A/Ns: Another long Faramir and Eowyn story from me! And I've finally gotten a chance to write one of those where they meet before HoH. To give credit where it's due, I got this idea from Tonic's video "If You Could Only See."

The relations between Rohan and Gondor are really bad in this story, worse than in the book. However, the fact that people hold prejudice against the other country does not make the prejudiced characters evil. Thought I'd clarify, due to a comment made by Boromir.

Also, the timeline's really screwy. Just accept what I tell you on faith. Kay?

R/R, please.

Chapter One: A Combining of Forces

"Boromir, again I shall explain to you the importance of this mission: Prince Theodred has just died, the king is in mourning, and he has been left alone to care for both his niece and nephew in his sorrow. We must send someone to deliver our sympathies to the kingdom!"

And Father, I shall again tell you that Faramir is not the one to send!"

"And who do you suggest?" Denethor snapped back at his elder son, he glanced sharply at the younger, as though this were all his fault before continuing. "You cannot go, we need you here! We need anyone of good leadership in these dark times. A soldier? How shall that be seen by the people of Rohan? They have high expectations, my son!"

"As though you'd have any lower," Faramir muttered, unheard.

"And Faramir is not the one!" Boromir cried again. He failed to realize that he was not backing his argument up with anything solid yet.

Denethor just returned this comment with a long cold stare, which Boromir returned with just as much steel. "We need Faramir in Ithilien! He is their captain! He cannot desert them. Contrary to your belief, Faramir is needed in what he does. He may not be everything you hoped for, but he is something. You gave him duties, now I expect you to give him a chance to live up those. I expect you to give him a chance to complete everything you told him to do, and not be sent away on some silly, and utterly ridiculous mission. Faramir is staying in Gondor!"

Faramir watched this entire exchange, shaking his head mentally—he didn't have the guts to do it physically, though he wanted to. He again wondered why his brother bothered to fight on the subject. So he would go to Rohan. What did Boromir care? Didn't he understand that logic wouldn't sway their father? No logic had gone into the decision in the first place, so none was going to get them out of it. Denethor just wanted a way to get Faramir out of Gondor for absolutely long as possible.

But Boromir continued to argue for surely another turn of the glass. Faramir was just about to try and slip away, as his feet were becoming increasingly tired and this was a waste of time he knew, when Boromir gave up just as suddenly and unexpectedly as he put up the fight in the first place. Faramir could see in his father's eyes that he was as shocked as he was that Boromir dropped it. He watched his brother storming out of the room, obviously not going to give up without drama, before turning back to his father. But Denethor was already headed out of the council room, through a different, side door. Faramir sighed. So his father had nothing left to say to him. The conversation had been entirely focused on getting Boromir to agree, and it didn't really matter one way or another if Faramir wanted to go or not.

He started walking around the room, pondering his life as he examined the stone walls. They were slowly eroding, unfortunately, and some of the stones would have to be replaced eventually. How his life was reflected in these walls. It was all fading away slowly, and so much was empty and unfulfilled. So rough and unrefined, due to his years in the wild. Yet these walls maintained a sense of what they once were, smooth and flat, not riddled with holes and missing pieces like they were now. Yet that was were their differences lay. For he was never not riddled in errors. Sometimes he wondered exactly what went wrong, and how he turned out the way he did. Why wasn't he more like his father? Or better yet, his brother? Why was it that drew him to that which was not what he should be? Why did his heart sympathize with the enemy, instead of standing strong for his own people? Why was his greatest joy not winning glory in battle but rather sitting in peace with those that loved him?

"Faramir?" Boromir's voice was surprisingly soft.

"Yes, brother?"

"Why do you linger on him, Faramir? Let it go. I will use all the bluntness that I have become famed for—as I do not have your diplomatic tongue—when I say that I know you are thinking of our father, and I know that he does not deserve that. He is wrong in what he thinks of you, Faramir. We both know that. What he said about you, well not really about you, but when he said that we needed anyone of good leadership, well you're of good leadership. You're the best leader I know, and the people love you. Faramir, we need you here, he just doesn't see it. I don't know why he is willing to sacrifice anyone to Rohan, but the point is that he is and there is nothing we can do about it. I tried fighting for you, but I realized what a lost cause it was and decided that if anything was going to work, it would certainly have to be another tactic."

Faramir shook his head, still not having turned to face his brother. He knew that until he could school his features into place, which may be a few more minutes, it would be a dead give-away that he had indeed been upset by what their father had said. He had sworn years ago never to let anyone see his weaknesses again, and it included his brother. Boromir too often saw what Faramir did not want him to see, but this would not be one of those times.

"Don't you understand, Boromir? It is not a sacrifice. I am not doing much of anything. We need people like you, but people like me are not as necessary. I do not have what it takes to make the important decisions at a moment's notice. I have no abilities to do what we need more than anything. What I am good at is speaking to others, as long as the subject does not involve losing something very important to our country, in which case I would not be a good person to do it, lest I ruined everything, for I follow my heart rather than my orders in such times, so I am the only logical choice for father to make. Do not be angry with him though. He didn't do it to hurt anyone."

Boromir grumbled to himself, and Faramir suspected that he was not swayed by the argument, and he sighed. It was so difficult to smooth things over between his father and brother. Why did they always insist on fighting about him? He wasn't really worth it. How could it matter so much that they couldn't be the happy father and son that they were meant in every way to be?

"Boromir, in addition to this, I want to go to Rohan. I've always wanted to see the plains of grass that stretch for miles around. You must let me go; you have no choice. But I will say that I'd rather you let me go with your blessings and encouragement rather than with scowls and complaints."

Boromir sighed and crossed over to where his brother stood. He turned him around to face him and, gripping him tightly on the shoulders, stared into his eyes and said, "Brother, I do not let you go with scowls and complaints. I let my father win with scowls and complaints. I think the man a coward, and I do not wish to see him break you down anymore. I would do all within my power to separate the two of you without having to also lose you. For that is what I fear about this trip. That you will go there to Rohan and never return. At least not the same as you are now. Yet I know, I have no choice. Farewell, dear brother."

Faramir laughed, trying to hide the fact that he, too, was scared of losing his brother. "But Boromir, I do not leave for another two days. You'll have time to wish me well enough."

Boromir just smiled and shook his head. "It will never be enough, Faramir. You are the dearest thing to me in the world. I choose no wife, for you are enough when it comes to speaking to someone I can trust. I am no romantic, thus I only need to be able to speak to someone like you. And that I am able to do. For you are always here. Yet now you will not be, and I do not know what I will do. Be careful, little brother."

"Boromir, do not fear, I will return." And Faramir left the room and went to his own to prepare for the long journey ahead of him. It would certainly be a time before he would see his brother again, but he had no fear that he would, indeed, see him again. At least once. For Faramir had confidence in his intuitions, and they told him that this trip would be important after all. Perhaps not in the way that Denethor seemed to think, for in that way it was rather a fool's mission, but there was hope in this mission that all could be put right again, in both his life, and perhaps the ties between Gondor and Rohan which had been severed long ago.

"Eowyn, you're being silly. Just stay here and I will be back ere you know it," Eomer said, in attempt to console his sister.

"Really, milady, it is quite important that you let him leave without you. What good could you possibly do at Westfold?"

Eowyn turned and glared at Donelle, her maid, and turned back to face her brother.

"Eowyn, really, you must stay and look after the house. Uncle has asked that you do that."

She gasped. "You talked him before you even mentioned this to me? Why can I not go with you? Why don't you value my desire to do so?"

Eomer grimaced, and looked over his sister's should at Donelle, who shrugged. "Eowyn, you know I love you, you know Uncle loves you, but we really must leave without you. It's too da… dull. There would be nothing for you to do. You'd be like a fifth leg on a horse. Not only useless, but rather troublesome. Eowyn, please, if you're worried about Uncle, don't fear. He'll be fine. I'll be with him…"

She looked down at the arm of her chair and sighed. Fighting her tears, she nodded her head and rose slowly. Eomer shook his head and crossed the space between them. He lifted her head gently, and smiled softly at her. "Eowyn, there is another reason I do not wish you to go. Wormtongue intends to stay here, and I need you to protect our people from his sway. I need you to be here. It's not just about your safety, Eowyn. It's about our kingdom. You can save us. Please, this is your chance."

Turning her face into the ice wall that was becoming to customary, Eowyn snapped, "This is not my chance, Eomer. I will not be undermined by these useless tasks that you set for me. You and Theodred both. You always set me to perform the gloryless tasks that you said could save our people, such as thwarting Grima, while you went out and become our heroes. You reap the glory of which I am robbed. Is it simply because I am a woman, or would I always be your doormat, no matter my rank or gender?" With that she pulled out of her brother's arms and fled the room.

She wondered, did she speak too harshly to Eomer? What caused her to lash out like that? It was, of course, true, but she would never normally express such painful thoughts to those she loved. She wondered if it was the fear of being alone with Grima Wormtongue that made her speak so coldly. To be sure, she did seem to constantly hide her fear of the man behind a chilly demeanor. It mattered not to whom she spoke, she always felt as though she had to hide her true feelings. She had sworn not to let any see her weaknesses, no matter the person. She would not let her brother see this fear.

There were so many reasons to hide. So many. Yet where to hide?

Eomer left the next day, accompanying his uncle to the Westfold. Glancing over his shoulder one last time, he saw his sister looking out the window. He knew that he had not said goodbye, but he had a reason for it. He knew now how she felt about him.

He shook his head. He knew better than to take her words to heart, but still, glancing over at their uncle, who looked older than the world itself, he felt as though it wasn't worth it. It wasn't worth fighting over.

Eowyn's words came back to him and he wondered again if they were true. Donelle insisted that they were not, and she told him that Eowyn did not really believe these things—of which Eomer himself should be sure—but the fact that he had heard this before made him pause and doubt. He thought of his promise to care for Eowyn. Had he done a good job? It was the second person who had said no. And worse, Eowyn was the only one in the world who mattered in this case. Of course, the dark whisperings of the other voice—no matter how little faith Eomer put in him—seemed to confirm it more than enough. It was just a little too easy to believe that it was true for Eomer to disregard his sisters words as easily as he might have, has she said anything else.

He shook his head. He wouldn't dwell on these dark thoughts. He had to get his uncle to Westfold before he could think about anything else.

He only hoped that that would keep his mind off of it for a little while.

Boromir brushed Silivren, and saddled her, all the while weeping silently into her mane. Why did his brother have to go? He thought. He lifted his head to glance down at the horse who so faithfully comforted him. His last tear glistened in her coat like a drop of a star. Wiping it away, he stroked the mare's muzzle.

"Why must he go? Why did father send him so far away? He's never been this far away. I cannot say goodbye to him. Not like this. I've always been the mounted one, the lofty one, about to leave on a mighty mission, but now he is. I don't know how to do it. I fear for him. 'Tis the real reason I did not wish him to leave. Oh, promise me that you'll take good care of my little brother, Silivren!"

Realizing suddenly that he was whispering to a horse, Boromir shook his head and started to lead his brother's mare out to await Faramir. Surely, this had gone to far if Boromir was to the point of speaking to a horse!

He suddenly spotted his brother walking slowly down the stairs of the citadel. His head was down, but he did not seem unhappy. Rather, just Faramir's customary pensiveness seemed to surround the young man.

And that's when it hit him. Why he didn't want his brother to go. He was too young. Too young to learn the truth about life. Too young to hate, too young to love. He was too young to realize how hard it was out there. To young to realize that there was no hope remaining.