Please forgive me for skipping a week--I promised myself I wouldn't do that, but then again, I break a lot of promises to myself. At least the notes in this chapter are short!
A warm thank you to everyone who reviewed! KaliedescopeCat, I'm thrilled that you equated my story with Finding Neverland, because I love that movie, and I like their relationship. Lindahoyland, thank you for pointing that out...oops! And Sarahbarr17, I'm sorry if you find the 'thees' and 'thous' utterly offensive, but I'm afraid I'm going to stick to them. (Thanks for the otherwise very generous review!) So, my dear readers, you'll just have to suffer a bit longer (although I did try to go over them again).
For some reason the dividing lines do not want to work, so you will have to be content with Os. My apologies. Breket and Circuran belong to me.
Chapter Three
The two rangers spoke very little on their return journey. Tirinion thought he was beginning to be able to read his Captain's moods somewhat; he knew that when he wore the unreadable, pensive, empty expression things were all too turbulent inside the young captain.
From time to time Tirinion stole a glance at Faramir as he rode beside him. The steward's son was at least five years his junior, but repeatedly Tirinion felt that he himself was the younger, less experienced one. The Captain's mental capacity seemed beyond his comprehension, and he marveled that he could lead so efficiently and at the same time cope with his obvious personal struggles. Not that the Captain made them obvious...but they were obvious nonetheless.
Tirinion was like all the other men in wondering why the Steward saw such small worth in his younger son. Some said it was because Finduilas, the Steward's late wife, had been severely weakened after his birth, and Denethor blamed him for his mother's death. The maiden from Dol Amroth had been, in the Steward's eyes, almost a goddess, and when she had died he had shriveled into himself. Some said that was the reason for his obvious dislike of Faramir. Others said it was because Faramir resembled his mother, but thought like his father, and hence he was able to read his father's heart better than anyone. Therefore the Steward disliked the boy from childhood and mistreated him.
Whatever the reason (though in the end, all roads led back to when Finduilas had died) it was clear that Faramir had no easy relationship between him and his father. Boromir, as it were, had been his only real family, and now that he was gone—Tirinion could have wept for Faramir, had it not been that no such display of emotions would be welcomed by the solitary-minded captain.
Boromir's position had not been envied, either. As the heir to the Stewardship, he was not only under immense pressure from his Father to excel in everything, but he more often than not tried his best to smooth over the relationship between his younger brother and his father. It had been the most difficult in his early manhood, when he went off to the army and his brother was left at home with Denethor. But that time, like the rest, had passed, and even he, the flower of Gondor, some said, and the heart of Gondor, others said, was now gone. In his place stood the smaller brother, shouldering the load of two. And yet often Tirinion thought perhaps it was a blessing that Gondor still had the son she kept.
Boromir was the impetuous, big-hearted, display knight. He was the kind of general men followed because they saw something in him that was big, that was proud, and that gave them courage. He was first in everything. He was the first son. He was the first man to turn to for victory. And he was the first man to toast with foaming cup the victory and roar out a speech.
Faramir was the quiet, inconspicuous, unassuming soldier. He was the Captain that men followed because they loved him. He exuded an unconscious command, and he gave them something more important than courage; he gave them hope. He was the last in everything. He was the second, unwanted son. He was the last man to leave the field of battle. And he was the last man to leave the sick and wounded to their fates after the battle was won, or lost.
Tirinion crept out of his silence only as they approached Henneth Anûn and were hailed by the quiet bird calls of the men hidden in the bushes. It was not long until Faramir and Tirinion had put their horses away and were back in the cave behind the waterfall.
As he stowed his pack next to the mattress on which he slept, Tirinion heard his name being uttered, and he turned at once to see Rochion smiling and pushing toward him. Tirinion himself grinned and clasped his brother's hand.
"Greetings, brother," Rochion said warmly. "How was thy trip?"
"Tiring," Tirinion answered, "But I am sincerely glad I went with him."
Rochion's smile vanished. "Was he, then, ill received?"
Tirinion sighed. "'Ill' would not be my choice of word. Perhaps better would be 'hostilely' or even 'angrily' received."
Rochion pulled his brother toward a niche in the wall and forced him to sit. "Tell me everything." His dark eyes were smoky, whether with anger or sorrow, Tirinion was not sure.
"Well, 'twas just as I thought. Denethor was cold and distant, and the Captain tried with all his heart to win his father over." Tirinion looked at his brother and shook his head. "That's all he wants, Roch. He wants recognition and...love. To hear his father say once that he is proud of him. Thou seest it written plainly all over his face."
At that minute Tirinion and Rochion caught sight of Faramir at the far end of the room, pulling off his cloak and flinging it on his cot. He stood for a minute, staring at the bed, and then turned and gazed out the window. As still as a statue he watched the moon riding high in the sky, and it almost seemed that he had been turned to stone by its pale light. But suddenly the young man's shoulders began to quiver, and he bowed his head with a clear motion of defeat. It took only a second for him to gain control again and force his shoulders to stop shaking, but in that second the pain lying underneath showed through. Tirinion gave a significant glance at his brother, who nodded mutely.
"Thou seest?" Tirinion asked. Rochion nodded again.
"Aye," he murmured, watching as Faramir ran a hand through his hair and walked to a table at the other end of the room where a map was spread out. "But alas, there is naught that we can do."
"Naught but be his friend and ally," Tirinion corrected. "I will be there for him." His words echoed strangely ominously in the quiet cave, and the brothers looked at each other for a long moment. Then, with a smile, Tirinion clapped his brother on the shoulder and stood to partake of food.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Late that night as the men lay sleeping in their blankets, a silent figure stood in a familiar spot, watching the place where the moon had long since disappeared. It was only every so often that he moved even a muscle, but once in a while he raised a hand to wipe his face almost desperately.
On his cot, Tirinion struggled awake from the depths of sleep, shivering as his skin touched the night air. He reached down to get his blanket and caught sight of the silent guardian. Without hesitating, he pulled his blanket over his shoulders and stood up noiselessly. Through the dark he crept toward the lighted window, until the Captain's low voice asked, "A nightmare, Tirinion?"
The man nodded, shrugging the blanket on better. "Aye. I do not remember it, only that it was terrible."
Faramir clasped his hands behind his back and nodded slowly. "Many times I do not remember what I dream, either."
Tirinion hesitated for a second before asking, "What doth thou see for us, Captain?"
Faramir turned to face him, studying his features. "What do you mean?"
"Thou dreamest of many things," Tirinion said softly, "And many come true. What doth thou see for us? Will we prevail? Or will evil win?"
Faramir turned back to the night scene and sighed almost silently. "I do not know. I dream of darkness, sometimes. I see the fall of Numenor over and over, and then a great wave rising up and engulfing us all. But I dream just as often about days of peace, and I can see the white tree flowering and people laughing." The edges of his mouth turned up as the warmth of his words filled his heart. "That is something that I seldom hear anymore, Tirinion. Laughter, I mean. But perhaps it is partially my fault." The last sentence was more to himself than to his companion, and he looked down as he said it.
"Aye," Tirinion said gently, glancing out the window at the trees. "There is seldom laughter heard nowadays. But 'tis not thy fault, Captain. Thou art a good Captain, and well loved. We would wish for no other man to lead us."
Faramir smiled just a little and nodded. "Yes, I see that. And I want to thank you, especially for coming with me to Minis Tirith. Sometimes—" he broke off and turned abruptly away. "Well, anyway, it is late."
Tirinion wanted to know what his Captain had been about to say, for he felt that could Faramir just liberate his heart of its burden, he would feel better. But he merely said, "Thou must rest, Captain."
Faramir nodded and turned back toward him. "And you too. We have much to be on out toes for."
As Tirinion crept back to his cot, he saw Faramir slip into his own bed and relax, his form going limp almost at once. With a smile of relief, Tirinion fell asleep to pleasant dreams.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Two days passed in a heartbeat, filled with the usual comings and goings of the wooded hideout. Patrols were dispatched, came back, and even a few sightings of smoke were reported, but in all nothing happened to merit notice.
And then, as Tirinion was just entering the strong-hold after a tiring patrol, a messenger was reported to have been seen slipping silently through the woods toward them. The men all tried hard to be nonchalant as the man talked with Captain Faramir, but soon the words were spreading like wildfire: An army was sighted just south of here.
All the rangers knew what that meant. They would be fighting, soon—ambushing the unsuspecting Haradhrim. Some of the men felt excitement, but the majority knew too much of war to relish the idea of battle, even an ambush.
Every man knew his position. Bows were prepared for stringing, arrows fletched, knives sharpened, and masks laid out in preparation for the next day, when the Haradhrim would be in the right position for attack. All day Faramir went over plan after plan with his Captains, rehearsing the situation. They had oliphaunts? Then Breket would cut them off and use ropes to dispatch of them. They had foot soldiers? Then Circuran would ambush them at the southern bend. And so on it ran, until every detail had been worked out.
As evening fell, Tirinion found his Captain leaning against the window where the water splashed down to the depths. Through the sheet of water one could see the golden sunset, almost blinding in its brightness highlighted by the brilliantly clear water. The darkness in the East grew more with each passing day, but not so much yet that the sun could not be seen in all its glory.
Faramir's face was shadowed by the stone, but through the gloom Tirinion thought he saw him smiling, if only slightly. "What pleases thou, Captain?" he asked quietly. Faramir startled a little as he heard his voice, but did not turn.
"It is nothing—an impulse, really. Or perhaps a feeling. Something will happen tomorrow—something that will change the fates of us all in this war," Faramir replied, his voice just above a whisper. Suddenly he turned to Tirinion. "You must think me mad," he said wryly, and his eyes were uncommonly bright in his lean face.
Tirinion shook his head, his own smile a good deal brighter that his Captain's. "Nay. I have come to trust thy predictions."
"Is it a curse?" Faramir asked moodily, turning back towards the water. "It is a blessing? No—I don't believe it could be a blessing. Not like—not like it has been."
Tirinion sighed. "I know not, my lord."
Faramir glanced over his shoulder suddenly, his piercing look fixing on the man behind him. "Why do I divulge these things to you?" he asked, more to himself than to the man from Belfalas. The corner of his mouth twitched, and he looked back at the waterfall.
Tirinion furrowed his brow. "Every man needs a friend, sir." He placed emphasis on the word friend, as if by merely saying it he could become his Captain's companion. "No man can live life apart and cut off from others."
Suddenly Faramir's shoulders trembled, and to Tirinion's surprise, he did nothing to stop them. A queer laugh escaped the young Captain's lips, and he said softly. "I shiver, Tirinion. Like a horse shivers at the smell of fire, I shiver at the smell of fear."
"Thou hast never shown fear in battle, Captain," Tirinion said, trying hard to think of something better to say. "Thou never blamed us for showing fear—why should thee be any different?" Faramir shook his head. "It is different." With one final shudder, he raised his head and his shoulders stopped. Turning, he looked Tirinion in the eye almost harshly. "Men do not follow a Captain who shows fear and anguish. I am held to a higher standard...one that I cannot let down." His face softened as he laid a heavy hand on Tirinion's shoulder. "But I thank you that you have allowed me an outlet to my sorrow. It will not happen again."
It was a promise, and Tirinion knew he would keep it. "Aye, sir." Was all he said.
As Faramir brushed past him into the darkness of the cave, Tirinion lowered his head and looked at the tips of his dusty boots. Whatever the outcome of this war, he thought morosely, 'Tis not worth the price we are paying.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
The next day dawned red as blood. However, after the final fingers of red left the sky, the sun shone through as brightly and strongly as ever. The men were already up and ready to leave, swarming out of the caves silently and grimly, masks and capes pulled low over skin.
Tirinion and Rochion had broken bread together, and there was an understanding between them that had lasted through all their days as rangers. Neither mentioned that this might be their last meal together in words, but before they put their gear on, they clasped hands once, looked each other in the eye, and nodded. Both knew from long experience that it was likely one would die in the next battle or skirmish, but they did not need to make a big show. The words simply did not need to be said.
None would have guessed, looking at their Captain now, how broken he had appeared beside the waterfall last night. His coolness was perfect; if he was worried about his men following him, he needn't have been. If there was one thing Faramir of Gondor understood, it was the need to lay all personal fears and feelings aside when the time for battle came. One needed a completely clear head.
None of the men talked as they crept noiselessly through the forest, and before long they came upon their positions and slipped amongst the trees and bracken as silently as they had slipped from the caves. A rustle here, a crack there—and all was as silent as before. The birds began singing again—indeed, they had never stopped. All was peaceful in the woods. The sun filtered down through the trees as if there were no men perched in their branches; the wind played just as gently with the long, heavy-topped grass, never guessing the weight of men crouching inside the coarse stalks.
Tirinion, standing in a tree with his bow at the ready and arrow drawn, sniffed the wind uncomfortably. His Captain's foretelling of the days events had cast a shadow over his mind. What could he have meant? he thought moodily. What does this day hold in store for us? It was not like him to be unsettled by a shadowy thought, but something about the way his Captain's eyes were so bright yesterday...
He suddenly held a hand up to his eyes, shading them against the glare of the already bright sun. There, on the horizon...was that smoke? Surely it could not be from the Haradhrim, who would not be here until mid-morning at the earliest. A shiver ran up his spine. Whatever it is about this day that is different, he thought, that smoke holds the answer. His thoughts were dragged from the smoke on the horizon by his companion shifting uncomfortably. The man smiled apologetically and waved a hand over his brow to signify heat. Tirinion nodded. Already the day was uncommonly hot, and he did not relish the idea of having to fight through the heat.
As silent as shadows, the men waited. The sun rose in the sky, and when it was almost above their heads, riding high in the heavens, a sharp birdcall whistled through the trees. The men stiffened. Soon, very soon now, they would see what the lookout already saw. The Haradhrim were coming. Tirinion strained his eyes and squinted toward the horizon. There, he could see the crest of a flag waving above the trees. It was blood red. A horn sounded, blaring loud and foggy in the woodland calm. In less than a quarter of an hour, the Haradhrim would be riding through the trees they crouched in.
Through the branches of the trees, Tirinion could just see Faramir slipping silently down from the oak opposite his own chestnut and slip through the grass toward more of his men. Giving last minute advice and encouragement, no doubt. Tirinion tightened his buckle and grinned stoically. If it was a fight these southern men wanted, it was a fight they would get.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Pull, release, grab, pull, release, grab... Tirinion went through the motions of shooting his bow without even thinking about it. Almost every shot was successful, and all around him Haradhrim were dying. The oliphaunts were going mad, the horns were blaring, and it had become a complete rout. Yet, if he thought, he might know that some of his fellow rangers were dying too. So he simply shot, arrow after arrow, and after all his arrows were spent, he slipped down and partook in the work of hand-to-hand combat.
The southern men were confused and desperate, but they were still fierce fighters, and it was no easy battle. Tirinion soon found himself alongside a score of other rangers, and together they created havoc of the enemy amongst them. The oliphaunts had long since deserted and run, crazed, through the woods. Then he was beside a familiar form, and a voice that belonged to none other than Captain Faramir shouted, "Gondor! Gondor!" Several of the archers that still had arrows broke away and scaled a group of trees near them and began picking off enemies one by one. Tirinion smiled briefly at his Captain and continued pursuing the southern men.
"How is thy count, Captain?" he asked shortly, as he ran a burly man through with his quick blade.
"Not bad. We are making excellent time. Yours?" Faramir gasped, panting for more air through the muggy weather.
"Almost—watch out!" Tirinion called, throwing Faramir's attention around just in time for the young man to catch the butt of a club on his forehead. He wheeled backwards, clutching at the air. If Tirinion had not killed the man for Faramir, doubtless the life of the Steward's son would have ended there. Tirinion helped Faramir up and handed him his sword.
"Canst thou see, Captain?" he asked half in concern, half in humor. Faramir nodded wryly.
"Yes, I can see. Thank you, Tirnion. I'd be dead now if not for you," Faramir said. Shaking himself again, he looked around. The Haradhrim had been routed. Here and there were groups of men still fighting, but overall the outcome was in the rangers' favor. The only sign of the great oliphaunts was the broken trees and bushes where they had fled.
"It is over," Faramir sighed, massaging his arm and sheathing his sword. For a moment he looked as if a great weight had been lifted from his mind, and then suddenly it was all back with reinforcements. "But the enemies will come soon, when they hear of what we have done. And then there are the Halflings."
"The Halflings?" Tirinion asked, looking up in surprise. "What Halflings?"
"Several others and myself found two small Halflings hiding in the woods earlier," Faramir said shortly as he tightened his girth and found his bow. "I left them in the care of Mablung and Damrod."
Tirinion suddenly smiled, though he wasn't quite sure why. "Are the tales and children's fables coming true?" he laughed. Faramir smiled.
"I know naught about that, but I do know that there is business to attend to." Turning, he whistled sharply, and men began to fall in behind him and mount the hill.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
The interview that followed with the Halfling Frodo, son of Drogo, and Samwise son of Hamfast was of a highly interesting and even amusing nature to Tirinion and Rochion, who had found each other again, each being unharmed. Frodo spoke with learning and wisdom, and what might even be called grace in one so small and oddly formed. Tirinion found himself admiring the way his Captain handled the situation, although he was not quite sure Faramir trusted the little hobbits yet. By his manner of speaking, which was gracious yet stern, and by his mistrust and guardedness against giving anything away, yet finding out as much as possible from the hobbits, Faramir showed another side to his nature.
Faramir was not as soft-hearted as he would seem. Perhaps if he had not been forced into war he would have been more open and trusting, but in any case, the Captain of Gondor was stern and wise with his questions. Words that meant nothing were not used, and still many words were used, for Faramir made things very clear for his Halfling guests. When the interview was over, he gave the signal and the men broke off until the only ones left were Tirinion, Mablung and Damrod.
"Come," Faramir said in a low voice to his rangers. "We must take these Halflings with us, for I would question them more closely."
"Captain," Mablung said, his voice almost a whisper, "they mustn't see the way. 'Twould be disastrous if they are spies of the enemy."
Faramir rubbed his chin roughly. "That I doubt," he finally said, "but it is better to be safe than sorry. We shall blindfold them where we must." With that, he started off toward their hideout. Tirinion and Mablung each guided a hobbit; Damrod took the rear. Along the way, the Halflings gazed with wide eyes at the beauties of the woods they passed through. Every now and then one would say something very softly to the other. Ithilien was indeed something to be astounded by, unless taken for granted, as by the rangers who patrolled it. Even they were, at times, delighted by its natural beauty.
"Do you find this land superior to the land you have recently been traveling through, Master Baggins?" Faramir asked as they passed a waterfall. He turned toward them, though his eyes were hidden in the depths of his hood. Frodo nodded cautiously. "Yes," he replied, "the land is indeed very beautiful. It—" he paused momentarily, "—it makes me think of my own homeland." Frodo shook his head and lapsed into silence.
They continued for some time before Faramir beckoned Tirinion to walk with him ahead. Facing straight forward, Faramir said softly, "Tirinion, something stirs within my heart when I look into the eyes of these Halflings, and I know they hide some great secret. Yet I do not believe them to be evil."
Tirinion nodded slightly. "I sense that too. I do not trust their story, however. The third friend—where might he be?"
Faramir's silence told his friend he knew not. Suddenly, he halted. Turning to the hobbits, he pulled his hood back slightly. "Here we must blindfold your eyes," he said gently, "the way to our lair is a secret, and it is not for the eyes of strangers." Frodo and Sam nodded, and allowed their eyes to be blindfolded. Faramir motioned for Mablung and Damrod to place their hands on the hobbits' shoulders and guide them. Thus they walked, and when the way was very steep they carried the hobbits. Faramir often said something to his men, mostly, Tirinion thought, to reassure the hobbits that he was still there, in charge, and no harm would come to them. They reached the caverns shortly after the last of the other men did.
"Take their blindfolds off," Faramir said, pulling his hood off and wiping an arm across his forehead. "Give them refreshment and a place to rest until the evening meal." With that, he strode off into the shadows of the room. To Frodo and Sam, it seemed strange and unreal to be led through the cavern to a bed where they were bidden lie down and rest. But the evening was to unfold much information and make many things known.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Tirinian saw no more of his Captain that evening, besides briefly at the evening meal, until late that night, after the Halflings had retired and many of the men lay sleeping on pallets on the floor. He and Rochien were talking in hushed voices by the flickering of a lamp, when suddenly Rochien nodded his head in the direction of a shadow moving toward a small balcony jutting out high over the cliff. A doorway led to it from the inside. Faramir passed through the doorway swiftly, and the brothers could see no more of him.
"He goes to ponder whatever weighty news he has learned from the Halflings," Rochien whispered. "Eru grant him wisdom. I do not doubt he will."
Tirinien shook his head slowly. "The men say he learned more of his brother's death," he said, looking into his brother's eyes. "I confess I know not whether that is good or ill."
Rochien sighed and lay down on his blanket. "I know not—though I should not trust rumors, if I were thee."
Tirinion gazed at the doorway for a moment before he too lay down. "Grant the Captain peace tonight," he whispered to the darkness.
Outside, Faramir extended both arms and leaned against the rock ledge. His head fell between his shoulders, and a low moan escaped his lips. The ever-present sound of water filled the silence, broken now and then with a mournful bird-call. "How much more?" he asked of the stillness, "how much more can I take?" He raised his head to look at the moon, staring down unflinchingly over the land that bore its name. "Why do you ask this of me? Why this?" He shook his head miserably. "I know what I must do, and what I must not do. I know what I must tell him. Why do you require this decision of me? Better that I had never bothered with Frodo and Sam, and had let them go their way, or better yet, never knew they existed."
His hands dropped, and he slumped against the cold stone. "How much do you wish me to suffer before I die?"
His words hung in the air, and he shivered slightly at the threat they held. Yet he did not look any differently on his life. Should Eru take his life in this war, he would not regret it.
Faramir tipped his head back and once more looked long and hard at the moon. "I will not be selfish and believe I am the only one with trials. But if I could have one thing—one moment of joy—ah," he broke off and stood suddenly. "That is foolishness. I have a duty to do, and there is no one but I who can strive to protect Gondor. Alas, Boromir, if only Gondor had both her sons now. But I, alone, the lesser of the two, am left to defend her and keep the hearts of her people strong. A strange mockery that my own heart is the deadest of all."
The stone was unchanged as he left the cliff and returned inside to partake of rest.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
The next morning the hobbits were set free, and the men whispered softly among each other. Faramir did not hear them, or if he did, he pretended not to. He talked in a fervent voice with the hobbits before they left, and ordered that their packs be filled with provisions. And after they left Faramir went and stood at the waterfall, staring down into the turbulent depths as the minutes stretched longer and longer. Finally, as he watched the blood-tinged sky with the sun in the midst like an orb, he said softly, "Alas for Boromir, my brother who I loved so. Alas that I should take his place, and alas that he who was so noble in life should be so ignoble in death." He bowed his head for a long moment, fighting to overcome his emotions. "I wish to hear more of your death, brother," he whispered at last. "Perhaps there is ought still to know—details that Frodo knew nothing of. I will not believe the worst yet."
As the sun dipped behind the horizon, Faramir went back down to the caverns.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
This chapter presented peculiar difficulties to me, because I was not sure whether to follow the book or the movie. I ended up mixing and skipping them both, because it's SO HARD to write canon! I also wanted to portray Faramir in his tough mode—he wasn't a pansy, and I felt that I was being too clingy with him. He's always breaking down etc. So I must try for more of a balance. Thus, this chapter is a mix of them both, as you must see. That is also why it was so hard to write. I know things seem a little dark right now, but this was a very dark time in Faramir's life. So hang in there—I promise things will get brighter after they get much, much worse. But you know the story.
I could NOT remember whether it's 'Haradrim' or 'Haradhrim'. Will someone please tell me?