8
Title: "A Brother's Vision"
Author: Darkover
Rating: K+
Disclaimer: Please see Chapter One.
Characters: Boromir, Faramir, Denethor, OC
Summary: A story of how Faramir's visions affected his relationships with Boromir and Denethor, and how Boromir protected Faramir. H/C. Bookverse.
~ooo0ooo~
"Boromir? Boromir, wake up!"
"Uhhh…?" The fifteen-year-old Heir of the Steward felt someone shaking him, as well as calling him imploringly, and opened his eyes. His ten-year-old brother stood beside his bed, looking worried and unusually pale, although that may have been a trick of the light; some pre-dawn illumination was just filtering through the window. Boromir sat up.
"What is it?" he asked irritably, and then noticed that the younger boy was shivering with the chill of an early winter morning. Boromir threw back the blankets. "You are cold, and you have just recently been ill! If you will not keep to your own bed, at least get into mine."
Faramir shook his head. "There is no time! Boromir, we must stop him!"
"Who?"
"Father!" Faramir said urgently. "He is about to do something dreadful, Boromir! I saw it!"
The adolescent slid out of bed, stripped off his night clothes, and swiftly drew on his breeches and other clothing. By now, he knew that when his younger brother said that he "saw" something, that was Faramir's usual way of saying he had a vision or a visionary dream. "What did you see? Where is he?"
"I do not know, but he seemed to be in a high tower. He was looking into a ball, a great burning red eye looked back—it was horrible!" Faramir shuddered.
Boromir, now dressed, picked up a fur robe and draped it around the younger boy, mindful of the fact that it had been only last week that his brother had been ill with a fever. "That does not sound so dreadful."
"It will be! Father must not look into that ball, Boromir! Please!" Faramir was agitated, obviously frightened.
Boromir sighed and nodded. "All right, little one. You stay here."
"No, we must hurry!" Faramir darted out the door, and his older brother quickly followed.
A cock crowed as the boys moved quickly through the halls, around servants who were busying themselves with early-morning tasks. As they hurried along, Faramir described his vision in more detail to Boromir. While the vision had been unclear on many details, Faramir had received the overwhelming impression that it would be bad for their father, or Gondor, or perhaps both, for the Steward to look into the "ball" which showed a "burning red eye." The ten-year-old could not be sure; all he was certain of was nothing good would come of looking into that ball. As Faramir's vision had placed their father in a tower, the two boys headed for the White Tower.
Eventually they reached the door leading to it, and began to climb the stairs to the top. At the very top, they found the chamber door shut and two of the guards of the Tower on duty directly in front of it. The guards stopped them by crossing their weapons before the door when Boromir moved to open it. "Stop," one said. "You may not enter."
Boromir looked the man directly in the eye; at fifteen, he was as tall as the guard, and almost as broad-shouldered from many years of practice with the sword and other weapons. "We are the sons of the Steward. Let us pass."
"Forgive me, lord, but you may not. We are forbidden to allow access to anyone save the Steward himself."
"Please," Faramir said, stepping out from behind his brother. "It is important!"
Any reply the guard might have given was rendered unnecessary by the opening of the door. Denethor came through, looking unusually grim, and looked at his sons as if he had never seen them before. Instead of greeting them, he turned to the guards and demanded, "What are they doing here? My orders are that no one may enter this chamber save me! Are my orders not to be obeyed?"
The boys stared at their father. Denethor had ceased to be merry upon the death of his wife five years earlier, but seldom had he appeared so grim and fell as he did now. He seemed to have aged overnight, and he appeared as one with a doom upon him. There was certainly no sign that he was pleased to see his sons.
"We wished to see you, Father," Boromir said.
"You should have waited," their father said shortly. "Why are you abroad at this hour? Come, let us break fast together, then you shall both be about your duties."
Father and sons descended the stairs together, but in spite of his offer of breakfast, Denethor led the boys to a private room in his chambers. There was only one chair, which Denethor took. There was no fire in the grate, nor did the Steward summon a servant to build one. The room was cold; even Boromir, fully clothed, could feel it. Next to him, Faramir was shivering; in spite of the robe, as he was still in his night clothes, and his feet were bare.
"What purpose had you in the tower?" their father demanded.
The boys exchanged glances. It was apparent that whatever had happened, they had not been in time to keep Faramir's vision from coming true.
"Speak!" the Steward ordered.
"As I said, Father, we wished to see you," Boromir answered.
"What was of such great import that you could not wait?" Denethor demanded.
"We were concerned about you. Faramir feared you might be in danger."
"Indeed?" Denethor turned his burning eyes to his younger son. "Why should he think such a thing?"
Boromir's uneasiness was increasing. There was nothing of concern in their father's tone, nor in the look he gave the younger boy. The Steward's tone was that of an interrogator, and he had the air of one fey. Faramir, alongside his older brother, was trembling once more, and Boromir suspected it was not just with cold. "Father, this room is cold, and Faramir has just recovered from illness. He should be sent back to bed, or at least taken where it is warm."
"He should answer his father's question," Denethor said harshly. "Why should you suspect danger, Faramir?"
"I had one of my dreams, Father," the younger boy said in a small voice.
Denethor's expression tightened. Faramir's visionary dreams were something known to the Steward and his sons, but not talked about. Not since the death of Finduilas, and the subsequent discovery that Faramir had a vision prior to that event. "What did this dream tell you?"
Faramir swallowed, but his voice came out steadily. "I saw you in a chamber in the tower, Father, looking into a glass ball. The ball held a great, burning, red eye that was aflame with malice. I could feel the malevolence radiating from it. It—it was as if it was poisoning you. I c-could tell—I *knew* that something evil would happen, if you looked into the ball."
The Steward's eyes continued to burn for a moment, and then his face lit up with a great smile. "You have had a foolish dream, my son, nothing more. I have done no such thing."
Boromir was relieved. Perhaps they had been in time after all. "Well, then, Father—"
Faramir stood very still, his eyes going blank for a moment. Then they focused again, on the Steward. "That is not so," he whispered.
Denethor's expression tightened. "Faramir—"
"My visions are true," the younger boy said, his voice rising. "You know they are true, Father. Why are you lying?"
Denethor's hand shot out, slapping Faramir's face so hard the boy's head rocked back.
"Father, stop!" Boromir shouted.
The Steward appeared to be as stunned as his sons. He looked away, then back again, although he did not make eye contact. "You must not call your father a liar, Faramir," he said, his voice carefully even. "Now, come with me, both of you. We shall break our fast together."
This time, they went to the Steward's chambers, seated themselves before a roaring fire while servants brought food and drink. The Steward then had breakfast with his sons in a pleasant, almost serene manner. Nothing was said of what had just occurred, much less of what had transpired in the tower. If not for the red mark on Faramir's face, which faded as they ate their meal together, the incident might never have happened. But after that, whenever Faramir had a vision or a visionary dream, the brothers were even less inclined to mention it to their father.
TBC