"Stop, you need to rest," Boromir reached out to grasp his brother's shoulder. Faramir turned and blinked but did not argue, simply gave a sharp nod and sank to his knees.
Boromir frowned: Faramir's face was waxen, the line of his mouth too stern. He forced his water skin into Faramir's hand, held it steady as the younger man took a small sip.
"More."
His sibling obliged him, taking another swallow between shallow breaths. Boromir narrowed his gaze.
"Where are you hurt? Let me see."
Faramir lifted his left arm away from his torso to reveal the bloodied mess that was his side.
Boromir could see that he had indeed made an effort to bind it up, but the ragged edges of his old cloak had long since saturated and the wound continued to ooze. He braced his hand against Faramir's flesh, peeled the fabric aside to reveal an inflamed gash surrounded by a tracery of already livid bruising. Heat rolled out from the wound.
"Shit," he hissed, gaze flicking over Faramir's face as the younger man tensed, a sharp, stuttering inhale the only other evidence of his suffering. His fears confirmed by his cursory exam of his sibling, Boromir sighed, wondering how the idiot had managed to come so far. "Broken too?"
"Mmm."
He pressed a palm to his brother's head and Faramir swatted him away, fixing him with a darkling look. Boromir closed his mouth about a retort.
"You need willow."
Faramir clenched his jaw. "I gave you the last of my supplies."
Boromir raised his eyes to the heavens and let out a breath. "Of course!"
"Of course."
"Idiot."
"I believe it is hereditary."
Boromir smiled and absentmindedly held out his water skin.
Silence fell between them for a while. Faramir knelt amidst the ferns, taking controlled sips and breaths with his eyes closed as he sought to master the sharp ache in his chest. Boromir stood before him, watchful, propped against a tree for support. Eventually Faramir opened his eyes.
"I am better now. We should keep moving."
Boromir waited for a beat, measuring the truth of Faramir's statement against his appearance, grunted as he bent to aid him. When they stood eye to eye once more he continued, " How many Uruks did you slay?"
Faramir's gaze was dark but mercifully clear. "Not enough. Perhaps half a dozen of them escaped and they may bring reinforcements if they chose to follow us."
Boromir ran a hand over the stubble on his chin and pulled out an oil skin pouch, beckoning with one tick of his fingers. Twin raven heads bent over a map as it unfolded. They studied it for some minutes, murmuring together. The Grey Wood was dense behind them, the mountains — impassable and huge — extending in a ridge beyond, the Road likely still patrolled by orcs and Uruk Hai that they were in no condition to outrun or fight. They had but one choice.
Boromir raised his eyes and folded away the map. "We must make it to Rohan."
§
TBC