12

Title: "A Brother's Vision"

Author: Darkover

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: Please see Chapter One.

Characters: Boromir, Faramir, Denethor, Beregond

Summary: A story of how Faramir's visions affected his relationships with Boromir and Denethor, and how Boromir protected Faramir. H/C. Bookverse.

Author's Note: The "Seek for the Sword that was broken…" speech is a direct quote from Tolkien.

~ooo0ooo~

"How often have you had this dream?" Boromir asked quietly.

"Twice now," Faramir replied. He was pale and weary, his gray eyes haunted in a way that hurt Boromir's heart to see. As Captain of the Ithilien Rangers, keeping alive the constant struggle against the Enemy while maintaining Gondor's borders, Faramir had much cause for weariness, but Boromir feared that the mysterious dream that had visited his brother was also taking its toll. It was not the visions and occasional prophetic dreams experienced by the younger man that were bad for him, for such visions came to Faramir in the gentlest of fashion. It was how others, particularly their father the Steward, treated him afterwards that was such a burden. Faramir had learned that it was seldom wise to speak of his visions to anyone other than his brother. Still, the visions and dreams were meant to be warnings, and as such, were not to be ignored or denied. Prophetic dreams in particular tended to repeat themselves until something was done to resolve them.

Boromir put his hands on his brother's shoulders. "Faramir, you must tell Father of this."

"No!" the young Ranger said sharply. He took a deep breath, and repeated more calmly; "No. Father does not wish to hear aught of my visions, brother. He will pay them no heed."

Boromir shook his head. "He dislikes hearing of them because he takes them seriously, Faramir, not because he disdains them." Faramir still looked unhappy, and Boromir could not blame him. The younger son of the Steward seldom shared his visions or prophetic dreams with their father, for the Steward usually either dismissed them with impatience, or interrogated his younger son relentlessly. Neither was pleasant to experience. Boromir added, "The dream has come to me as well."

Faramir gave him an astonished glance. "You have dreamed of this, too?"

The older brother nodded. "Aye, and it was identical with yours. This dream persists, my brother; clearly we are meant to pay attention to it. Just as importantly, you will have no peace until you do, and our father is a great master of lore. Come, we shall go to him together."

They did so, and on this occasion, Denethor managed to be both interrogative and dismissive at the same time. After relentlessly questioning his younger son about every detail of the dream, a conversation which took the better part of an hour, his response at last was; "You should spend less time listening to the wizard, Faramir, and more time in healthier pursuits. Then, mayhap, you would not have such fanciful dreams."

"Not so, Father," Boromir protested. "I have dreamed it, too."

Denethor looked piercingly at his elder son. "Indeed? One visionary son is bad enough. Are you certain you did not simply dream of this matter because your brother had spoken to you of it already?" His tone implied that the younger son was contaminating the elder with foolish notions. Faramir lowered his eyes.

"Hardly, Father, as the dreams were identical!" Boromir snapped. He took a deep breath. He loved his father dearly and respected the older man, not least because of the burdens Denethor carried as Steward, but why could their father not see how hurtful his demeanor was toward Faramir? Boromir recited; "'Seek for the Sword that was broken,/In Imladris it dwells;/There shall be counsels taken/Stronger than Morgul-Spells./There shall be shown a token/That Doom is near at hand,/For Isildur's Bane shall waken,/And the Halfling forth shall stand.'"

When he finished speaking, all three men were silent for a moment. Boromir said, in a quieter voice; "Surely you understand, Father, that for us both to have such a dream in which those words were spoken verbatim, that the dreams must be prophetic ones?"

"Verily, and a wise man ignores such a warning at his own peril." Denethor sat up straighter, if possible; he seemed to be making up his mind about something. "Leave this to me, my sons, and speak not of it to others."

"Can you tell us nothing of the meaning of the dream, Father?" Faramir asked.

"Imladris is the name of an Elven land, many leagues to the north from here," the Steward answered. "Men call it Rivendell. The Lord of this land is Elrond Half-Elven, and it is said that he is great in wisdom and is a master of lore."

Faramir's eyes lit up at the mention of Elves. "Then should I not go to Imladris, Father? If we are to seek for the Sword that was broken—"

"No!" Denethor's voice was unusually loud. Faramir fell silent. Denethor reached out to gently ruffle his younger son's hair, letting his hand rest briefly but tenderly on Faramir's cheek. A look of surprise crossed the young man's face; the Steward made such gestures but seldom, and had not since Faramir was a boy. Denethor said, with gruff kindness; "You will remain in Gondor. I cannot spare you, my son."

"But Father—"

Denethor shook his head. "The journey is long and arduous, full of danger and doubt. No. You shall not go."

"Then I shall go, Father," Boromir offered. It seemed plain to him that at least one aspect of the dream was clear enough; someone must journey to Imladris.

"Neither of you shall go," Denethor retorted. "I can spare neither of my sons. I have made my decision, and I shall not be gainsaid."

Both sons bowed their heads in acknowledgment. Denethor was not only their father, but their liege-lord, and it was not for them to contradict his orders. But in their hearts, both sons believed this was not the end of the matter.

~ooo0ooo~

A few days later, Boromir asked for a private audience with the Steward. Without preamble he said, "Father, Faramir has had the dream once more. Surely we cannot continue to ignore it."

Denethor gazed at his elder son, an odd look in his eyes. For a moment, Boromir had the strange feeling that his father understood more about the dream than he was letting on. But before he could continue this thought, the Steward was speaking.

"Faramir will not go to Imladris. Mithrandir has fed the lad on fanciful tales of Elves ever since your brother was a small child. Such a place would overwhelm him, perhaps cause him to forget his duty."

"Faramir would never forget his duty, to our people or to you!" Boromir said hotly.

Denethor looked at his elder son, and both his gaze and his voice softened. "Mayhap I spoke too harshly. I do not say your brother would ever purposefully forget himself. But he is a dreamer, Boromir, in more ways than one. You know this to be true."

"He loves books, and lore, and peace, Father. Is that so bad?"

"Nay, my son. If all Men were like your brother, this would be a different world. In such a world, I would encourage him in these pursuits. But in times such as ours, Gondor has need of warriors, not scholars. He might not even reach Imladris; the journey is long and most arduous. Your brother is no weakling, but he is too gentle and too fanciful for such a journey. I will not give him leave to go."

"Then give me leave to go, Father. I have no interest in Elves, as well you know. I do not fear hardship or danger, and as the elder son, this journey should be mine, by duty and by right."

"Neither of you shall go," the Steward said harshly. "I will not spare either of my sons on a fool's errand."

"Father." Boromir's voice was quiet, but as steely as that of the Steward's own. "Well do we both know that Faramir's dreams and visions are not mere fancies. This dream clearly is a portent, at a time when Gondor's need is great. We cannot afford to ignore it. Surely whatever help we can find, we must accept. Even knowledge is of value. If the answer to this riddle lies in Rivendell, and you deem it unwise to send Faramir, then I must go."

For a very long moment, Denethor did not reply. Boromir waited, wondering if his sire strove with doubt or with anger. At last, the Steward spoke.

"I give you leave to go to Imladris. You may depart at first light on the morrow."

~ooo0ooo~

"Boromir!" Faramir strode up to where the older brother stood beside his horse. It was almost dawn, and the Steward's Heir was ready to depart.

"Faramir?"

"You are going to leave—for Imladris! And you were not going to tell me?" There were spots of color on each of Faramir's high cheekbones, and his normally kind, steady gray eyes were furious. It occurred to Boromir, somewhat belatedly, that he had seldom ever seen his brother truly angry. He was certainly seeing it now.

"Calm yourself, brother. I left a note—"

"A *note!*" To Boromir's shock, Faramir shoved him, hard, and then drew back a fist. Boromir grabbed it, then flung his arms around his enraged sibling, pulling the younger man to him in a close embrace. Faramir fought it for a moment, and then relaxed against him. Boromir felt his younger brother's arms wrap around him fiercely, felt the telltale hint of moisture against the curve of his neck and shoulder as Faramir buried his face there. It was unlikely that the moisture was sweat. Faramir shook for a moment; Boromir held him close and awkwardly, tenderly rubbed his back.

"Ssshhh, little brother," he whispered, even though Faramir made no sound. "I love you, too."

"Then, how—why—?" Faramir gasped. When he drew back from Boromir, his face was still wet. Boromir could feel tears in his own eyes.

"I have left on missions before, and did not say goodbye," he said lamely.

"But not like this." Faramir scrubbed angrily at his face, wiping away the tears. His anger now seemed directed at himself, rather than his older brother. "You will be gone for a very long time, Boromir. A year or more. And why does Father send you, and not me? You are Gondor's Captain-General! How are we to do without you? I can be spared much more easily." Suddenly, the anger drained away, leaving his expression bleak and sad. "Father believes I would fail, does he not?"

"Do not forget yourself," Boromir said, deliberately hardening his voice. "I am the elder son. The journey is mine by right." He would rather have Faramir angry at him, even at this moment of such a long parting, than have his younger brother believe himself to be unworthy.

But Faramir merely said; "Yes, Boromir," in such a quietly dutiful tone that Boromir could scarcely bear it. He seized his sibling, pulling Faramir toward him in a tremendous hug, kissing Faramir on the brow and on both cheeks. "Goodbye, little brother," he said. He never knew why, but he added with a slightly watery smile; "Mayhap the king shall return to Gondor, and all shall be made well again!"

"Farewell, Boromir," Faramir answered. "May the Valar watch over you!" He kissed his older brother on the brow, then stood back and gazed at him, as if trying to memorize the way he looked at that moment. At last, Faramir turned and walked away, as if he could not bear to watch as Boromir rode away.

Boromir had no such scruples; he continued to stare after Faramir until his younger brother was out of sight. Then, he became aware of another presence. Another man, an Ithilien Ranger, and thus under Faramir's command, was inside the barn, attending to one of the horses. The man must have heard and witnessed everything, although he clearly was trying to remain unobtrusive. Boromir remembered him, had a sudden inspiration, and called the man to him. "Beregond."

The man—about Boromir's age, or perhaps slightly older—stepped out of the barn and made salute to Gondor's Captain-General. "Yes sir."

"You love Captain Faramir, do you not?" Boromir said without preamble. He had visited Faramir at the latter's station in Ithilien before now, and had seen the Rangers' devotion to their Captain.

"Yes sir," Beregond said simply, with neither surprise nor hesitation.

"The Lord Faramir is a good man and a strong one," Boromir said. "But no man is without vulnerabilities. I am going on a long journey. It will be a long time before I return. I would not have my brother be alone, with no one to care for him, when…" He paused, inwardly cursing himself for his awkwardness, wishing desperately he could be more eloquent and find a way of telling this man what he wished for him to do, without embarrassing Faramir in any way.

But there was understanding in Beregond's gaze. "When he has visions, sir?" the Ranger said softly.

"Yes!" By some miracle, this man understood! Boromir added quickly; "The visions do not weaken Captain Faramir, nor have I ever known one to occur at such a time as to incapacitate him. You need have no fear that the Captain will ever be unable to perform his duty, or endanger you or any of the other men—"

A glint appeared in Beregond's eye, and he actually interrupted the Captain-General. "I would never think that, sir."

"Good. But as I will no longer be in Gondor…Beregond, I wish for you to watch over Captain Faramir in my stead. The visions happen but seldom, and never at a bad time," Boromir hastened to add, "but when they do, Captain Faramir should be cared for. Just keep him safe—warm and calm—until they pass. Listen to him when he needs to speak of them. Protect my brother as best you can if ever he should need it. Will you do this, Beregond?"

"I would do anything for Captain Faramir, sir," Beregond said.

Looking into the man's face, Boromir could see that he spoke the truth. "Thank you, Beregond. You are dismissed."

The Ranger saluted him once more, and then went on his way. Alongside him, Boromir's horse snorted and shook his mane, as if to say he had waited long enough. Boromir gave the animal a reassuring pat, then mounted into the saddle, turned his horse, and rode out of Minas Tirith in the direction of Imladris. He did not look back.