". . .and once to me. In that dream I thought the eastern sky grew dark and there was a growing thunder, but in the West a pale light lingered, and out of it I heard a voice, remote but clear, crying:
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."
"It's alright, Boromir, it's alright. I am here, brother, all is well."
Faramir's voice was gentle and comforting, as were the hands that soothed his feverish brow. Boromir realized with no small amount of embarrassment that his hands were clinging to his brother's shirt with the force of desperation, but found himself unable or unwilling to remove himself from the comfort of Faramir's embrace. His gaze landed upon the flame of the candle Faramir had laid upon the bedside table when he had run into Boromir's room, and as he fixated upon the flickering light Boromir felt his breathing ease and his heart cease its terrifying race.
"What did I see?" he demanded, and was surprised to find he hardly recognized his own voice, so harsh and strained was it.
"Wise beyond my years I might be, but clairvoyant I am not," Faramir teased softly as he helped Boromir settle back into the comfort of his couch. "Tell me what you saw, Boromir." His brother's voice was soft and reassuring, but it was edged with an urgency that would suffer no argument.
Boromir related his dream to his brother, the details of which seemed to be seared into his thoughts. He could recall with vivid clarity every word spoken by that mysterious voice, every turn of the light, every echoing crash of thunder. As he spoke it seemed as though he were reliving the dream, and he felt once more the swirling terror that had caused him to cry out in fear. But this time, Faramir was there, solid and stalwart and smiling . . . smiling?
"I am not belittling you, Boromir," Faramir replied to his protests. "I am only relieved to learn that you were right – apparently, I am not losing my wits after all. For no madman shares his exact delusions with another, and your dream matches in all respects the one that has haunted me these long months."
"What do we do?"
Faramir looked reflective, and after a long moment sighed deeply. "I see no other course but that we must ask Father for guidance. I have spent many days hunting through the archives in search of guidance, and wish dearly that Mithrandir was here to offer his wisdom. But he had important business to see to in the North, and there is none other more well versed here in ancient lore than the Steward."
"I will ask him," Boromir insisted. Though it grieved him to admit, if Faramir went to their father with such a tale, Denethor would likely pay it little heed. It was only a source of further grief how quickly Faramir assented to his scheme. How much he wished it were otherwise.