Faramir Fiction Archive

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Written by arahiril

19 January 2008 | 3288 words

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Summary: Faramir and Boromir return home. Denethor welcomes them in his usual way.
Disclaimer: Faramir, etc. are not mine.
A/N: The three chapters are Faramir’s, Boromir’s, and Denethor’s perspectives on the same event, respectively.

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Faramir

A broad smile was on both of the brother’s faces as the doors to the White Hall opened for them and then closed behind them. The sound of cheering could still be heard in the background, but it was dulled by the thick walls of the Citadel.

Denethor did not sit on his throne, but walked forward, beaming, until he stood before his two sons. “Boromir and Faramir reporting for duty, my lord,” Boromir said happily, all memory of the last evil weeks in captivity gone, as the two brothers kneeled before their lord and father.

“Great joy it gives me to greet you again, my son,” Denethor replied, and he brought Boromir to his feet. Faramir followed suit, unsure if he should continue to kneel or rise.

And then it happened. Denethor embraced his elder son tightly, whispering happy phrases into his ears, and Boromir grasped his father just as tightly, clinging on to Denethor, seeking support and love and compassion. The Haradrim were brutal captors, and to hold both the sons of Denethor in their cruel hands – they had not been merciful. Boromir craved comfort and stability, and Denethor was more than happy to provide such necessities.

Faramir watched them, the smile still plastered on his face, but the meaning and joy behind it gone, disappeared even as the other men’s smiles grew wider. Could he not spare him one glance? Tell him that he too was welcomed home? The Haradrim did more than hurt them with their swords and their irons – they too know of the relationship between the younger son and his father, and used that to their advantage to hurt the brothers.

And had he not served his father well? They received no information from his lips: no knowledge of Gondor’s defenses, no locations of Ranger hideouts, no strategies of war. And it was he who had planned and executed their escape, he who had saved his brother’s life, he who had sacrificed his own health for the sake of distraction. Even now his arm was in a sling to ensure that his shoulder was not injured further. Perhaps it was arrogance, perhaps it was pride, but he knew that he had done well. And it would have meant everything to him for Denethor to acknowledge that.

He watched them, silent, still, until at last the embrace was broken, and Denethor turned to him. The smile remained on his face, and there were tears in his eyes. Faramir’s smile suddenly regained its meaning, as Denethor spoke his name with such – such joy. Kneeling once more, Faramir was raised up to his feet by his father, and he could practically feel the love shining from his own eyes into his father’s. And Denethor bent his son’s head forward, and kissed him on the forehead, and then released his hold on Faramir.

When Faramir lifted his head, the smile was gone. He could not even maintain the falseness of his own smile. Denethor wrapped his one arm around Boromir, and took the hand of Faramir that was not in the sling, and sighed happily. “My sons,” he said, “I am overjoyed to see you both safe and well here once more.”

Squeezing Boromir harder again, he continued. “Come, sup with me, and we will speak of these last few weeks.” Boromir nodded eagerly at his father, and both men then looked at Faramir.

His eyes were dead – dull, devoid of any feeling. Faramir could see the confusion on both men’s face at his sudden fall into depression, but… it meant nothing. He slipped his hand out of his father’s, and spoke quietly, heavily. “If you will forgive me, Father, my shoulder troubles me, and I had hoped to see the Healers so that I can return to active duty as quickly as possible.”

Boromir looked at him for a moment, for he had never mentioned the wound before. Denethor showed some concern in his eyes, but more consternation at the interruption of his planned celebrations. But Faramir did not care. The room had become stifling, hot, the air thick with unhappiness and pain. He turned his flat eyes to his father, waiting for a response.

“Yes, of course, Faramir. I hope you find the healing you seek.”

Silently, he laughed without mirth. Then he bowed to his father and brother, and left the Hall. The air was pure and crisp, slightly chilly. But it was the cold of his heart that sent shivers down his spine. The far green forests of Ithilien, of his home, were barely visible from where he stood, but he could still see them.

The longing of his heart to be under the trees, away from this cold stone, was almost overpowering, and he could feel his chest constrict as he thought of the smell of the forest, the taste of the fresh streams, the brightness of the sun, the feel of the damp stone he slept on, the sound of the birds during the summer.

Was it wrong that he pledged his allegiance not to his father, not to Minas Tirith, but to the Rangers who had become the only family to him?

Desire to be with them, to be with those who cared for him, overwhelmed him, and he cried out to Ithilien to come and rescue him and take him home.

Boromir

It was a puzzled Boromir who watched Faramir leave the White Hall. The sudden change in his brother’s behavior was strange, almost disturbing. He had been so happy to return home – and now he was complaining of a painful wound (which in itself was a rarity, for Faramir never complained of anything) and leaving their happy reunion with their father with what almost looked like anger on his face. Those deadly eyes of his…

He couldn’t understand Faramir’s change in behavior. And he certainly wasn’t going to let him simply walk away like that. Just when the pieces of their family had come together again, Faramir had decided that it wasn’t what he wanted or needed right then, and had chosen to leave their longed-for reunion for the comforts of a healer’s brew.

A sense of frustration overcame him as he thought further. Regardless of any physical wounds, all three of them, their father included, had suffered through anxiety and sorrow those last awful weeks, and it was not right for Faramir to ignore their father so quickly. It was not Boromir’s place to constantly have to mediate between the two, nor was it fair to ask that of him. Denethor was reaching out, and Faramir was disregarding him unfairly.

Neither was it his responsibility to side with his brother in this pointless non-argument. “Father, I do not know what troubles him, but he should tell us himself, instead of feigning trouble with a wound. I will bring him back.” With anger rising against his brother, he slipped out of the embrace of his father and, without looking back at Denethor, followed Faramir out into the courtyard and to the one of the furthest battlements.

All possible anger in him dissipated as he saw Faramir cry out to the sky and collapse to his knees. Fearing that his brother was truly in pain and had been hiding it all the time since their rescue, he ran across the Courtyard to his aid, and called out to him. “Brother!” he cried, as he raced to Faramir’s side.

Faramir stood up abruptly, and turned around to face Boromir, who had reached his brother. He did not seem to be hurting, nor was his face any different than when he had left the Hall.

Breathless from fear and his sprint, Boromir was completely confused by his brother’s sudden outburst. “Faramir, are you in pain? Are you all right? I heard you cry out, and I ran after you.”

Faramir remained stony-faced. “I am fine.”

“Brother, if you were fine, you would not cry out as you did.” Boromir rested one hand on his brother’s unharmed shoulder, and stared intently at his face. “Are you in pain?”

“I am not,” Faramir replied tightly, as he shrugged Boromir’s hand off his shoulder. “I just needed air. I just needed to be away.” And with that, he turned his eyes toward the far distance beyond the Pelennor, and started to walk along the parapets, away from his brother.

To his shame, Boromir’s temper flared. Why now? Why did he have to spoil their return with his brooding? They should be celebrating with their father right now, not suffering in uncomfortable silence out in the Courtyard. Without understanding, Boromir quickly walked after his brother, and stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

“Away? Away from what? Away from our home?” Faramir did not answer, choosing instead to walk around the barrier created by his brother’s body. Boromir continued to walk alongside Faramir, attempting to get him to respond. “Away from Father? Is that what this is all about?”

Faramir’s silence was telling.

“You cannot – you cannot be angry with Father!” Boromir, frustrated and bothered, grabbed his brother’s unharmed shoulder, forcing him to stop and look him in the eye.

“I am not angry with him.”

“And yet you want to be away from him? Faramir, what is wrong with you? Can you not see his care for you? You always have said that you craved a kind word – and there he stood, welcoming you home, and that is not enough for you? What more do you want, Faramir? What more can he offer you than his love?”

The cold stone of Faramir’s eyes melted into disappointment and hurt, but his face remained unchanged. “You don’t see it, do you?” It was a question that Boromir could not answer, for he did not see what Faramir apparently did. Yet he did not want to answer that he did not, for Faramir cleared wanted him to see whatever it was. But he truly did not understand.

“You don’t.” Faramir spoke the words without anger or reproach, but with an infinite sadness that made Boromir feel as though he had let his brother down in some way.

“See what? What is it, brother?” Boromir begged Faramir to share his sorrow, all anger once more gone, but Faramir shook his head.

“If you cannot see it, then… I do not know. I just do not know, Boromir. But I know I need to be away. I think I just want to go home.”

Boromir did not understand. “Faramir, we are home.”

Faramir shook his head again, but said nothing. And he continued to walk along the battlements, his eyes fixed on some point in the distance, even as Boromir, confused and unaware, watched him silently from afar, unable to solve the mystery that was his brother.

Denethor

It was a simple story: both of his sons had been fighting the Haradrim at that small fort near the Poros. Both had been captured; both had been recognized. Both had been taken to Harad.

Yes, it was a simple story. He could even still hear the messenger’s voice in his head, as the man told him that both sons had been taken – both. It would have been a terrible tragedy for Gondor if they had not found their own way back. Who would have been left to rule? There was no one – and that was why it was so important that Boromir live. Faramir as well, of course. But especially Boromir – for it was Boromir who was the Heir. Faramir was – well, Denethor loved him of course. He was his son. But he wasn’t exactly needed. Not when he still had Boromir.

Granted, Faramir had a mind for military strategy and was an excellent bowman, and his swordwork had improved significantly, mostly due to real experience in the field. But anyone could see that he was no soldier. Besides, with Boromir standing beside him – who did not pale in comparison with that golden warrior?

That very same golden warrior came into the Hall, and Denethor rejoiced. Containing his happiness was not an option. Boromir’s very radiance lifted his spirits in a way that no other could possibly do. Practically giddy, he embraced his eldest, and whispered joyful greetings in his ear, as Boromir whispered back just as happily. Everything around them seemed to fade, and Denethor relished in this one opportunity to have his son all to himself. No battles, no other soldiers, no titles, no complications – just a father who was glad to see his son after a long and painful separation. There was a normality that neither was accustomed to, and neither seemed willing to leave the embrace and enter the world of all those hardships once more.

But the embrace was eventually broken, and the Hall closed in around them again. Faramir stood there as well, and Denethor spoke his other son’s name proudly. Faramir had done well, after all. Denethor had originally just received a simple message that the pair had found on their way to Pelargir, safe and relatively unharmed, trying to elude the Haradrim scouts. Included in the next day’s message was an account from Boromir of their capture. Much was left unsaid, but the main events had been included.

Apparently, it had been Faramir who had discovered a small crack in the walls of the fort in which they had been held during one of their ‘questionings’. Denethor cringed still at what may or may not have been done to his sons during those ‘questionings’ – but that was a secret that he knew the brothers would keep. Faramir had managed to distract the guards during their escape by blatantly attempting to flee, which of course resulted in him being shot with an arrow. However, Boromir had been able to escape through the crack at that time, and Faramir, somehow, had been able to follow him. Again, the details had been vague, and he meant to ask Boromir about that as they ate a celebration dinner.

Faramir had indeed made him proud, saving his brother like that. It was a noble act on his part – something to be expected from a Hurin. Something that another Faramir from another time might not have done.

And that was why he did not understand why his other son’s spirits suddenly dropped. Faramir should be proud of his willingness to sacrifice his life for his lord and Captain, not languishing in melancholy just as he arrived home. And after all, wasn’t Denethor doing his best to welcome the both of them? He was trying (and succeeding, in many ways) to overlook the fact that there had not been enough Rangers to defend the fort in the first place, and that could be blamed on his other son. But… that was in the past.

They were both here, now, in front of him. His arm wrapped safely around his golden warrior, his fingers entwined with his other son’s, Denethor smiled happily, thoroughly prepared to enjoy the evening.

But no, of course not. Because things could never be that simple. Not with Faramir. Faramir would have to let his sudden depression take control over his manners and ask to leave. Denethor became annoyed – a little more than annoyed, actually – and though he gave him his blessing to leave and go see the Healers, he did so with a notable disapproval in his eyes. Even Denethor, however, was proud of his words, for he showed a great deal more patience than he normally would have. But the circumstances did require some – delicacy.

“Yes, of course, Faramir. I hope you find the healing you seek.”

Faramir left, and immediately the atmosphere of the Hall changed. Denethor couldn’t understand it. Why should the departure of his other son change things? In fact, it should have made everything easier, for that root of the difficulties between himself and his eldest was now gone, and now he could concentrate on Boromir without any distractions. But now there was a sense of sadness pervading the air that had not been there before.

Boromir twitched slightly. Clearly he was itching to follow his brother. Denethor sighed inwardly. Things could never be that simple.

But Boromir, whom he could normally read so easily, surprised him. He was actually angry, not sympathetic or caring. He was angry with his brother.

Denethor considered the implications of this for one moment, as he watched his first-born, still wrapped in his arm, grapple with a new emotion. If Boromir could be made to see his brother’s faults as Denethor did, then his life would be so much easier. No more conflicts, no more arguments, no more taking sides.

And Faramir’s faults were so many – this was only one small example of the larger problem. He wore his feelings on his sleeve like a child. Previously it seemed as though Boromir found it endearing, but perhaps now he was finally seeing the danger that it posed.

Boromir spoke coldly. “Father, I do not know what troubles him, but he should tell us himself, instead of feigning trouble with a wound. I will bring him back.”

Denethor watched his eldest leave the Hall. He was alone again, just as he had been for the last few weeks. And now this truly was his other son’s fault. Sighing angrily, he went back to sit in the Steward’s chair, holding the White Rod in his hand. If it weren’t for this office, he would be able to act as most fathers do – loving, supportive, happy.

But he was Steward, not some common baker from the third level. He had to prepare his sons for what lay ahead – his golden warrior for the White Rod, his other son for… well, for something. Most likely as advisor to his brother. Right now he was just trying to keep Faramir from making a fool of both himself and of his House.

And – Valar – if they have a confrontation outside… Denethor practically leapt from his chair and ran faster than he had in a long time to the doors. He threw them open, only to see Faramir trying to get around his brother’s larger frame. It seemed as though no loud words had been said, thankfully, and that the pair was sorting this out on their own. He breathed a silent prayer to the Valar for their tact.

Leaving them to sort out the difficulty on their own, Denethor turned to go back into the Citadel, but felt the urge to look back once more. And he did so. He watched as Boromir grabbed his brother’s shoulder, forcing him to look at him. He was too far away to see either of their expressions clearly, but they said a few words. Faramir shook his head, and then walked away, unhindered. Boromir watched him.

Clearly, Boromir had failed to raise his brother’s spirits, which was itself something new. Vaguely, Denethor wondered if he should try to speak with his other son in an effort to discover what troubled him so deeply, for it was obvious now that something was truly wrong. Faramir continued walking.

Denethor sighed at himself. Such foolishness. Such a fuss over nothing. Faramir often had these little fits of sorrow. It was just another example of his lack of self-control. He turned and went back into the Hall, and did not look back.

THE END

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