Prologue: It Has Begun
IMPORTANT: So, this originally was something different, the same story line, but I am rewriting it. Making it better, and also changing things that I dont want up. I have a tendency to write things that are a little bit dark. But the problem is I think I may write it a bit too dark, so I am changing this. Be, I like this idea better . It is not finished, but I actually have a out line, so it is moving forward. I hope people enjoy this. I do not own any of the characters, or places. There are really no warnings for this chapter, and there will be no abuse. I am sorry for putting up what I did, and with God's help, I will work on making my work more honoring to him. To God Be The Glory.
Boromir slipped wearily into his tent, the weight of the recent deaths on his mind. Earlier that day there was a skirmish with the enemy, orcs, that were making their way to Moria. He could still hear the cries of pain from his solders as they fell under the blades of the filthy beasts. And worse, the grave silence after the battle, as the solders walked through the battle field, searching for friends among the dead. The remaining solders gathered their own together, after digging graves, and gently placed them in. After a moment of silence, Boromir stepped forward, raising his head high. "These men have given their all for the cause, we will continue to carry the cause, we must keep fighting. We must not let them be forgotten." The soldiers then had gathered the bodies of the enemies in a pile, and set fire to it. Boromir remembered leading the reaming soldiers back to the camp, and sitting by the fire till the supper was finished. After splashing his face with water, he lay on the cot, keeping a hand on his knife, and closed his eyes, letting himself sink into the oblivion of sleep.
The first thing that Boromir noticed as he slid into a dream, was how real it seamed. It was almost as if the eldest son of the Steward of Gondor was really standing on the flat dark plain of earth. The second thing he noticed was the darkness. It surrounded him, clinging to him with a thick cloying sensation. Boromir turned around in a circle, and as he faced what he instinctively knew was the West, he saw a light, dim but still somehow brightening the land. There was a sudden sound from behind him, and he spun. Not seeing anything he slowly reached for his sword, only to belatedly realize that he didn't have it on. The sound came again, and this time there was a voice coming from the West. Boromir spun around again, and searched. He saw nothing, but his ears caught the sound of a voice, that was from far away, but still clear.
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."
Boromir stood in silence for a moment, then with a sudden jolt, he woke up. His heart pounding, and mouth dry. He stumbled to his feet, and took a drink of water, cupping it in his hands. After soothing his thirst, he sank onto his cot, leaning forwards, and putting his head in his hands. No wonder his brother, Faramir, had acted the way he did when he woke from the vision. The same vision that he just had. Had no idea what the vision meant, but surely the fact that both his brother, and him, got the same vision meant something.
He would need to tell his brother, perhaps he had gathered more information about the dream. He may have even asked of their father the meaning, though he doubted that. His father was hard on his little brother, even when he was much younger. But lately he was especially hard on Faramir, treating him as if he had no worth. He knew, from asking his father when he was much younger, that his father treated him in the way he did, so that if his younger son died, it wouldn't kill him with his grief. Boromir remembered that it had started right after the Indecent. But now, Boromir didn't know what had happened, but his father was now turning all his grief and pain in his life onto Faramir, in the form of anger.
With a sigh he swung his feet onto the cot, and lay down, laying a arm over his eyes, and after gripping his knife hilt, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.