Chapter 3

“Boromir…wait.” Haldir called when he saw the man rise from his seat and walk swiftly towards the door, his intent obvious. He reached out and halted his progress with a firm, yet gentle hand on his arm. “Your brother will be asleep for some hours yet.”

“I know, I have tasted your sleeping draught more than once,” Boromir said with a smile of gratitude for the care that ha d been taken of him during his own long recovery. “And I know I agreed to wait to see him until he has had a chance to regain his strength, but my patience is at an end. I have missed him too much to keep away any longer.”

Haldir sensed the strong ties of brotherly love emanating from his friend, a bond that was no different to the one that linked him with his own siblings. The Elf smiled and nodded his understanding of the man’s need to be at his injured and grieving brother’s side. He would have insisted on doing likewise had it been either Rumil or Orophin lying wounded and believing him to be dead.

“As you wish, but remember that he is may still be confused and disoriented from the blow to his head. I am concerned with how he will react to seeing you sitting alive and well at his bedside when he awakens. Such unexpected news will undoubtedly come as quite a shock, albeit a welcome one.”

Boromir nodded, accepting the words of warning spoken with compassion and made his way to the talan where his brother was to be found. Faramir would certainly be surprised, but knowing his brother as he did, Boromir was certain he would be faced with a very angry response as well. And understandably so for being allowed to grieve unnecessarily for so long, Boromir told himself feeling guilty for the deception yet hoping that Faramir would forgive him when they had a chance to talk.

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Unlike the Elves, who moved among the tree tops as easily as if they were walking on the forest floor, Boromir had to make use of the rope ladders and by the time he stood before the Faramir’s door, he was breathing heavily and felt slight twinges of pain in his chest across the newly healed scars of his arrow wounds. Boromir waited a few moments until he caught his breath and then quietly opened the door to a sight reminiscent of the Healing Houses of their city. Faramir, dressed in a borrowed nightshirt was sleeping peacefully in the bed, his handsome face covered in bruises and scratches and his right foot bandaged and propped up on a pillow.

The life of a soldier or a ranger was fraught with danger and the chance of injury, and on more than one occasion Boromir had had cause to beg the Healers to allow him to spend the night at his brother’s side. Faramir had always been granted the same privilege when Boromir failed to avoid a sword stroke or a stray arrow because the closeness the brothers shared, that endeared them to all, was well known throughout Minas Tirith.

“I have missed you, little brother,” Boromir whispered softly as he stood looking down at the face of the man who had been constantly in his thoughts and his dreams during his long recovery. More than once he had suffered terrible nightmares about his ordeal whilst under the evil influence of the ring and the almost fatal attack at Amon Hen, and it was only the sense of Faramir’s steady presence and love that he could somehow always feel that kept him from falling into despair. As if he sensed the same need now, Faramir struggled to rouse himself.

“Boromir?” the younger man managed to whisper hoarsely, his eyes widened in disbelief and his heart racing wildly with elation and hope that the figure standing at his side was indeed who he appeared to be, and not merely an apparition. He blinked several times as if to remove the remnant of what was obviously a dream induced by the elvish sleeping draught.

“You are not real,” Faramir sighed sadly at the cruel twist of fate that was now haunting his waking hours. The agony he heard in the strangled whisper was enough to bring tears to Boromir’s eyes and a lump to his throat. Taking his brother’s hand and in his own he held them together against his heart so that Faramir could feel the life in him.

“Are you so sure, little brother?” Boromir asked, leaning across the bed to brush a stray lock of hair from Faramir’s brow and place a brotherly kiss on the bruise. “To make it better,” he said tenderly, just as their mother had often done long ago when one of her young sons was wounded.

“You sound just like mother,” Faramir stated, fondly recalling the shared memory, his eyes drinking in the sight of the well known face he thought never to see again, the lines of concern softened with the affection that Boromir always displayed toward his younger brother.

Boromir held Faramir’s gaze, and for a few moments it was as if time stood still, then overwhelmed by joy and relief at being reunited, they fell into each other’s arms, hugging fiercely, laughing and crying on ach other’s shoulders, saying each other’s names over and over again as their hearts poured out their grief until Faramir suddenly pushed Boromir away, the darker reality of finding him alive surfacing in his thoughts.

“How dare you let me …of all people… believe you were dead! Do you have any idea how much pain and suffering you caused both Father and I?” he asked shaking with anger as the pain of recent unpleasant memories flooded his mind.

“I know you both must have been grief stricken, and for that I beg your forgiveness. I have not been myself for a very long time and was not well enough to take my place as leader of our armies,” Boromir replied, totally unaware of Denethor’s actions and his subsequent death.

“You could have sent word to me, trusted me to keep my silence if that is what you needed me to do,” Faramir stated accusingly. “I needed you so badly when…” his words trailed off and it was some time before he could speak. Boromir’s face paled with a mixture of shock and anguish and tears filled his eyes when Faramir finally found the courage to tell him about their Father’s last days.

“Am I really to blame for all that transpired since my death? " Boromir asked bitterly, turning away from Faramir, his shoulders slumped in despair, and feeling as if he was in a waking nightmare. Lost and dejected, Boromir made to leave, taking his grief and guilt with him, but stopped when his brother spoke, with tenderness rather than rage.

“Please do not leave. Come and sit here.” Faramir moved tiredly to one side of the bed and patted the vacant spot once or twice in invitation as his heart when out to the one who had been unwillingly seduced by Sauron’s power. “I find it difficult to forgive your silence, but do not burden yourself with misplaced guilt Boromir, ‘twas Isildur’s bane and its evil master who were truly at fault.” He moved to sit where Faramir indicated and placed an arm around his shoulders.

“Thank you little brother. I think you need to rest some more, you look exhausted,” Boromir replied noting with concern Faramir’s now shallow breathing, flushed cheeks, drooping eyelids and lethargic movements.

”I am weary,” Faramir admitted as he settled comfortably against Boromir’s chest. “but my mind is in such turmoil with so many unanswered questions that I will not be able to you sleep until I have some answers.”

“Then ask your questions, and perhaps my answers will ease your mind.” Touched by his brother’s love and compassion, Faramir sighed softly.

“How is it that you are now alive and well when Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli saw you die?” he asked, still wracked with pain at the thought of his brother’s death even though he could feel Boromir’s heart beat and hear him breathing.

Boromir nodded, fully expecting this to be the one thing Faramir would wish to know above all else. He could scarcely believe the tale himself, but he did his best to relate what he had learnt to Faramir.

Choosing to start at the beginning so as to give Faramir a better understanding of the strange situation, Boromir spoke first of his steadily increasing unease the longer he travelled with the Fellowship, how despite being assured that only one could call on the ring’s power, he had held to his stubborn belief that it should be taken to Minas Tirith where it could be used as a weapon against the Dark Lord. The desire to do so became stronger every day but he kept it well hidden behind his stubborn pride and his sense of honour, No one suspected just how deep and dark his thoughts were becoming until the travellers entered Lothlórien, and Galadriel saw into his heart.

In his mind it seemed that Aragorn displayed little faith in men by avoiding his responsibilities as the last of the line of kings and by the time they reached Parth Galen he was convinced that if Frodo would not give him the ring, then he had every right to take it and, for the good of Gondor, to stake a claim to the throne in Aragorn’s place.

When his attempt to take the ring failed he realised that he had betrayed not only Frodo‘s trust, but also his own sense of honour and had felt nothing but remorse and shame, finally finding redemption in giving his life to protect Merry and Pippin. Three black arrows in the chest should have been more than enough to end his days, and for a time it seemed they had, he recalled.

“I felt my life ebbing away as my blood flowed freely from my wounds and I was certain only death awaited me until I had this strange vision. I saw Amon Hen as it once was in its glory days, its power seemingly awakened by the presence of the ring and Isildur’s heir. Faramir, I felt as if I was walking among the Númenóreans who once dwelt here and heard their faceless voices calling my spirit to a place free from Sauron’s influence. They helped to save me from my own weakness.” It made a certain kind of sense to Faramir who had experienced some very strange sensations since he arrived.

“So your spirit was not lost although your body appeared to be dead when Aragorn reached you? How is it that you are alive now?” Faramir asked seeking clarification.

“Leaving my lifeless body behind, there remained the faintest heart beat that Haldir tells me even elvish ears would not have heard,” Boromir told him. “I am still alive because when I tried to follow the voices further, they grew softer and others much sweeter and more compelling replaced them. I followed them back only to find Aragorn and the others grieving at my loss as they sent my funeral boat over the Falls.”

“This forest is indeed filled with ghosts of the past, I have heard them myself, have felt them watching over me,” he admitted.

“I am sure they are still even now, there are some powerful forces at work in this place,” Boromir observed sharing an affectionate smile with his brother.

“So when did your spirit rejoin your body?” Faramir asked, not bothered by the unusual nature of the question, just by the fact that he was still a little unclear on the subject.

“At the bottom of the Falls. That was where Haldir and his brothers had been sent to wait by their Lady Galadriel. I was barely alive, unconscious and still suffering from my wounds when they rescued me and brought me to their little haven to be healed.”

“I have met the Lady and have heard of her ability to foresee the future, but cannot help but wonder why she went to the trouble to save you,” Faramir mused out loud. The words sounded callous but Boromir understood that was not his brother’s intention and took no offence.

“I asked Haldir the same question and he told me that she was pleased to take the chance to exact a little revenge on Sauron. Being a ring bearer herself, she could do nothing to sway his influence over me in Lothlórien. Nor could she do anything that would change the path that was meant to be followed to ensure the destruction of the ring, sadly including my betrayal of Frodo, Father’s attack on you and his death. It was within her power, however, to seek assistance in preventing my death from those who were once faithful allies with the Elves.”

“The ghosts of our ancestors who still linger here.” Faramir correctly surmised, silently telling himself that the memory he had of Boromir floating downstream in the funeral boat that crossed his mind was just a waking dream.

“Aye, they called me away so that Aragorn and the others would not delay their hunt for Merry and Pippin by tending my wounds. I have not been able to travel far until recently and would have been nothing but a burden. Aragorn might even have insisted on taking me back to Minas Tirith before he continued his search and that could not be allowed to happen according to Haldir who, I suspect, knows much more about recent events than he is willing to say. Elves are indeed both fascinating and frustrating at times, but were it not for their sweet voices calling me back, I would indeed be dead.”

“I will be certain to tell Haldir how grateful I am for giving you back to me and Gondor. You have been sorely missed and I find that I am already looking forward to your homecoming banquet, “ Faramir said, yawning and closing his eyes as he hugged his brother close. He did not see the shadow of sadness that passed over Boromir’s brow, nor the single tear that traced a path down his face.

How could he tell Faramir that there would be no one to welcome home?