Disclaimer: LOTR belongs to the creative genius of JRR Tolkien, not me.

From the Shadows

Chapter 5.

“Faramir is a fine archer,” Haldir said with a nod in the direction of the clearing where an archery contest of sorts was being held between Faramir, Rumil and Orophin. Faramir had spent the morning with Haldir’s brothers learning how to fletch arrows in the Lothlórien manner, and engaging in a debate as to the varying prowess of Elves and Men when it came to archery.

When the debate became a little heated, Boromir, who had been resting in the shade of one of the trees, had suggested a contest to resolve the friendly rivalry. He knew that Faramir was not so conceited as to believe he would win, but judging by the almost childish delight in his smile, he also knew his little brother would certainly enjoy the challenge.

“One of the best,” agreed Boromir, indicating for Haldir to join him while they watched their brothers. It was good to see Faramir with laughter in his eyes, all his cares briefly forgotten in a moment that shone like the sun before it disappeared behind the gloom of grey storm clouds.

“He expects you to return with him to your city.” Haldir observed.

“I know, but I can not. You know my reasons better than any other,” Boromir replied. “I am not fully healed in body or mind and if I cannot be healed by the power of the Elves, then what chance is there for me among Men?” Boromir almost laughed at the irony of this question, he was espousing the very ideals he had accused Aragorn of adhering to… that Elves were somehow better than Men. It was a dishonourable thought. Almost treason to some, but then had not Boromir become just that when he tried to take the Ring… a traitor to all he held dear.

“There is only one,” Haldir’s response was spoken with such reassurance that Boromir wondered what the Elf was not saying.

“What do you mean?” he asked, not really expecting an answer especially since Haldir was already standing as if to leave.

“You feel as if your days are numbered, and they are but not perhaps in the way you believe, my friend. I see a messenger has arrived from Lothlórien.” The Elf replied disappearing swiftly and silently into the trees.

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Rasing a shower of sparks the burning log collapsed into the embers, the sharp crackling of the renewed flames a comforting sound for most, but not for Faramir. That particular sound was part of his worst nightmares. “No!” Faramir shouted as he struggled to rouse from his troubled sleep. Heart beating wildly, and feeling slightly disoriented, he sat up and glanced around, relief washing over him when he realised he was in no danger. How could he be when he was in a glade protected by Elves and with Boromir sleeping nearby?

But who was looking out for whom? Faramir wondered as he pulled his blanket closer around a body shivering with either shock or cold, or perhaps a little of both. His eyes remained locked on Boromir who was still sleeping soundly, and a frown of concern creased his brow. . His younger brother’s anguished shout should have been enough to have Boromir wide-awake, sword at the ready to defend them both. Even when he had had a few too many tankards of ale, the soldier in Boromir had always seemed to be on alert, a necessary survival skill that as a ranger Faramir had also learned

Such was not the case this time, his physical weariness ensured that Boromir was oblivious to anything but the need for rest, and he had not moved from the position in which he had fallen asleep the night before. Of course, that he had done so as soon as the evening meal they shared with Haldir and his brothers had ended, only served to confirm Boromir’s ill health.

As did the bedroll and spare blankets that were at hand, and the affirmation in Haldir’s sad smile when he caught Faramir’s eye that spoke eloquently of the fact that this was not an unusual occurrence. The second bedroll Haldir produced indicated that the Elf understood that Faramir would wish to remain close to his brother rather than retire to the comfort of the talan. And he had indeed done so, but had been far too restless to sleep, his mind seeking an argument that would convince Boromir how much he was wanted and needed in their city, not only by Faramir, but also their King.

Boromir was no fool and knew he was well loved for his fair and just treatment of the ordinary folk throughout Gondor and that that he would remain so were he to return. He was also respected and trusted by the guards, his soldiers and those he needed to treat with, and the King he was to serve, although at present Faramir knew his brother would vehemently deny the latter. His stubbornness to believe otherwise and his perceived loss of honour would be difficult to overcome.

As would the way Boromir now saw himself as only a soldier and a broken one at that. Faramir needed to remind him that not all battles were fought and won in the field. Possessing the ability to skilfully wield words rather than a sword was often of more value in the courts of power. Boromir could do both equally well It was he who had been trained to follow in his father’s wake, to become Steward on Denethor’s passing. Their new King would certainly appreciate such assistance. The argument was sound, and was certainly the approach he needed to take, but would it be enough, Faramir wondered as he lay there simply staring into the slowly dying fire until he finally drifted back into uneasy sleep.

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In the few days that had passed, Faramir had fully recovered from his head wound, and could manage to walk with only a slight limp, and he knew it was time for him to leave. He had tried on several occasions to convince Boromir to return with him to Minas Tirith, but to no avail. Faramir had tried not to let his disappointment show, or the hurt caused by the distance he was beginning to feel stretching between them.

Of course Boromir wanted nothing more than to return to his beloved city, his friends and his soldiers, but he simply was unable to reconcile the dishonourable, broken man he felt he had become with the proud, beloved son of the Steward who had left so long ago.

“Faramir, I have already explained why I can not return, please do me the courtesy of accepting my wishes in this matter. If you can find nothing else to discuss with me, then perhaps we should not speak again!” Boromir had said before he angrily stormed off, leaving Faramir to stare in disbelief at the thinly veiled threat that stabbed directly into his heart.

Boromir had the advantage of having lived in this part of the woods for some time, but Faramir’s tracking skills soon lead him to a small clearing and a sight he would not soon forget. Boromir had stripped down to his undershirt and leggings, sweating profusely and breathing heavily as, sword in hand, he tried to pick up his shield, but it was far too heavy for an arm that no longer had any strength, and he cast it aside with a growl of frustration.

He then attempted to work through his usual practice routine and although Faramir recognised each stroke of the blade, instead of seeing the precise, smoothly executed movements of the expert swordsman his brother was, the man before him moved like a novice. Boromir’s mind instinctively knew what to do, but his weakness and his shortness of breath would not allow his body to follow through. Had he been in battle, he would have already been dead, Faramir thought grimly. In the blindness of his own joy at finding his brother alive, he had not seen Boromir as he was now until it was almost too late.

“Do you understand my shame, now, Faramir?” Boromir hissed angrily when he saw his brother approach. “’Tis not enough that my mind betrayed me, but I have to endure this as well.” He said with a helpless shrug.

“Forgive me, I spoke only out of love for you, my brother,” Faramir said giving his brother an affectionate hug. “The last thing I want to do is part on poor terms with you. I had no idea how much you were really suffering, but Boromir, please listen to me this last time and then I will say no more,” He all but begged, suddenly realising how he could help his brother, the solution was obvious and he wondered that he had not thought of it sooner.

“I am sorry, too, Faramir, for many things,” Boromir replied, returning the hug and placing a soft kiss on his brother’s brow for good measure. “Go on, say what have you to say.”

“I do not fully recall how badly injured I was, but I do know that I am here now only because of the healing power that Aragorn possesses. I know you think ‘tis only an old wife’s tale, but the King does have the power to reach into the darkness and bring you back, to heal your wounds. Please come back and let him try?” Hope flared briefly in Boromir’s eyes, he had indeed heard of the healing hands only the true King possessed.

“You say he healed you?” Had this been any one but Faramir, he night have suspected a lie, but there had never been anything but total, and sometimes painful, honesty between the two brothers. As much as he knew Faramir wanted him to return to Minas Tirith, Boromir knew his brother would not use dishonesty to convince him to agree.

“Of all but the darkest memories, but in time they will fade, especially if you are there when I need you.” The words could have been misunderstood as emotional blackmail, but in his heart Boromir knew that the emotions behind them were nothing but sincere. Faramir really needed him, and truth be told, he needed his brother as well.

“Then I would be a fool not to accept his help, would I not?” Faramir almost let out a victory cheer, but Boromir’s countenance was still troubled and he sensed that all was not yet resolved.

“The you will come home?” Faramir’s heart sang with joy that was shattered by the tears in his eyes when he saw Boromir hesitate for only a heart beat before he shook his head.

“Nay, but I would have you bring Aragorn here.”