tender cheeks. "It's to remind you that we're both always connected, rosebud, and that the stars you see in the White City are the same stars that I can see from the wilderness."

Faramir smiled weakly, and his angelic face brightened a little. "You'll come back soon, though, won't you?"

Boromir struggled with an answer. //I cannot tell him that I will be gone for nigh on a year...// "Yes. I will be back soon, but you will have

plenty to occupy yourself with." He smiled warmly and leaned over, leaving a final kiss on Faramir's smooth forehead.

The horse behind him snorted, interrupting the moment he and Faramir were sharing. "I think that Wingfoot is getting impatient," Faramir said, regaining composure of himself. He was feeling better since it had sounded like Boromir wouldn't be gone for long; he did not notice the generous store of provisions that the soldiers carried.

Boromir glanced at the horse and sighed. "Yes, she is." He took the reins and began to lead the mare out of the stables, with Faramir following a little ways behind, still clutching the stone amulet in his hand.

Boromir's men had formed ranks at the gate, and now they waited for their captain to lead them off to whatever doom awaited them in the border lands. Faramir tailed Boromir, gaping at the tall, proud soldiers that his brother held command over. His heart swelled with admiration for him, but it didn't overcome the piercing sorrow filling his soul.

Nimbly, Boromir mounted his steed and took his place before the soldiers. The enormous iron-bound doors creaked open, permitting a fine, dew-laden breeze to filter in up across the Pelennor from Anduin. In the dim light, Boromir looked years older than he was, sitting tall upon his horse with his face regal and proud, the Horn of Gondor hung around his neck after the fashion of every firstborn son in the House of Stewards.

Faramir stood off to the side between two of the gatekeepers, shivering slightly in the cool wind. His eyes never left his brother, who looked back, his pale teal eyes saying a thousand 'I love you''s though his voice remained silent. The ranks begin to move forward through the gate, armor clinking and jostling against chain maille and as the horses bore their riders away down the white stone avenue that divided the Pelennor into two vast plains.

Faramir moved out from his place between the gatekeepers and stood in the middle of the road once the entire company had passed. Far ahead of him, he could see Boromir turn and wave his hand in a gesture of final farewell before he disappeared over the crest of the ridge. The cumbersome gates begin to close, and the bright space between the doors narrowed until only a tiny slits of white light peeked through the jagged cracks in the tall beams barricading the city from the outside world.

Faramir did not hear the footsteps and swishing of robes behind him as Denethor approached. It was not until his father spoke that Faramir was jerked back into the present, his mind snapped from the stream memories of languid afternoons spent with his brother and no one else.

"You will not see him for a long time, Faramir," Denethor said. He voice was flat, bereft of all emotion despite the sadness tainting his youngest son's features and the departure of his favorite child. He did not see the object that belonged to his late wife clutched in Faramir's small hands.

Faramir looked up at his father, his face the picture of confusion. "He said he would return, soon, father..."

"Nay, Faramir. He won't be back for at least a year." His tone was cruel, mocking, and obscenely bemused. Denethor began to move back towards the inner recesses of the city. "Go back to your chambers," he commanded gruffly. "Though I daresay it would be your own fault should you catch a chill." Without saying another word, much less without another glance at his son, Denethor disappeared from sight, furs sweeping out behind him.

Faramir felt his grief renewed, as well as a pang of betrayal permeating his heart. On swift feet he ran to the nearest battlement in hopes of seeing Boromir from a distance, even though he would be little more than a dot moving along the horizon.

His keen eyes descried a tall man, armor glimmering as his steed reared before shifting into a breakneck gallop. The sound of the Horn of Gondor reached his ears, filling his heart with both thrill and despair. Recalling the gift Boromir had left him, Faramir held the star up and tracked it across the sky with his hand, following the path Boromir was making across the fields. "We're both always connected, rosebud, and that the stars you see in the White City are the same stars that I can see from the wilderness," he mouthed as Boromir's parting words reverberated in his mind.

The horn blast died away, and all was silent but for the sounds of hushed and ragged sobs as Faramir wept on the battlement, alone once more.