A/N: Well I figured since I've ventured far from him, I can chance a return to our beloved Faramir! Going to Minnesota for the weekend, be back on Tuesday, so no updates this weekend. ï
Thanks to Miriel Amarian, for being a great author and being understanding when everyone around is irritatingly ignorant of the beauty of Tolkien. Hunter's Jewel and/or Children of Feanor-NOW, please... Check out her work ppl! She's awesome!
Nayana: Thanks for being so loyal and loving tragedy!
Ah, come on people! Please review! It seems that everyone's either on vacation, or has abandoned my story. I would like to think it is the former.
Thanks to Susan, as always, for her well-rounded critique and loyalty! You need to update!
Review!
Chapter 32: Words and swords
Boromir kept squirming in his seat amongst the piles of books. What was he doing here? It was Faramir in the library, not he. Not the elder son of Denethor. He sighed as he flung one of the precious books carelessly off his lap. He couldn't be here. He needed to be outdoors, with his sword, his steed, or with his bow. He couldn't stand another minute indoors with these stifling books. How did Faramir manage it?
Yet where was Faramir? Boromir had been sent to the library to find a particular manuscript for Denethor, who had been unable to find Faramir all morning. He had sighed and reluctantly accepted the task, and his father had smiled at his hesitant resignation. Unable to find the said manuscript, he threw the books away disgusted, and after assigning an archivist with what he felt was a daunting task, he hastily strided outside, into the comforting sunshine.
As he strode through the courtyards, heading towards the archery butts, from around the corner, a grey blur suddenly leapt out from above. Dodging a blow, Boromir instinctively whipped out his sword, and faced his sudden attacker.
Though the assailant's face was half hidden by the hood of his cloak, Boromir would recognize that stance, the way his shoulders drew back, his sword at the ready, his head held high, even the little, hesitant tremble of his fingers whenever he faced Boromir, from any distance. It was Faramir.
"Touché, little brother," he mock bowed, "You almost caught me off guard."
"Save your sweet talk for later," Faramir cut him off.
"If it be your will," knowing that his little brother hated his mock courtesy. After making another little bow, Boromir braced himself for Faramir's coming offense. Even the ever-confident Boromir was taken aback by the ferocity of Faramir's attack. Usually, after a few blows, Boromir would take advantage of a slight lapse of Faramir's to take the offensive, which spent the rest of his little brother's energy sparring his fierce blows, but not today. Faramir seemed relentless, one blow after another that made Boromir almost dizzy after a while from sparring and blocking.
"How now, little brother?" Boromir found the breath to venture a question, after Faramir yielded for a few seconds, being dealt a hard blow by his older brother.
"Waste not the breath on speech when it may come of use in battle," Faramir practically snarled.
Boromir was startled. He had never heard Faramir with such a ferocious, even malicious tone, and as they fought, he could swear he saw the glitter of tears in his younger brother's eyes.
He was tempted to call a truce, after minutes of hard fighting that led to no one with the upper hand, and Faramir grew wearier, yet more determined with each passing moment, and when the younger son of Denethor cornered his brother, and pressed him with his blade, and growled, "Do you yield?" Boromir's own obstinate, competitive spirit set in, and, forcing all his weight and strength at his weaker brother, he pushed back, and roared, "Never!"
Usually during any battle, be it practice, for fun, or real, Boromir was focused on nothing else but the elegant yet lethal movement of his sword and that of his opponent. It seemed to him that everything else in the world, all the troubles and grievances, fell away, and there was nothing but he and his opponent, exchanging blows. It was that which made him delight in arms and war, for it put him into another world, and the exhilaration of coming out of battle unscathed was something he triumphed in.
Yet in this fight, his eyes darted whenever they could, to his younger brother's face. The hood had fallen away during the heat of the battle, and Faramir had lowered his proud, raised head to hide the real reason for his vehemence—his sorrow. His eyes filled with tears as they fought, and he tried to shake them off, or swallow them; ashamed at his weakness, which made him burn to prove himself even more.
Finally, with sweat pouring down both their faces, Faramir moved back after hitting Boromir ferociously, with both his sword and eyes downcast. Boromir barely managed to stifle a relieved sigh, and held his weapon down.
Seeing no word or action from his little brother, Boromir pried, "How now, little brother?" He sheathed his sword, confident that Faramir would not attack him again.
Saying nothing, Faramir merely flung his sword aside, not caring where it landed, turned and walked away from his brother. Boromir stood perplexed, not knowing what to do, and what was ailing his brother, but he did not need to chase after him, for after a few steps, Faramir turned around, and started yelling.
"It's been months! Months! There hasn't been a word from her! Not even a single letter or message asking how we are faring!"
Even Boromir, at his thickest, knew exactly what his brother was raving about.
"It's like she's completely forgotten us. They sent a messenger boy riding over here to announce that they were officially married. Well thank you for the news," he continued to spit out.
"Faramir," Boromir whispered softly, "She's written."
"What?" Faramir wheeled onto him, his eyes boring into his.
"She wrote, to me, at least, twice. I was in Osgiliath when I received them."
"Why did you never mention them to me?" Faramir's voice was in a deadly whisper, one Boromir had heard all too often from their father. If only Faramir could hear himself now, Boromir mused.
"I thought you knew," Boromir replied, and it was the truth, "I didn't know she hadn't written you."
Faramir looked, for a moment, like he was about to burst into a fit of rage, but shook his head sadly, and then asked, "How is she? What did she say? How is Rohan suiting her?"
Boromir couldn't help but smiling, seeing Faramir's love and concern for her override his anger at her silence, "She says it's not Gondor, but the grasslands are beautiful, nothing like the Sea, but gives her room to ride. She misses us, especially you, and asked how you were."
"Why didn't she just write me and ask me herself?" Faramir gritted his teeth.
Boromir shook his head, "I do not pretend to know the mysteries of a woman's heart, little brother. Maybe she is afraid, afraid of what you will say to her, or what you might think."
"Think about what?" Faramir could not contain his anger, spurred on by his confusion.
Boromir shrugged, "Her being a married woman and not the pure, young girl you knew her to be." He saw that his brother visibly grimaced at these words, and threw him an inquiring look.
"I can't stand it," Faramir answered, "I can't bear think of it. It makes my blood boil to envision the two of them together, her, waiting every day for him to ride in, singing songs for him, supping every night alongside him." He hesitated for a moment before continuing in a lowered voice, "I can't stand that he leads her to their chambers every night, watches her venture into her dreams, brushes his fingers against her soft skin, caressing her with his lips, and that he, he explores her, knows her every curve and crevasse." His voice faltered.
Boromir nodded understandingly, and placed a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder. He did not know exactly what to say, and he knew that his brother's grief was not something his words, or even presence, could quell. Only one could do that, and she was leagues north, three days, as the Nazgul flies.
"Maybe," he ventured, "Maybe we could visit her. We could ask Father for leave."
Faramir laughed cynically, "Father would never grant it, at least not for me." Boromir nodded, knowing the blatant truth to Faramir's words. Yet a part of him mused that Denethor just might grant Faramir permission, just to torment his younger son with the sight of his love married and settled, with another man. Faramir's voice broke through his thoughts, "And I couldn't stand to see it. I would love to see her, but in the bed and hall of another man, belonging to him; I would go mad, worse than I am now."
"Faramir," Boromir prepared for a long speech, "You love her, and you know she loves you. To be able to love and be loved in return like that is something any man would envy you for. You are not together, you cannot see her, that is a misfortune the Valar have decreed, and I know there must be a reason to it, however cruel it may sound. But know that they reward those that are true, those that will wait, and you and Elentari will be together one day. But for now, it does not do to dwell on dreams, Faramir, and forget to live."
Faramir was quiet for a while, absorbing his brother's words, and then, a grin that Boromir had not seen in months alighted his face, "Did you read that somewhere?"
Boromir managed to look positively affronted, squaring up his chest, "I do not know what you mean! That all came from my mind and heart, little brother."
"Boromir the brave has a mind?" Faramir looked scandalized.
Boromir unsheathed his sword again, "It may not rival yours, but in times like these, that try men's souls, this that I hold in my hand, is what decides."
For the rest of the afternoon, the clang of swords and the good-natured laughter of brothers resonated from the courtyard of the Citadel of Minas Tirith.
Boromir's wise words ringing in his ears, Faramir stood by his open window, gazing up at her namesake-the moon. Tilion was only at his half this night, and Faramir wondered, rather foolishly, for a moment, if his other half was shining down at Rohan, but then realized, in his good sense, that the same moon shines down on both lands. It comforted him a little, that she was gazing at the same moon and stars as he, and brought a song to his lips.
I remember the nights I watched you as you lay sleeping
Your body gripped by some far away dream
Well I was so scared and so in love then
And so lost in all of you that I had seen
But no one ever talked in the darkness
No voice ever added fuel to the fire
No light ever shone in the doorway
Deep in the hollow of earthly desires
But if in some dream there was brightness
If in some memory some sort of sign
And flesh be revived in the shadows
Blessed our bodies would lay so entwined
And I will not, oh, I will not forget you
Nor will I ever let you go
I will not, oh, I will not forget you
I remember when you left in the morning at daybreak
So silent you stole from my bed
To go back to the one who possesses you
And I back to the life I dread
So I ran like the wind to the water
Please don't leave me again I cried
And I threw bitter tears at the ocean
But all that came back was the tide
Yet I will not, oh, I will not forget you
Nor will I ever let you go
I will not, oh, I will not forget you
I love you
He blew a kiss into the billowing wind, hoping that it, along with his words, would find their way to her.
A/N: Like it? Love it? Dare I say-hate it? Please not the last. I know there's a direct quote from Harry Potter in there, except I changed "Harry" to "Faramir" and the speaker from Dumbledore to Boromir. Hey! They CAN have their similarities. I'd rather not venture into that (::shudder:: Boromir and Dumbledore) but still! A slight quote from Thomas Paine's "Common Sense", "In times like these that try men's souls..." The song is "I will not forget you" by Sarah McLachlan. QuickEdit is being a beast so I apologize for any formatting issues. Review!
Thanks to Miriel Amarian, for being a great author and being understanding when everyone around is irritatingly ignorant of the beauty of Tolkien. Hunter's Jewel and/or Children of Feanor-NOW, please... Check out her work ppl! She's awesome!
Nayana: Thanks for being so loyal and loving tragedy!
Ah, come on people! Please review! It seems that everyone's either on vacation, or has abandoned my story. I would like to think it is the former.
Thanks to Susan, as always, for her well-rounded critique and loyalty! You need to update!
Review!
Chapter 32: Words and swords
Boromir kept squirming in his seat amongst the piles of books. What was he doing here? It was Faramir in the library, not he. Not the elder son of Denethor. He sighed as he flung one of the precious books carelessly off his lap. He couldn't be here. He needed to be outdoors, with his sword, his steed, or with his bow. He couldn't stand another minute indoors with these stifling books. How did Faramir manage it?
Yet where was Faramir? Boromir had been sent to the library to find a particular manuscript for Denethor, who had been unable to find Faramir all morning. He had sighed and reluctantly accepted the task, and his father had smiled at his hesitant resignation. Unable to find the said manuscript, he threw the books away disgusted, and after assigning an archivist with what he felt was a daunting task, he hastily strided outside, into the comforting sunshine.
As he strode through the courtyards, heading towards the archery butts, from around the corner, a grey blur suddenly leapt out from above. Dodging a blow, Boromir instinctively whipped out his sword, and faced his sudden attacker.
Though the assailant's face was half hidden by the hood of his cloak, Boromir would recognize that stance, the way his shoulders drew back, his sword at the ready, his head held high, even the little, hesitant tremble of his fingers whenever he faced Boromir, from any distance. It was Faramir.
"Touché, little brother," he mock bowed, "You almost caught me off guard."
"Save your sweet talk for later," Faramir cut him off.
"If it be your will," knowing that his little brother hated his mock courtesy. After making another little bow, Boromir braced himself for Faramir's coming offense. Even the ever-confident Boromir was taken aback by the ferocity of Faramir's attack. Usually, after a few blows, Boromir would take advantage of a slight lapse of Faramir's to take the offensive, which spent the rest of his little brother's energy sparring his fierce blows, but not today. Faramir seemed relentless, one blow after another that made Boromir almost dizzy after a while from sparring and blocking.
"How now, little brother?" Boromir found the breath to venture a question, after Faramir yielded for a few seconds, being dealt a hard blow by his older brother.
"Waste not the breath on speech when it may come of use in battle," Faramir practically snarled.
Boromir was startled. He had never heard Faramir with such a ferocious, even malicious tone, and as they fought, he could swear he saw the glitter of tears in his younger brother's eyes.
He was tempted to call a truce, after minutes of hard fighting that led to no one with the upper hand, and Faramir grew wearier, yet more determined with each passing moment, and when the younger son of Denethor cornered his brother, and pressed him with his blade, and growled, "Do you yield?" Boromir's own obstinate, competitive spirit set in, and, forcing all his weight and strength at his weaker brother, he pushed back, and roared, "Never!"
Usually during any battle, be it practice, for fun, or real, Boromir was focused on nothing else but the elegant yet lethal movement of his sword and that of his opponent. It seemed to him that everything else in the world, all the troubles and grievances, fell away, and there was nothing but he and his opponent, exchanging blows. It was that which made him delight in arms and war, for it put him into another world, and the exhilaration of coming out of battle unscathed was something he triumphed in.
Yet in this fight, his eyes darted whenever they could, to his younger brother's face. The hood had fallen away during the heat of the battle, and Faramir had lowered his proud, raised head to hide the real reason for his vehemence—his sorrow. His eyes filled with tears as they fought, and he tried to shake them off, or swallow them; ashamed at his weakness, which made him burn to prove himself even more.
Finally, with sweat pouring down both their faces, Faramir moved back after hitting Boromir ferociously, with both his sword and eyes downcast. Boromir barely managed to stifle a relieved sigh, and held his weapon down.
Seeing no word or action from his little brother, Boromir pried, "How now, little brother?" He sheathed his sword, confident that Faramir would not attack him again.
Saying nothing, Faramir merely flung his sword aside, not caring where it landed, turned and walked away from his brother. Boromir stood perplexed, not knowing what to do, and what was ailing his brother, but he did not need to chase after him, for after a few steps, Faramir turned around, and started yelling.
"It's been months! Months! There hasn't been a word from her! Not even a single letter or message asking how we are faring!"
Even Boromir, at his thickest, knew exactly what his brother was raving about.
"It's like she's completely forgotten us. They sent a messenger boy riding over here to announce that they were officially married. Well thank you for the news," he continued to spit out.
"Faramir," Boromir whispered softly, "She's written."
"What?" Faramir wheeled onto him, his eyes boring into his.
"She wrote, to me, at least, twice. I was in Osgiliath when I received them."
"Why did you never mention them to me?" Faramir's voice was in a deadly whisper, one Boromir had heard all too often from their father. If only Faramir could hear himself now, Boromir mused.
"I thought you knew," Boromir replied, and it was the truth, "I didn't know she hadn't written you."
Faramir looked, for a moment, like he was about to burst into a fit of rage, but shook his head sadly, and then asked, "How is she? What did she say? How is Rohan suiting her?"
Boromir couldn't help but smiling, seeing Faramir's love and concern for her override his anger at her silence, "She says it's not Gondor, but the grasslands are beautiful, nothing like the Sea, but gives her room to ride. She misses us, especially you, and asked how you were."
"Why didn't she just write me and ask me herself?" Faramir gritted his teeth.
Boromir shook his head, "I do not pretend to know the mysteries of a woman's heart, little brother. Maybe she is afraid, afraid of what you will say to her, or what you might think."
"Think about what?" Faramir could not contain his anger, spurred on by his confusion.
Boromir shrugged, "Her being a married woman and not the pure, young girl you knew her to be." He saw that his brother visibly grimaced at these words, and threw him an inquiring look.
"I can't stand it," Faramir answered, "I can't bear think of it. It makes my blood boil to envision the two of them together, her, waiting every day for him to ride in, singing songs for him, supping every night alongside him." He hesitated for a moment before continuing in a lowered voice, "I can't stand that he leads her to their chambers every night, watches her venture into her dreams, brushes his fingers against her soft skin, caressing her with his lips, and that he, he explores her, knows her every curve and crevasse." His voice faltered.
Boromir nodded understandingly, and placed a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder. He did not know exactly what to say, and he knew that his brother's grief was not something his words, or even presence, could quell. Only one could do that, and she was leagues north, three days, as the Nazgul flies.
"Maybe," he ventured, "Maybe we could visit her. We could ask Father for leave."
Faramir laughed cynically, "Father would never grant it, at least not for me." Boromir nodded, knowing the blatant truth to Faramir's words. Yet a part of him mused that Denethor just might grant Faramir permission, just to torment his younger son with the sight of his love married and settled, with another man. Faramir's voice broke through his thoughts, "And I couldn't stand to see it. I would love to see her, but in the bed and hall of another man, belonging to him; I would go mad, worse than I am now."
"Faramir," Boromir prepared for a long speech, "You love her, and you know she loves you. To be able to love and be loved in return like that is something any man would envy you for. You are not together, you cannot see her, that is a misfortune the Valar have decreed, and I know there must be a reason to it, however cruel it may sound. But know that they reward those that are true, those that will wait, and you and Elentari will be together one day. But for now, it does not do to dwell on dreams, Faramir, and forget to live."
Faramir was quiet for a while, absorbing his brother's words, and then, a grin that Boromir had not seen in months alighted his face, "Did you read that somewhere?"
Boromir managed to look positively affronted, squaring up his chest, "I do not know what you mean! That all came from my mind and heart, little brother."
"Boromir the brave has a mind?" Faramir looked scandalized.
Boromir unsheathed his sword again, "It may not rival yours, but in times like these, that try men's souls, this that I hold in my hand, is what decides."
For the rest of the afternoon, the clang of swords and the good-natured laughter of brothers resonated from the courtyard of the Citadel of Minas Tirith.
Boromir's wise words ringing in his ears, Faramir stood by his open window, gazing up at her namesake-the moon. Tilion was only at his half this night, and Faramir wondered, rather foolishly, for a moment, if his other half was shining down at Rohan, but then realized, in his good sense, that the same moon shines down on both lands. It comforted him a little, that she was gazing at the same moon and stars as he, and brought a song to his lips.
I remember the nights I watched you as you lay sleeping
Your body gripped by some far away dream
Well I was so scared and so in love then
And so lost in all of you that I had seen
But no one ever talked in the darkness
No voice ever added fuel to the fire
No light ever shone in the doorway
Deep in the hollow of earthly desires
But if in some dream there was brightness
If in some memory some sort of sign
And flesh be revived in the shadows
Blessed our bodies would lay so entwined
And I will not, oh, I will not forget you
Nor will I ever let you go
I will not, oh, I will not forget you
I remember when you left in the morning at daybreak
So silent you stole from my bed
To go back to the one who possesses you
And I back to the life I dread
So I ran like the wind to the water
Please don't leave me again I cried
And I threw bitter tears at the ocean
But all that came back was the tide
Yet I will not, oh, I will not forget you
Nor will I ever let you go
I will not, oh, I will not forget you
I love you
He blew a kiss into the billowing wind, hoping that it, along with his words, would find their way to her.
A/N: Like it? Love it? Dare I say-hate it? Please not the last. I know there's a direct quote from Harry Potter in there, except I changed "Harry" to "Faramir" and the speaker from Dumbledore to Boromir. Hey! They CAN have their similarities. I'd rather not venture into that (::shudder:: Boromir and Dumbledore) but still! A slight quote from Thomas Paine's "Common Sense", "In times like these that try men's souls..." The song is "I will not forget you" by Sarah McLachlan. QuickEdit is being a beast so I apologize for any formatting issues. Review!