***Some scenes of this are AU. We're getting to the part where I follow both book and movie, so I'll try and throw my own spice in there and not copy anyone's work. Thanks for staying with me this long! Please review!***

Chapter 20

Faramir shook. He wanted to run to it. Why didn't he? He felt as if the world had ended. He wanted tears to stream down his face. Why didn't they? Why wasn't he grieving?

Why did he let the boat drift by?

Why did the still body in the boat haunt him? It was his brother.

His brother's face was still. Deathly still. Three wounds punctured his chest. His sword lay in his clasped hands which peacefully lay on his chest. He was pale.

Brother, open your eyes! He shouted in his mind, his heart, his soul. Open your eyes! Please! Just show me that you're alive!

The boat slowly slid past him along the skim of the water. Faramir reached for it, but it was out of his reach. He couldn't move his legs.

He sweated. No. No! NO! NOOO! Why weren't tears coming? Brother! Boromir, my brother! Brother! Boromir! Boromir! Come back!

Fire caught on the boat. It scorched his brother's clothes. His brother's eyes opened, an icy blue color shining.

Faramir shook his head. What's happening?

In a voice not his, Boromir slithered, "Take the weapon. It must be yours."

Faramir shook.

"Do not fail…" Boromir hissed, "Do not fail…" Then a shout, "Do not fail!"

Faramir shot up. He was breathing hard, his heart raced, and sweat lightly coated his skin. He slammed his eyes shut and sucked in his lips, not wanting to wake the men who were sleeping around him. Two days since the horrid events and he still hadn't shaken the image from his head. Nightmares haunted them.

He buried his head into his knees. His lips quivered. No. He wouldn't cry in front of the men. He stood up and silently meandered through the sleeping bodies, praying that they wouldn't wake up. Dressed in his day clothes, he had no problem escaping to the deserted streets of Osgiliath. He needed the night air. He needed space to think.

Boromir…why are you dead? What happened? What happened to you! Faramir couldn't control his tears anymore. The brother that loved him, protected him, cherished him, stood up for him, and taught him everything he knew…was gone. He was more than just a big brother. They were closer than brothers. What would you call someone who was closer than a brother?

"Boromir, remember the time we snuck the pepper onto Father's pillow? He was angrier than any of us could predict, and you took the blame…no supper. When I was kidnapped, oh! brother you were the source of hope. Boromir, I was tricked into thinking that you were dead. I was heartbroken, torn." He whimpered, thinking over his feelings, shaking. "I'm feeling exactly that now! Brother…I loved you! I loved you so much!" He cried more. "Please let this be another trick. Please!"

He continued crying. He felt a hand touch his shoulder.

"Lord Faramir. Your brother would not want you to weep."

Beregond. Faramir wiped away his tears as Beregond squatted beside him.

Faramir gathered himself. "I just…I can't believe that he's gone. He's gone!"

"I am deeply sorry, Lord Faramir. I am so sorry."

Faramir wiped away tears escaping from his eyes. "He died a soldier. It's the death he would want to have. I'm sure he died honorably. He wouldn't have it any other way."

Beregond rubbed Faramir's shoulder. "I will not be here milord. I am scheduled to return to the White Tower and be a guard, but if you happen to return to Minas Tirith, I will be there."

Faramir kept his face straight. "I am a Ranger of Ithilien, I'll be heading there immediately at dawn. We have reports of Southrons moving towards our capital. I won't be returning to Minas Tirith any time soon."

Beregond patted Faramir's shoulder. Would it be wise to remind the inherited position Faramir had just received; Captain of the White Tower? "Your brother is with us in spirit, milord. He always will be."

Faramir nodded. "Thank you. Thank you for your support."

"I will always be there when you need me, Lord Faramir."

Faramir remembered how their friendship had grown ever since the kidnapping. Faramir had almost adopted Bergil as his own little brother. Now, Faramir knew that Beregond would be there; yes, he would.

Even if it meant his death.

Faramir ordered his men to attack. Southrons riding oliphaunts were marching to war. War against Minas Tirith and all of Gondor. They were being driven by the Enemy. Faramir knew this. It was the only tactical thing that his father would tell him.

"Wait for my signal," he hissed, trying to act like his brother, who he saw boat six days ago.

"Now!"

The battle began. In a matter of moments, the Southrons were defeated. Faramir had expertly shot fifteen of the brutes. The cowards retreated to the horrid place from where they came. They were near celebrating until they found two strange things.

They ran into him, tripping over their small legs. Faramir grabbed the dark-haired one by the wrist. The straw-haired one leapt at Faramir, but not before two men thrashed him to the ground, holding swords close to his neck.

It was now that the fair-haired one panicked. "Don't hurt us! We're travelers!"

"In this land?" Faramir scoffed as he handed the dark-haired one to a soldier. "Travelers seldom set foot in this land."

"We're on a secret quest!" The dark-haired Halfling announced. "Those who are against the Enemy would be wise not to hinder us!"

The Enemy! Faramir immediately doubted him, but the icy-blue seriousness of the Halfling's gaze spoke of a horrible terror.

Faramir grinded his teeth together, glanced at both of them. They were scared, yet brave; confident, yet unwary.

Faramir knew only one thing. If they truly were on a quest against the Enemy, a secret quest, then they should not have told him.

"Bind their hands."

The road back to the base of Ithilien was long. But at least the Halflings didn't make any noise. Faramir couldn't help but feel sorry for them. Experience told him that having hands tied behind your back for over an hour made them feel they were unattached. Their binding was not helped by a cloth blindfolding them. At least they weren't gagged. Had they been gagged, Faramir would've untied them both out of extreme self-pity. But he couldn't.

I have to explain to them after we arrive at the base that the location of our palace is top secret. They should understand. I don't want them to think that I don't mistrust them…completely. Still, no one should be tied up…not for ransom or any purpose.

He clenched his fist in anger.

When they arrived at the base, he ordered the Halflings to be kept where everyone could keep an eye on them. He needed a briefing from the second in command.

Faramir unfolded the map, staring the countries down as if they were real, and he could drive the Orcs of Mordor away with a single stare. "What do the scouts report?"

"Isengard is now under the control of Saruman. Uruk-hai attack Rohan. They are severely outnumbered."

Faramir shook his head. "Why don't we send reinforcements to them?"

His aid stared at him like he had grown a horn out of his nose. "We barely have enough reinforcements for our own troops in Osgiliath. We escaped just in time to avoid an attack, milord. Orcs unceasingly send troops to our secondary capital. The men are weary and almost overrun."

Faramir breathed heavily. "Enemies from our every direction threaten us." He didn't know why he let that sentence hang there.

"Your father sees no way out," the aide lamented.

Faramir punched the table. "There is always a way out. We just need to find it."

Faramir marched up to the Halflings, and immediately their faces were downcast. The fair-haired one stared Faramir down, like he was protecting the other one.

Faramir demanded, "Are you Orc spies?"

"Spies?" the protector half-gasped, half-shouted. "Now you see here, Big Person! Have you ever seen…"

Faramir was very annoyed now. "Well, if you're not Orc Spies, then tell me what you are!"

They kept their mouths shut.

"Speak now!" he ordered. He waited a few moments. "Now!"

The dark-haired one relented, like he had given up on almost every aspect of life. "We're Hobbits of the Shire. My name is Frodo Baggins, this is Samwise Gamgee."

"He is your bodyguard?"

"His gardener!" Samwise snapped.

Faramir didn't know whether to look this Hobbit down…or to laugh out loud. A gardener?!

"What of your third companion?"

"Third?" Frodo spoke before Sam could; Sam tried to open his mouth.

"A gangly creature that looked as if he had crawled out of grave after decomposing."

"There was no other."

Faramir caught the gardener's stare at Frodo. Frodo was lying.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, then warned, "It would be best to tell the truth." He prayed he sounded threatening enough.

Frodo spoke. Apparently, he wasn't too keen on keeping secrets. "We set out from Rivindell with seven companions."

Rivindell! Faramir snapped in his head. Hoping for some news of Boromir, he let Frodo continue.

"Two were my cousins, anther one…we lost him in Moria." His eyes were clouded with a dark shroud when admitting the friend's death. "We also travelled with an Elf, a Dwarf, and two Men."

"Who were they?"

Frodo immediately moaned, "Aragorn son of Arathorn, a Ranger from the North. The other was Boromir of Gondor."

I knew it! Faramir knelt to look Frodo in the eye. "You knew Boromir?" he gasped.

"Yes, we were friends…on my part." Frodo looked sad, hurt, wounded, and confused all at once.

He knows of Boromir's death. Faramir grasped Frodo's shoulders, staring, daring him to lie. "How did he pass?"

"What?"

Faramir was now impatient. "He's dead!"

"Dead?! How? When?"

"You were with him the last few months, you tell me!" Faramir yelled.

"The last I saw him, he was alive. I do not know how he died!"

"Tell me!" the brother shouted.

Sam stepped in between them both. He tore Frodo away, and Faramir realized just how hard he was gripping the Halfling's shoulders.

Sam nearly shouted, "How do you know he's dead anyway?"

"His horn washed up on the side of the riverbank. I also know it…because…he was my brother."

Frodo gasped. Sam's angry expression withered away. Frodo moaned, "I'm sorry."

Faramir left them there.

Faramir sat on the space outside of the fort, close to where they held Frodo and Samwise. He had ordered the Halflings to be fed, but he didn't concern himself with that right now. He cradled the broken horn of Gondor; the horn that his brother loved from the country he cherished.

He couldn't stop thinking about how many times Boromir had stood up for him.

Denethor shouted at Faramir, "You are supposed to hold the sword like this!"

"Father, he's just learning!" Boromir shouted.

Denethor seemed to remember that it had been three months since the kidnapping right there, and went easy on him.

Faramir was again reminded at the heroism of his brother all those years ago. During the kidnapping, Boromir had endlessly shielded Faramir by taking him into his arms. He defended him and even helped him with his reading. He had finally learned how to spell "extraordinary" that night, and many other words. He probably read better to his father that one night because Boromir had helped him.

He clutched the horn tightly. He would be certain that the memory of his brother was never forgotten. His children to the fifth generation would know Boromir as if he were there. He would make sure of it. Faramir would write songs, stories…he would keep Boromir's legacy alive.

He started whimpering. "Boromir…I'll miss you." He told himself that he wouldn't cry; he convinced that Boromir wouldn't want him to mourn. He bit his lip. He squeezed the horn until he couldn't feel his knuckles. He couldn't help it. His brother's death deserved tears.

He hoped none of the men saw him crying.

He felt a hand touch his shoulder. He didn't need to look to know who it was. Why did he feel comfortable crying in front of him?

He buried his head in his hands. He listened to Frodo comfort him as he shed his own silent tears.