Chapter by: Posher10
Minas Tirith, the 8 of Lothron, in the year 2989 of the Third Age
When Faramir awoke, he yawned softly, feeling warm and content. It was that observation that jolted him the rest of the way from sleep. The last thing he remembered was fleeing Minas Tirith. Why was he warm? And laying in something soft? He should be in the forest!
"Shhhush. You're safe here." It was Kel's voice that calmed him and as he opened his eyes, he met the face of the silver-haired being who kneeled beside him. Faramir sat up and glanced around the place he was in. It was amazing. He lay in a bed made from the branches of a tree, inside a hollowed-out one. It had a table, a few chairs, even a window with some spare scraps of fabric covering it to block out the sun's harsh rays. An open, arch-shaped hole served as the door. It seemed to pulse with a magical beat, like water flowing through the tree, like a heart pumping blood in his veins. It screamed of wonder, of something not of Middle-Earth, something from another corner of Arda.
A normal man might not have noticed it, might have thought that it was just an elaborate home for a Wildman, but with the blood of the Men of Numenor in him, Faramir could tell immediately. It was dizzying and dulled his senses. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized this must be what it feels like to be drunk and then promptly decided to never become drunk. He hated this feeling; he hated knowing that if he tried to stand, he would fall on his face.
"You'll get used to it in a moment." Kel told him, "It is a bit… overwhelming at first, isn't it?" Faramir just nodded, already feeling his mind adjust.
"Where are we?" He asked when he could get his tongue to work.
"We are in my home, Faramir, son of Denethor." It was a strange change, he decided. Minas Tirith was a place of white stone and wide walls, but this place felt… homier. It was odd, yes, but not entirely unwelcome. Faramir was more in touch with his Numenor blood than most others and often felt like his home was suffocating. But Kel's seemed to give a sense of freedom, and it gave him an elation in his very soul. "Your brother and his friend are down by the river. They grew tired of waiting for you." *That*, made him freeze.
"M-my br-brother?"
"Why yes. I led them here while you were still sleeping. They were very distraught."
They're better off without me. Faramir thought.
"No, they're not," Kel replied with conviction and the Gondolorien belatedly remembered that the Maiar could read minds. "You may think that they are, but they are not. I do not bare the gift of Sight, as some of my kin do, but I can tell you without a sliver of doubt in my mind what would happen if your plan had succeeded and you vanished, never to return." When Kel did not elaborate, Faramir felt his curiosity peak and asked,
"What would happen?"
"You, Faramir, son of Denethor, are the only thing that keeps a smile on your brother's face. If you had left, he would become cold and hard, like your father. No one would be able to reach him, and he would grow bitter over the years. He would never find fulfillment and live out the rest of his life wondering what he could have done to change things and keep you at his side. Liron, son of Aramdir, on the other hand, would laugh and smile more than ever, but it would all be a façade. His mind would be bleak and weary, and a void would form inside him. He would slowly fade to a shadow of his old self, and the emptiness inside him would spill into his voice. Sometime between the ages of fifteen and twenty, he would murder the leader of the bullies that drove you away and be imprisoned for life." To Faramir, that sounded a little too specific for not being able to tell the future, but he let it pass. "You are not worthless, Faramir, son of Denethor." Kel continued in a softer tone, "Do not believe that you are."
He stood fluidly, body shifting from one position to the next as though he was made of water and turned his gaze out the hole that served as his door. For a moment, Faramir wondered what the Maiar was looking at, but then he heard it. Laughter, rich and clear and strong, like a stern word or the rumble of a thousand boots marching in synchrony. Faramir slunk back against the wall. He would know that laugh anywhere, even if he had not heard it in a thousand years.
Kel went to the door and threw down a rope, which had been tied to a knot in the tree. Boromir and Liron appeared through it minutes later, faces still split by grins. Those smiles vanished when they saw Faramir awake.
"Brother," Boromir said softly, walking over to him. He sat down on the bed beside his brother and wrapped an arm around him. Faramir's breath stuttered. Even after he'd run away, even after all his failures, his brother really did still love him. "Why?" He all Boromir asked, but Faramir still looked down in shame.
"I'm… I'm worthless, Boromir." He murmured, at last, shifting uncomfortably, "I just drag you down." Boromir face changed to shock in an instant he and wrapped his arms tightly around his little brother, resting his chin of Faramir's head.
"No, no, no, no, Faramir. I can't be me without you. I love you more than every stone in Minas Tirith and you fill every part of me. I will love you forever, I swear it on the name of our forefathers."
"You… you really mean that?" Boromir just nodded, and his brother started to cry.
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…" He whispered. Boromir let him. After a while, Kel said,
"You should probably be getting back. And don't worry, I've already dealt with the bullies." Boromir turned to look at him.
"What did you do?"
"Let's just say that their hair will be an interesting color for the next six months." They all had a good laugh at that. The three Gondoloriens left soon after, Faramir telling Kel that he would return soon.
But what Boromir thought the saddest part of the story was, was not that Faramir thought himself worthless, it was that their father hadn't even noticed they had been gone.
