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Family Games (NC-17) 
Written by December19 December 2010 | 65301 words
Chapter 9. The Horse and the Falcon
Night was descending onto Ithilien.
The Rangers’ camp filled with lowered voices as men returned in twos and threes from their forays, reported to their captain and set about preparing for a well-earned repose after a full day of work. Small companies gathered around the three fires burning amid the trees, where supper was almost ready; jokes were made and news exchanged, hands were warmed and legs stretched out.
For the past fortnight the majority of the enemy activity had been falling to the southern part of the woods, and thus Faramir had moved with the better part of his warriors to a semi-permanent location some fifteen miles to the south-east of Osgiliath, near the hills of Emyn Arnen.
The captain found himself missing the particular charm of their cave at Henneth Annûn, especially the dulcet unceasing song of the ever-falling translucid veil of liquid cut-glass. But being out in the forest had its own sweetness too, especially on a clear starry evening like this, when the dusk coloured everything into creamy bluish shades of dove-grey – so that the woods appeared dreamy and surreal, and the intricate roulades of the unseen nightingales seemed a wordless echo of fairy-music wandering from the past to the present along some intricate ethereal paths.
Faramir took a deep breath of the subtly fragrant air and turned his gaze from the twilit woods to the more prosaic – and homy – sight of the camp. All the men were now back from their posts, guards appointed to keep look-out over the perimeter while the others rested, and as no alarming tidings had been brought, Faramir could now retire with a clear conscience, knowing all was well for the time being.
But just as he was about to do so, Eldir hurried over with word that a soldier on horseback was swiftly drawing near, coming from the City by the looks of it.
Mentally saying farewell to his meal, Faramir swallowed a sigh and headed in the direction the Ranger indicated, grimly speculating with himself on what urgent message was about to be delivered to him that could not have waited till morning.
The muffled sound of a light gallop reached the captain’s ears – he squinted into the gloom and could soon make out the horseman’s shape. Faramir crossed his arms, a bad feeling sinking in his stomach.
In another minute the rider swept into the small clearing in a cloud of warmth, and sweat, and neighing, and stomping. He sharply reined his mount to a standstill, so that the horse, having to make a full extra beat in its own tracks, tossed its head and let out a loud snort of displeasure and annoyance. The man, on the other hand, seemed to be greatly enjoying himself, his very posture bespeaking high spirits and overflowing energy. He gave his puffing bay a gruff pat on the neck, then yanked his hood back and looked squarely at the young captain come to receive him.
“Brother…?” Faramir could not conceal his amazement – although, on second thought, of course he should have known it was Boromir – who else would go charging through the woods at a canter at night…? But what grave tidings could have warranted this visit…?
In the next instant Faramir’s worry was appeased, however, for Boromir had jumped off, and now turned towards his younger brother with a broadest of grins upon his face. The heir made an attempt to withhold it, to feign seriousness, but failed utterly, and this time not only beamed, but laughed heartily.
“Come, Faramir! Come here. Let me see at last how you’ve grown.”
But it was rather he himself who came to Faramir, bearing his usual good-naturedly smug expression. Boromir always had the effect of attracting mass attention to himself, and Faramir felt everyone in sight turn to look at him, to look at the two of them – yet at once Boromir was the sort of man with whom it was easy to feel alone in the middle of a crowd, for his presence was so powerful, so physically magnetic it could block out everything else.
And Faramir looked his brother in the eye, smiled back and forgot there were others about.
Boromir threw his arms out, squeezed Faramir into a mighty embrace, and held him long and tight, the heady heat of Boromir’s body palpable even through all his gear and clothing. As Faramir hugged him back a little uncertainly, the young man grinned languidly to himself: this was how he remembered Boromir – big and loud, confident, overwhelming. For the first time ever they were of equal height, and Faramir was now capable of reciprocating in full measure the strength of Boromir’s hold on him, yet all the same… Years had gone by, and yet they had not…
The younger man would have grown dizzy perhaps, were it not for the shame that suddenly enveloped him just as his brother’s arms did. How could he feel so disconcerted about Boromir’s unexpected arrival? How could he stand so tense, so on guard in his embrace? Father was being overprotective, over-suspicious, taking measures against non-existent evils. Boromir was his brother, was meant to be his best and closest friend. It felt so right, so cosy to hold him and be held by him – Faramir had yearned for this moment for the past decade, and ought to savour it like the rare treasure it was.
The captain exhaled slowly, willed his nerves to relax, and pressed himself just a little harder against the reassuring warmth of his brother’s bulk.
Boromir inclined his head, and briefly pressed his nose to the side of Faramir’s neck, taking a deep breath of the younger’s scent. For one delirious sickening moment it seemed to Faramir the older man would proceed to actually kiss his skin, and he shivered – but Boromir drew back and looked at him appraisingly.
“Aye, you have grown – you are a man now,” Boromir said with a chuckle, and patted the other on the shoulder. The pat was heavy, and it lingered.
Faramir gazed into his face. Boromir was grinning broadly, but his eyes were dark and lazy, and it was hard to stop looking into them – and, vaguely realising some conscious part of him was rapidly slipping away, Faramir felt compelled to throw himself at his brother so that Boromir would once more enfold him, and Faramir could forget himself and drown in…
Suddenly Faramir was aware of all the men come to stand around them, and the notion of so many curious eyes being directed at them made another shiver run through him.
“What…” he closed his eyes for a second, desperately trying to collect himself. “What brings you here tonight, Boromir? I heard you were to go on furlough as of today…?” He stepped out of the embrace and spread his arms in question. His chest was heaving, and he felt profoundly shaken, his thoughts all tangled in a messy snarl.
Boromir grinned ironically. “I’d reckoned you’d be happy to see me.” He shrugged dismissively, forestalling Faramir’s reply. “I am on furlough, and ‘tis my choice to spend the first night of it here. I shall be gone on the morrow, of course, to report of my mission – but it wasn’t particularly remarkable, the account can wait a few hours. Now,” the man clapped his hands, “I’ve had a long day, enough chatter. Take me to the campfire, and there’d better be some supper to spare for your famished brother.”
“There is,” Faramir replied with a smile that did not appear all that carefree and happy. “Of course there is. Come.”
Wrapped in their cloaks, the two men sat side by side before the low-burning fire. The past week had been uncharacteristically cool and rainy for July, and at night both air and ground grew positively chilly, so the glowing warmth from the burning logs was a true comfort, and felt almost akin to luxury. The sour aroma of damp leaves smouldering was added to the sharp smoky smell of the crackling coals, and slightly prickled the eyes; Faramir inhaled the mix deeply, and it seemed to fill his lungs to the brim. The scent was so old, so heartsomely familiar – it reminded him of childhood, when everything was so blessedly uncomplicated, when there was an ever-present sensation of security and certainty.
The brothers had had their meal together with the other soldiers, and Faramir had then taken Boromir on a walk around the camp to give him a little guest excursion of the grounds and share updates on the Rangers’ work – and now they had come to the fire once more, presumably to rest and finally speak at leisure of things not related to their duties. The other warriors had risen politely to busy themselves elsewhere, and thus give the brothers some privacy.
The privacy, however, did not prove to facilitate the conversation.
After a good quarter of an hour without a word being spoken, Boromir finally broke the silence with a short mirthless snort.
“Just look at us,” he muttered and shook his head grimly.
“What is it?” Faramir glanced at him with concern.
Boromir shrugged and spread his hands, the man’s eyes fixed on the flames. “I can’t even talk with you anymore – I just don’t know what to say,” he uttered with a mixture of wonder and defeat in his voice. “You’d been gone for so long, and so much has happened over here meanwhile, so much I had wanted to tell you about – but now that you are actually here… Remember, when you were little, we would sometimes spend the whole night up, because we had so much to discuss, we would argue, and laugh, and dream things up – where’s all that gone to, huh…?”
Faramir inclined his head in agreement. “Aye, it does feel a little strange, after all these years… But do not let that spoil the evening for you. I am glad you are come, and I am still your brother, Boromir – a little bigger, perhaps, but otherwise not that much different; and everything our friendship used to be to me it still is. You can be at ease with me, truly – and don’t get yourself upset, there’s no obligation to talk – we can just sit here for a while, ‘tis bliss in itself.”
Boromir sighed. “Aye, so it is…”
Thus for many more long minutes they did not speak, and only watched the red and orange sway and flicker over the logs in a cadenced hypnotic dance.
Then, still not taking his thoughtful gaze from the flames, Boromir eased his collar and stuck his hand down, searching on the left side of his chest.
“Look what I have,” he said with a grin, bringing his clutched hand out and opening the palm for Faramir to see.
Faramir made a sound of amused surprise. “Why! Could this be my little horse?”
“Aye, ‘tis the one. You made it for me shortly before leaving for Dol Amroth, remember?” Boromir’s grin became both gentle and sad, and he kept his eyes on the little wooden figure in his hand, not his brother’s face, as he spoke. “Look how good you were with your hands, already back then. You were only eleven when you carved this, and it’s such a fine piece. There used to be fine little details, too, like the curls in its mane, but they rubbed away with time…” He flipped the horse over, stroked the back of its neck with his fingertip, then sighed and closed his fingers over it.
“I cannot believe you kept it,” Faramir said quietly. He had intended for his voice to sound just a tad playful, to lighten up Boromir’s sudden gloominess, but it did not have the desired effect: Boromir frowned and glanced at him in reproach.
“But of course I did, why in the name of the Valar would I not? When Father sent you away, all your belongings were taken too. I’d come to your room, and it would be stripped bare – there was nothing left. Nothing. Not even the carpet you used to sit on when you carved your toys. Only the naked walls and the empty frame of your bed, as though no one had ever lived there. Ever.”
The man’s face was stern and hard, and looking at him Faramir heaved a silent sigh. He may have been parted from his older brother for many years, but he had always known how to read Boromir, and now he saw not so much the bitterness and resentment the man’s expression suggested, but rather a deep, bleeding hurt it was meant to conceal. Faramir knew the cause, and knew Boromir knew it too, and knew they would not voice it.
Distrust. Their father’s distrust – and everything that was lost because of it, and everything that would never be because of it.
“So of course I kept your gift,” Boromir said after a while, his voice somewhat hoarse, “as the only proof you truly existed – I wasn’t even allowed to talk of you, you know… And I’d often look at it and wonder why it was you made a horse for me, not anything else. I mean, I’d never been all that mad about horses, and you knew that, and yet… You were probably trying to say something to me, but I don’t reckon you’d remember now…”
There was a questioning note in his tone, and he looked up at Faramir searchingly.
Faramir shrugged and gave him an apologetic smile.
For goodness’ sake, Boromir. I was eleven, it was a completely random thing. It could have, indeed, been absolutely anything else.
But he did not say as much, of course.
“I’m glad you kept it,” he murmured instead, and reached to pat his brother’s clenched hand.
Boromir gazed into Faramir’s face for a long quiet moment, the older man’s eyes intense and alight with some gentle emotion.
“Here, you should have it,” he stated with sudden decisiveness and offered the figure to his younger brother.
Faramir stared at him with eyes agaze. “No. Why?”
Boromir laughed awkwardly, but did not call back his offer, his hand still open and stretched toward Faramir.
“I think it should be so,” he said firmly. “I’ve had it all these years, and it’s grown to be truly special to me. You know, Faramir, I’m a warrior: I’m superstitious, I believe in good luck charms. And seeing as I can’t make you anything with my own hands… This here is my one special thing, one I think could work as a talisman for you. So I want to give it to you.”
Faramir smiled softly. “No, it should stay yours.” He covered Boromir’s hand with his own, closing the older man’s fingers over the horse, and squeezed it affectionately. “I mean it.”
Boromir grinned wearily and lowered his head so that his dark locks hid his face. “Aye, I suppose that’s prudent. I’ve been carrying it next to my skin all this time, it’s probably been soaked through with my sweat. Not a nice thing to get as a gift.”
The younger man could not suppress a laugh. “Boromir, stop being silly. I’m not a lady, I wouldn’t mind your sweat, ‘tis simply that –”
But he did not finish his sentence, for in that moment Boromir looked up at him, and for some reason Faramir felt himself blush fiercely under his brother’s gaze, and trailed off.
Dropping his eyes, Boromir shook his head and made a strange sound, something between a laugh and a cough.
“Actually,” he began with unnatural peppiness, “I had long since had something prepared for you. I’d reckoned Father wouldn’t keep you away forever – I mean, how unseemly would that look? – so I figured you’d return one day, and then I’d have something for you. I’d been meaning to give you my peregrine…”
“Your peregrine?” Faramir raised his brows. “I didn’t know you had a falcon.”
“Oh, I do, and it’s a fine one,” Boromir assured him with great enthusiasm. “I’ve had him for a few years now, so he’s all trained and ready – I didn’t get to see much of him since I was promoted to Captain last spring, though, but I have a very good man look after him, to make sure he stays in shape. Seriously, Faramir, he’s one of the best birds I’ve seen. Perhaps he doesn’t look that impressive, he’s of this smallish low-key variety, but you shouldn’t let that fool you. He’s stronger than you’d think, and he’s fierce, and loyal, and such great fun!”
Boromir talked quite a bit more about his falcon, and so animated and passionate he sounded that Faramir had never found the heart to confess he was not keen for hunting at all and the gift would be wasted on him. And in any case he did not pay all that much attention to what exactly Boromir was saying, for the younger man sensed that the lengthy praise for the bird was mainly a distraction from something far more weighty that was on his brother’s mind.
“Yes,” Boromir nodded to himself, “He’s wonderful, only…”
“What?”
“I reckoned now that you’re Captain also, you wouldn’t have time for him either,” Boromir grinned without cheer.
Faramir sighed. “No, I don’t think I would, all I get is two-three days every three months, and most of that time I just sleep,” he laughed warmly, to show he in no way meant to complain. Then his mirth abruptly evaporated. “Wait, you… you don’t deem it unjust, do you – that I’m here, in your place?”
Boromir looked at him seriously. “I did at first,” he admitted frankly. “Not to me – I thought it was unjust to you, to throw this task onto you like so… If you ask me, it would have done no harm if you were given some time to adjust, to grow into it gradually, and…” he made a vague gesture. “‘Tis not good when such major changes come like a bolt out of the blue.”
“Really?” Faramir asked in great amusement. “Truth be told, I would not have expected you to voice a preference for hasteless patience regarding these matters.”
Boromir shrugged. “Well, why not? All right, I am aware I am known for a man whose temper is hot enough to scorch with – and most of the time the description applies quite well, ‘tis true. But that doesn’t mean I’m unreasonable in my expectations, Faramir – I know this was your first real experience in the field, and that is always hard. So like I said, giving you a little time wouldn’t have hurt anyone,” he frowned so sternly Faramir perceived his brother had given the subject a great many hours of tristful rumination. “But all that is no longer of much relevance,” Boromir went on in a brighter tone, “because now,” he looked around the camp meaningfully and spread his arms, as though to say the situation was self-explanatory. “I’ve been here all evening, had a word with each of your men – and not one of them had asked me whether I’ve come to replace you. What could be more telling than that? Whether you did or not back then, now you do deserve this place, and I am glad for you.”
Faramir leant in and squeezed Boromir’s hand tightly. “Thank you,” he said with great affection. “I always knew you wouldn’t take it personally, but I’m relieved to actually hear you say as much.”
Boromir grinned and covered Faramir’s hand with his own, and held it tight between both of his. “Everything’s all right,” he said reassuringly, and his voice was low and deeply warm. “You don’t need to worry that I’d ever think poorly of you.”
“All right,” Faramir grinned back. “And you don’t need to worry about giving me presents, I don’t require any material proof to know that you care.”
“Well, perhaps just a little proof,” Boromir mused enigmatically, but immediately afterwards shrugged and chuckled in a dismissive manner, as though to say the remark had no substantial meaning. Nevertheless, Faramir instantly grew ill at ease, and became painfully aware of Boromir’s thumb slowly caressing the back of his palm.
The younger man felt hot all over and generally uncomfortable. He frowned, cleared his throat, made to say something – but could think of nothing.
“Do you know,” Boromir mused thoughtfully, and clasped the other’s hand just a bit tighter, “I’ve said I couldn’t think of any story to share, but now something has come to mind. Do you know, some three years after you left, I ran away.”
Faramir blinked, quite certain he had not heard correctly. “You… what?”
“I did – I just could not take it anymore,” Boromir snorted, as though he himself did not quite believe his own words. “I meant to come over and see you, just for a little while. Back then it seemed like the sensible thing to do – don’t judge harshly: mind you, I was eighteen,” he made another snort. “I was caught, of course, hardly made a hundred miles. Ah, you should have seen Father’s face when I was brought back – and you would be surprised to know how much strength he still had in those arms – goodness, it was savage…” this time Boromir laughed heartily and shook his head. “Just to think of how foolish I used to be back then…”
“Oh, Father thinks you still are,” Faramir said before he knew it.
All cheeriness left Boromir at once, and he stared at his younger brother.
“I… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that,” Faramir mumbled in utter confusion. He had never been the sort of man whose tongue was quicker than his wit, and he could not understand how he could have just voiced something he had not even taken into consideration a second ago.
Boromir tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. “Father talked to you of me?” he asked very quietly.
Faramir sighed and nodded.“Well, what do you know, he also talked to me of you,” Boromir announced with an acrimonious smirk. “But I’ll tell you what,” the man added with sudden passion, “I didn’t believe a word of what he said: I know you’re a good man – and I want you to believe that so am I.”
“I never doubted that,” Faramir assured him just as passionately, and looked searchingly into his brother’s grey eyes, trying to see there signs of he did not know what.
“Good,” Boromir patted his hand, but appeared troubled rather than pleased or relieved.
It seemed to Faramir he would say more – and if he had, perhaps everything would have turned out differently – but Boromir only chewed on his lip, let out a long sigh and, letting go of the other’s hand, rose heavily to his feet.
“‘Tis late, and you have to awake early on the morrow,” he uttered with forced casualness. “I’ll go find a spot for myself now…” Boromir paused in hesitance, as though considering sitting back down, but then added, “Sleep well.”
He leant in and, laying his palm on Faramir’s shoulder, pressed his lips to his brother’s brow. “Sleep well…”
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Wow, December, I did hope that my request would go to you, I know you write so well… but I never expected to get an eighteen-chapter story! And how will I find the time to read it all, now?
Well, thank you so much, I’m sure I’ll love it, and I’ll start reading at once; but you might have to wait a bit for a full commentary…
— Nerey Camille Sunday 19 December 2010, 13:50 #