Author's note: Ah, chapter 13. Thank you to everyone who has read this far – we really appreciate it. Please send comments to my lovely co-author Jenn at jholsh1towson.edu.

Warning: There is sibcest here. If you don't like it, don't read it, it's that simple. Flames are not welcome.

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"Faramir, how could you?! How long have you been feeding me these lies about.. about everything?! I, I can't believe you would try to hide the truth from me... I thought you trusted me, Faramir!"

Faramir looked up from the book he had been reading, his delicate brow furrowing once faced with his brother's livid presence. His eyes were red from crying over the past several days, but he had slipped back into a state where all he felt was a dead sort of calm; the tears simply fell on their own accord. "What are you going on about, Boromir?" he asked evenly.

Boromir snatched the book from in front of Faramir's face and threw it behind him, letting it land with a resounding thud that echoed through the room. "Don't act stupid, Faramir, you know precisely what I'm talking about." Faramir's impassive expression only added to his fury. Continuing, his voice shaking with rage, "Do you want to tell me the real truth about those boys? I think it was something about them beating you and leaving you on the ground, bleeding? And what about Ithilien, hm? What about trying to follow me for days without food or rest and nearly getting yourself killed?!"

Faramir's hands stayed in the position they were in when he held the book, his eyes widening in fright at his brother's fury. Spanning the last few days, he had seen anger and coldness he never thought possible of his brother, and the behavior was beginning to make him more than a bit scared. "It seems you already know the truth, Boromir."

"Yes, and I had to find it out from someone other than you," he spat. He paced angrily and stopped abruptly, throwing his hands up in the air as if defeated. "Why did you not tell me?!" he cried. "Gods, I thought that you trusted me enough to tell me anything, Faramir...."

"I did trust you! I do trust you," he amended. "I simply did not see the need to tell you when...When I knew that it would only make you upset. Like you are now."

"No, Faramir, you are grossly missing the point." Boromir turned, unable to look at his brother without either screaming in his face or bursting into tears. "I am upset because it was you who did not reveal all of this to me. I've been walking around like an oblivious fool, I had to look like a brother neglectful of his sibling's welfare." A pause. "Clearly you do not trust me. Any trust we had built up is destroyed, Faramir, do you understand? You tore it all down with your lies, lies that you planted in my head so deep that I believed them and pushed my own doubts away." He glanced over his shoulder; Faramir remained unmoving. "I can't stay here," he murmured as he began to make his way to the door that remained open.

"It is always my fault, isn't it?" he said quietly, his eyes trained on the floor instead of following Boromir to the door.

Boromir stopped in the doorframe, one hand resting on the wooden planks. "If that's how you want to look at it, I won't try to persuade you otherwise," he said icily.

"You do not have to persuade me otherwise; you have already persuaded me to think this way. It is always my fault," he repeated, his voice rising. He still did not look up at Boromir. "You have done nothing but blame every anger and every frustration on me since you have returned!" It was almost strange to Faramir, the way his voice was rising, the way anger pooled in his stomach as the words Boromir said to him finally started to permeate. Anger. It was almost foreign to him, the timid second-born son, but somehow it seemed justified. It is not all your fault, Faramir, a voice whispered to him in the back of his mind.

Whirling around and letting his rage break through a mental floodgate, Boromir countered "Oh yes, poor helpless Faramir! Always the one victimized! You are not the only one who hurts, brother, so do not even try to make me feel like a criminal here. But no, it is not all your fault. I am the one to blame for even starting this, this... relationship," he finished, waving his hand in the air as if searching for a reason to back up his statement. Faramir's voice had sounded angry for the first time that Boromir could recall, and it only served to fuel his passionate lividity. "I wish I had never kissed you, Faramir. I should have just gone back to Gir--" He broke off and turned again, intending to leave and not look back.

Eyes flying open in shock as though someone had punched him at full force in the stomach, Faramir whirled around to look at his livid brother. Girion? "Girion," he said after a long moment's pause, "You should have gone back to Girion. Is that what you wanted to say?" As if by its own will, his body stood from the chaise he had been reclined on, his legs shaking. "Maybe you should have. Maybe you should have gone with someone who was more mature and able to fulfill your...Your needs. Clearly I was not good enough for you if you thought that you should have never started this in the first place."

His hands then clenched into tight fists, and before he realized what he was doing, he was shouting, raising his voice louder than it had ever been raised. He paid no heed to the fact that the door was open, or that anyone could hear what he was saying. "Maybe it is best that this did end! Maybe it is better that I open my eyes now and realize that I was being fooled! I thought that you, of all people, would understand! You! My brother! But no, you ranked the needs of your lust and body over the needs of my heart! I tried, Boromir, but I guess that was not good enough for you! I guess that I will never be good enough for you!"

Boromir sighed, resigned. "I waste my time here," he said, sounding defeated. Without another word or glance at the bristling Faramir, Boromir turned away and walked in the direction of the throne room.

"You are a coward, Boromir, son of Denethor!" Faramir shouted at Boromir's retreating back. "A coward," he repeated, though his voice was infinitely softer. He dropped back down onto his chair, staring dumbfounded at the doorway where his brother stood not a few moments earlier.

Yes, I am a coward. I know it, Faramir, and I am ashamed of it. I will be gone soon, and you will not have to stand to suffer seeing me any more. Boromir felt a cold pang in his chest where it was once warmed by Faramir's affectionate words and presence.
Boromir stormed up the stairway and across the courtyard, shoving past the rabble of servants that swept over to him, offering to bring him food or drink. "Let me by!" he commanded menacingly.

The twin doors to the throne room were thrown open and Boromir strode purposefully to the lowered dais where Denethor sat, inanimate and seemingly lost in thought and rumination.

"Father," Boromir said, bowing quickly. "I have changed my mind."

Immediately Denethor seemed to come to life, his eyes lighting up as his gaze fell on his most loved son, paying no heed to the stormy countenance that radiated from him. Standing from the base throne, he drew himself up to his full height and walked over to Boromir, a pleased smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "And what brings about this change of mind, my son?"

Boromir shook his head obstinately, causing his locks of sandy hair to fall messily over his forehead. "I gave the matter some thought and I've decided that since my loyalties lie to my lord and country that I should do all that I can to protect these lands that I hold dearest." His voice was flat, his gaze determined, his posture stiff and tall. He couldn't possibly reveal to his father that it was because of his explosion with Faramir that he wished to leave as quickly as possible.

Nodding his head approvingly, Denethor began circling Boromir, looking his son up and down as if inspecting him. "That they do," he said idly, "That they do." Denethor took Boromir by the shoulders and turned him around to look him in the eye. "This is very important, Boromir, I expect you to do your best. I trust that you will be more than capable to head your own company." His words were pitched flat, leaving no room for argument or question.

Boromir sighed. It's done, now. "Very well then, father. I will go to the livery and leave as soon as may be." He turned, not expecting any further discussion to waylay him and possibly cause him to rethink his decision to depart. What's done is done, Boromir. You can't stay here.


For a long time Faramir sat alone, staring off into the air, not knowing how much time had passed; his limbs were numb and heavy, his mind felt as though it were trapped in a fog and it could not find the way out. Is that what anger felt like? That searing, blinding, all-encompassing feeling that cut through him like a white-hot knife was anger? But now, try as he might, he could no longer muster any anger towards Boromir; it had all faded as he caught his last glimpse of his brother's turned back.

Forcing himself to move, he started to shuffle about his room, his feet dragging. With numb hands, he collected sheets of parchment from every corner of his room, poems and prose he had scribbled about his brother of the times they had spent together, of the way Boromir's sandy hair fell into his eyes as he looked down in concentration, of the way his eyelashes cast sooty shadows on his cheeks as he rested, bathed in moonlight. Without even looking at the pages, he knew what each one said by heart, and suddenly he felt foolish. The doting words that had tumbled from his mind to his quill seemed foolish.

He searched the room for the book that Boromir hurled and pulled out the place marker, a faded ribbon that used to be red - one of the remembrances Faramir kept of their mother. He stacked the leaves of parchment together and tied the ribbon around them. Sighing heavily, he forced himself to walk from his room to Boromir's, only noticing he reached the room when he found himself looking at the heavy oak door. He let himself in and placed the sheets on Boromir's bed; his hands had begun to shake. It took every ounce of his will not to linger in the room, to lie in Boromir's bed and smell the older man's scent, to run his fingers over the rough wool of one of his brother's discarded tunics.

Instead, he left, walking purposefully now. He headed down toward the fourth level of the city, down the long stone corridor that contained the guards' quarters, knowing exactly what his purpose was there. He stopped in front of the door at the very end of the hall and knocked, surprised to feel the burning feeling return to his stomach.

Girion peeked out from under scratchy blankets and called, voice hindered by sleep, "Come in." As the door creaked open he swung his snugly linen- clad legs over the side of the mattress and stretched out his muscled arms, yawning hugely. The small of his back ached a little bit, and the indent in the mattress next to his own groove quickly reminded him of the night before. But his attention was diverted to the other Steward's son as Faramir slowly entered the humble abode.

"Were you sleeping, Girion?" Faramir lingered by the door, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dark room. "Should I come back some other time?"

Girion stifled another cavernous yawn and shook his head. "No, no, it's about time I was awake.... what brings you here, Faramir?" he asked, suddenly curious as to this unexpected visit.

"Boromir just came to speak with me," he said shortly, his voice hollow.

"Oh, umm...." Girion stood and pulled a loose fitting shirt over his head as he went over to take out two cups and fill them with water. "What had he to say?" he asked, trying his best to sound nonchalant. He gestured to Faramir to take a seat with him at the small rickety table.

Faramir declined wordlessly, staying by the door as though he were a statue. "He spoke to me about Ithilien. If one could call such words speaking."

Girion sipped at his drink and refused to look at Faramir. The silence was heavy and tense, and he regretted his decision to allow Faramir entrance.

"You told him, didn't you?"

He looked up finally and met Faramir's icy stare. Setting his jaw firmly, he said, "Yes, I told him. Someone had to."

"It was not your place to tell him!" Faramir exploded, his eyes flashing. "How could you? Everything is ruined now!" He started pacing near the door, wringing his hands together frantically. "Do you know what he said to me? He said that he never should have started this relationship to begin with! He is never going to speak to me again, Girion! Because you told him!"

Girion's normally rational attitude was shelved and he replied levelly without letting his irritation show too much, "Faramir, I told him because I care about him. It was unfair that he, your own brother, Faramir, was left in the dark for so long. Recall that you told me you shared the events with him, Faramir. I believed you, and I was shocked to hear that you actually had not told him when he was here last night."

He paused, collecting his thoughts as he took another drink. "As for the relationship...." He stood up and moved nearer to Faramir, hesitantly. "I don't know what to say."

For every step that Girion took closer to him, Faramir took another step back. He looked up at the taller man, feeling small, but his hurt still controlled him. "I never wanted him to know! Why couldn't you respect that?"

Girion stopped and let his shoulders slump. "Why couldn't you respect him, Faramir?"

"I do respect him! That is why I didn't want him to know! How could I let someone that I respect so much hear about how weak I was? How could I let him hear about how I was nothing but a miserable failure? And now it is all over." Faramir looked up at Girion, a challenging glint in his eyes. "I'm sure that he will be very happy with you. Like he was before."

Girion felt like drawing the young man into a close embrace, but something told him that that was the last thing Faramir would want from him. "All I meant was that it was disrespectful to keep the wool pulled over his eyes, Faramir, that is all." He rubbed his forehead with his fingers, trying to allay the throb that pulsed there unbidden. "Faramir, Boromir and I are friends. We're not a.. pair, if that's what you think... " He turned around and returned to his place on his mattress. "Besides," he continued softly, "I do not think that he will be around for much longer."

"What do you mean you don't think he will be around for much longer?" Faramir asked quickly. "You cannot mean that he is leaving. He said that he should go back to you. He wouldn't leave after words like that." He was speaking rapidly, the words tumbling out of his mouth as he tried to convince himself that Boromir could not possibly leave.

Girion looked up at Faramir, eyes clouded with worry. "I don't know what he's going to do, Faramir, but if I know Boromir, he's seriously going to consider it."

"But if he..." Faramir's heart sloughed its anger almost immediately upon hearing Girion's assessment. A heartwrenching sorrow took its place, and when he opened his mouth to speak again, a sob escaped. Tears were soon flowing down his cheeks. "He can't leave again!" he cried, "He can't leave me again!"

Girion quickly eliminated the distance between he and Faramir and drew the young, shivering man against his chest. "Shh, shh, Faramir. I'm sure he'll stay..." Though Girion's intuition told him otherwise, he couldn't help but reassure Faramir that his brother would remain in the white city.

"He is through with me," Faramir sobbed into Girion's chest, "He doesn't want me anymore, and he will leave again. Like you said. When he..." His sobs became more powerful as the muttered words that Boromir had said aside took on new meaning. "He said that he could not stay here."

He couldn't bear to lie and say that Boromir wouldn't go away, and so Girion simply held Faramir close, giving him a shoulder to cry on and a warm embrace to feel safe in. "I'll speak to him, if you wish," he offered lamely.

Faramir shook his head, knowing that Girion knew as well as he did that Boromir's mind could not be changed once it had been set, especially if he made a decision out of anger. "He will not listen." Slowly his thin arms came up to encircle Girion's waist. "I'm going to be alone again," he whispered.

Girion suppressed a grunt of surprise and turned it into saying, "No, Faramir. You'll still have an idiotic tower guard around, though he scarcely measures up to Boromir."

Shifting so that he could look up at Girion through tear-filled eyes, he took several shuddering breaths to try and control his emotions. "I did not mean to yell at you, Girion," he apologized tearfully.

Girion tenderly stroked the crown of Faramir's wavy chestnut head and said softly, "No need to apologize, little one. I deserved it." He rolled his eyes in a self-deprecating way. "Now, let me get dressed, and I'll go try and talk some sense into your brother."

The younger boy stiffened in Girion's arms immediately. "No. It won't do any good." His tears slackened as he began to withdraw into himself again, the same place he sought refuge in while Boromir had been away all of those months. "If he wants to go, he should go."

Girion reluctantly let go of Faramir and knelt down at the foot of his bed. "You can't possibly mean that, Faramir," he replied as he rummaged through a wood chest for a fresh pair of leggings, warmer ones.

"Yes, I mean it." Faramir walked over to Girion and wrapped his arms around the older man, staying his rummaging. "He will not listen to you."

Girion raised his dark eyes, beseeching Faramir silently to let him at least try. Standing, and in turn causing Faramir to slacken his grip on him, Girion slipped one leg into his leggings and stopped, looking at Faramir. "I can try, can't I? Or do you think I should really just let him go off in a whirlwind of anger like that?" He stuck his foot into the other leg and pulled the leggings up, clasping them at the waist and then moved to look for his cloak.

Faramir's eyes as he watched Girion were cherry-red and still glossy from crying, but they regarded the older man with an eerie sort of calm resignation. "It will not change his mind, so if you go, speak to him on your own behalf." Sighing, he shuffled over to Girion's bed and plopped down onto the thin mattress. "This is not the first fight we've had. The other night he lost his temper because I would not...He sent me away after that."

Girion paused and regarded Faramir from the opposite side of the room where he was straightening up the mess the night before had left; plates with bread crusts and half-empty cups of wine laid forgotten on the top of the small cupboard in the corner of his hamlet. He said evenly, "You mean to tell me that he got angry because you wouldn't give yourself to him?" His left eye twitched involuntarily, a trickle of rage beginning to flow through him.

He nodded solemnly, looking at the weathered stone floor. "He said that he was tired of me constantly ignoring his own needs and leading him on time and time again. And then he told me to leave. He was so angry...I could see it in his eyes." Faramir chewed the inside of his cheek as he hashed over the first fight he and his brother had ever had. "And then he did not speak to me again until today."

Girion sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. "Well that certainly changes the situation. He came to me that night, you know. But he said nothing of an argument with you." Resigned, he pulled out a chair and propped his feet up on the table, picking at the remnants of a loaf of bread that sat in the middle on a linen towel. "Then perhaps it is best that he does leave," he muttered darkly, despite the fact he would miss Boromir's company, especially at night.

Inwardly Faramir battled with himself. The part of him that had confronted Boromir earlier with his unfairness told him that it was not his fault, that Boromir said he understood. But still, that not-so-small voice of insecurity continued to whisper in his ear that it was his fault, that he should not have led his brother on without the intention of giving him what he wanted. "Girion," he said quietly, looking very much like the young, lost boy that Girion had come to know in Boromir's absence, "Was it my fault that Boromir became so angry?"

Girion shifted uncomfortably, torn between speaking his mind and keeping his words checked so as to not hurt the young man's delicate feelings. "Well, you must know by now that men do tend to get er... caught up in the moment, and that it's hard--I mean--difficult--to think of anything else in the heat of the moment." Noting the glistening look in Faramir's eyes he amended quickly, "But that does not give Boromir any right to chastise you for it; he should know to respect your wishes, too."

"Perhaps it is for the best, then, that he has someone mature like you. Someone who can...Give him what he needs." Faramir nodded then, as though trying to convince himself that the split in the relationship between him and Boromir was for the best.

Girion held up a finger and beckoned Faramir towards him. The boy complied, though reluctantly, and Girion reached out once he was up and pulled Faramir nearer to him by the hem of his tunic. Patting Faramir on the back, eyes tilted up and filled with reassurance, he said "I said before that Boromir and I were only friends. Though he and I have a history, we are not a match made to endure. And I mean that... he will come around soon enough. As long as you can find it in your heart to accept him once he realizes what a dolt he's being."

"He will always have a place in my heart...It seems like I would be betraying myself if I didn't." He managed to give Girion a small smile, realizing how valuable the guard's friendship really was to him. "What would I do without you, Girion?"

"Oh, I imagine you'd be much happier without me around to crack stupid jokes and pranks and generally be a nuisance," he said dryly. He grinned though, and continued, "No, I don't mean that. I am glad that you entrust me, of all people, with such matters." Girion knotted the hem of Faramir's shirt through his fingers absently, grazing the pale skin beneath just barely.

A shiver ran through Faramir's body as Girion's calloused fingers brushed lightly against his skin. "If I didn't have you as a friend, I don't know who I could entrust with such matters."

"Well, all that matters is that you do have me. For which I am very happy." Girion boldly drew Faramir nearer and nestled his forehead against Faramir's stomach in a gesture of affection. Sighing and letting go, he said "I still wish to speak with Boromir. I do not ask you to come, but that is where I am going." Rising quickly, he snatched his cloak and secured it around his shoulders before heading to the door.

"M-May I stay here?" he asked softly, his blue-green eyes following Girion like a puppy follows its owner. "I don't think I can go back to my room after...It will only remind me of how he yelled at me."

Girion paused in the doorframe. He nodded slowly and scratched his head in seeming comtemplation. "Sure, if you like... though I am afraid there's nothing to entertain yourself with.." he stated with a hint of apology in his words.

Faramir scanned the room quickly, looking for something to occupy himself with. "Do you have a quill and parchment?"

Girion scrunched his face up in thought. "Umm, there may be some under the bed.... somewhere," he quipped, waving his hand vaguely. "Go ahead, leaf through my things, I don't care!" he laughed and half-turned. Before he shut the door, he said to Faramir as he stood in the middle of the room, "I'll be back soon... if anyone comes to call upon me, don't tell them where I've gone. I would prefer keeping my whereabouts on my off days a secret; I'm a very private person." He grinned broadly, then disappeared from the doorway, hurrying off in the direction of Boromir's quarters.

TBC...