"On the eve of the sudden assault a dream came to my brother in a troubled sleep. . ."
Boromir's first thought upon waking was of Faramir. After apprising him of his own injuries, the Master of the Houses of Healing was quick to assure Boromir that, while Faramir's cold plunge into the river while wreaked havoc upon his already overtaxed frame and a raging fever would set it, the young prince would heal well if he could but find the rest he needed. Boromir immediately demanded he be relocated to his brother's room, and despite protest that Faramir's fevered ramblings would disturb the elder prince's own rest the Healers found themselves powerless against the fierce display of Boromir's legendary stubbornness.
Boromir's own wounds were not severe, and would have been well on the mend in a few days with proper rest. But he would not have it so, and demanded that he be allowed to relieve the Healers many an evening in their sleepless vigils over his brother's worn-out body. During both the long periods of absolute stillness and the unpredictable stages of violent thrashing and fevered ramblings in Elvish dialects no one could understand, Faramir seemed to take little comfort from anything besides his brother's voice. Boromir finally feared the worst when his brother began calling for their mother, and it spurred him to flee Faramir's sick room to search for their father.
He should perhaps have known better than to expect any comfort or advice from that quarter. When Boromir at last found the Steward, Denethor was sitting on the bench before his wife's tomb. He barely raised his eyes as Boromir related the news of his youngest son's condition, and the heart of Boromir was troubled to see how little the dire news seemed to affect his father.
"Faramir will survive, much as he always has," Denethor replied in a dull, lifeless tone that brooked no argument.
Boromir's ire was raised at his father's callous speech, and would have found expression in harsh words had he not noticed that the Steward's eyes, which had remained fixed upon the elegantly carved tombstone before him, were filled with such pain as threatened to spill over. It was then that Boromir recalled the day, and his hand came to rest upon the wall his mother's body had lain behind for many a long year now. His fingers traced her name, etched in flowing Feanorian, with loving tenderness.
"He always was her favorite, Father," Boromir remarked absently, not quite realizing that he spoke aloud. His father's sharp glance was lost upon him as he turned his steps back towards the Houses of Healing, but the thought refused to let him go.
The sky was rich with color as the sun began its wayward descent into the West. It was time for evensong, Boromir realized, the traditional prayers of day's end borne out of long-lost Numenor and still celebrated even now by a dwindling few in Gondor's own twilight. Such old customs had never been much to Boromir's liking, as they seemed of little use to him in the face of such darkness as had loomed over Gondor his whole life, but Faramir had always set much store by them. He never missed a service when he was home, and often insisted upon their performance in the field. It was a practice their mother had favored, too – perhaps that was one of the reasons Faramir had ever found greater favor in her eyes, Boromir reflected. Finduilas had loved both her sons with fervent passion, he knew, but she had always had a special place in her heart for her more gentle, sensitive, academic son: much as Denethor had always favored "his warrior prince", as he had called Boromir in his youth.
Without realizing it, Boromir's steps had turned towards the Courtyard of the White Tree just as the sun began to disappear behind the distant snowy ridges of the White Mountains. The guards changed with their usual ceremony, and a small group gathered at the edge of the wall to face the west. Their numbers were few and their ranks varied and unusual, but the disparities between them vanished as their voices rose in the songs of thanksgiving to Illuvatar. Boromir found himself transfixed by the calm beauty of it all, and a familiar but long-suppressed ache stirred in the depths of his heart. He wished he had the courage to join them, for Faramir's sake at least, but his warrior's heart, generally so steadfast, failed him, Instead he watched from a distance, unable to move as the sky glowed golden and red and fire seemed to leap forth from the mountaintops at the command of the song.
The gentle touch of a hand upon his shoulder made Boromir turn abruptly, but there was no one behind him. When he turned back the worshipers had already begun to disperse, and the courtyard was otherwise empty save for the guards and the White Tree – and the wind. The memory of that touch, so soft and comforting upon his shoulder, mixed with the already swirling emotions within his mind, and if he moved far faster towards the Houses than the Healers would prefer to him to so soon after his own injuries, well…they weren't there to see.
Faramir was awake when Boromir returned to his chamber and his eyes were clear for the first time since he had fallen into the river. Boromir could not contain his joy, and a brilliant smile graced his rugged features for the first time in just as many days.
"So, you have returned to us at last, little brother!" he cried.
Faramir winced at the volume of Boromir's delight. "Whatever tavern we visited to be shut up and the owner forbidden from peddling his wares," he replied with a groan and a feeble attempt to rise. "His ale could kill a horse."
Boromir moved quickly to lay a hand on his brother's shoulder and prevent him from doing further injury to himself. As he perched on the edge of the bed, his other hand came to rest upon Faramir's brow, and for one blessed moment they both looked as young as they truly were as they took comfort in each other's presence.
Faramir's eyes closed in contentment. "Dark have been my dreams of late, Boromir," he confessed wearily. "I saw. . .horrible things."
"It was but the fever," Boromir insisted firmly. "All will be well, little brother."
Faramir muttered a soft agreement, but even as sleep overtook him his features remained lined with worry. Boromir could not help but wonder if anything would ever be well again.