Faramir Fiction Archive

Tales of the Late Third Age (R)

Written by Susana

03 September 2011 | 7677 words

Title: The Ithilien Ranger on Leave
Series: Tales of the Late Third Age
Author: Susana
Feedback: Please use the form below.
Rating: PG-13 to be safe
Warning: None, really.
Disclaimer: All characters and everything else recognizable belong to Tolkien.
Summary: Young Captain Boromir was wounded in a skirmish, and the Lord Steward Denethor has summoned his second son home from Ithlilien, to keep his brother company as he heals.
Beta: None, but thanks to KC and FC for reviewing earlier drafts.
A/N: Faramir has just turned 17, and Boromir is 22. Times are changing…

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The Ithilien Ranger on Leave

“He is your mirror, shining back at you with a world of possibilities. He is your witness, who sees you at your worst and best, and loves you anyway. He is your partner in crime, your midnight companion, someone who knows when you are smiling, even in the dark. He is your teacher, your defense attorney, your personal press agent, even your shrink. Some days, he’s the reason you wish you were an only child.” – [paraphrased from a quote by Barbara Alper]

“If you push your recovery, you donkey, you may not regain full use of your knee.” Faramir reprimanded his brother, quiet for all he was concerned and frustrated.

Faramir almost never raised his voice. Boromir would rage at great volume when overset, but not his kit. No, when Boromir’s baby brother, newly minted a ranger only last spring, became frustrated and intense, his voice went even softer. But it had a new seriousness to it, as well – quiet thunder. Faramir was growing up, changing so fast, Boromir noted absently. The younger of Denethor’s two sons had always been a slender whippet of a thing, but now he was growing tall, and corded muscle ran over his thin body. His newly grown red-gold mustache must be a challenge to keep so neat in the wilds of Ithilien, but somehow, Faramir had managed. Boromir tried to restrain his jealousy. His own hair, a paler gold, lent itself less well to the neat manly display of facial hair that was popular amongst Gondor’s young lords. Then Boromir registered what his brat of a brother had just said, and he narrowed his eyes.

“Pot calling kettle black, little brother.” Boromir scolded in disapproval, then aborted his lecture in favor of an undignified groan at a spasm from his injured, over-strained leg. Accursed newly trained horse – if only his mount had not thrown a shoe prior to his last engagement! The horse HE had trained would never have shied thusly at a snapping warg, and the injury would have been avoided.

“Aye, I know.” Faramir grinned in self-deprecating agreement, white teeth flashing in his tanned face. The new ranger’s hands were gentle as he massaged Boromir’s healing leg. “But I would be a poor brother if I let you contend with this alone.”

“You must be returning soon, to Ithilien.” Boromir noted regretfully. “I like not having you posted somewhere so dangerous, and so far away. But even I must admit you are a boon to them. And that it has been good for you, to have been stationed so long in one place that folk get to know you well enough to listen to you. You take some getting used to, Fara.”

“So I have been told.” The younger soldier drawled, amused, before reluctantly agreeing “I shall be returning soon, I must leave in but a few minutes to check on the new recruits and Rangers returning from leave who are to accompany me back to Henneth Annûn. Winter is coming, and there are a few things I’ve read of these past few weeks, keeping you company, that I’d like to put to Captain Andacar, and see if we can perhaps get into place before our movements are confined by weather.”

Boromir hid a smile at the casual way his brother, only months out of the academy, spoke of sitting down with his captain, then frowned a little. It was good that the Captain of the Ithilien Rangers was listening to Faramir, but that was a lot of responsibility to put on a young soldier, still learning the ropes.

“Don’t worry, Brom.” Faramir reassured, seeing his brother’s frown and guessing wrongly as to its cause. “I’ve asked Father to watch out for you, since I will be gone.”

“What?” Boromir asked, in shock. ‘Don’t tell Father,’ was an unwritten rule of the two brothers’ lives. That Faramir had broken it shocked his elder brother.

“He loves you, Brom.” Faramir explained softly, helping his brother to a settee to lay down. “He will make sure you do not push your recovery, and that you are not posted back to your regiment until you are ready.”

“He loves you too.” Boromir protested, wanting to recognize the act of love from Faramir that going to Denethor must have been. “He just can’t look at you without seeing what he lost when Mother died.”

“I know.” Faramir said softly, meeting Boromir’s eyes though he wanted nothing more than to look away. “I’ve always known, I can’t help it.”

“Things have gotten better since you finished training, between you and Ada.” Boromir commented, wanting desperately for his father and brother, both of whom he loved so dearly, to have the comfort of eachother’s affection.

“Better, yes. But only in that he recognizes I am doing my best, to have finished so high in my class at the academy, and to have been posted as a ranger. The best I fear we’re ever going to be able to be, father and I, is respectful strangers.”

Boromir, knowing this was truth even as he wished with all his heart it was not, nodded painfully. “You deserve better, Faramir.” He said finally. “I am more sorry than I can say, that I cannot fix it.”

Faramir grasped his brother’s shoulder, squeezing tightly. “It is not your fault, nor was it your problem to fix. We were both children, you and I, when this pattern was set. I know Father never really recovered from the grief of mother’s illness and death. But still, father was the adult, and the responsibility was his. But other responsibilities were also his, including being Gondor’s leader in this dark time. If he must hate me to do that job, I can accept it. Our father is a dutiful leader. If he must accept me to lead Gondor, he will. We will all keep doing our best, and maybe someday, there may be something greater between us than duty and grudging respect.”

Both brothers were silent for a moment, in gratitude that the friendship between them was strong enough to bear even the most terrible of truths. Glad that their mother had gifted them both a sibling with whom to share the burdens of being the Lord Steward Denethor’s son, in this desperate time.

“I am grateful that I may return to Ithilien, confident Father shall oversee your recovery.” Faramir said in parting. “Though I ask you to note, I would not have mentioned this to Father had there been reason for confidence that you would be a good patient.” Faramir added with a grin.

Boromir glared at his brother mildly, wishing that their lives were different, such that he, in a corresponding circumstance, could have safely left Faramir in their father’s care.

“Have a care in Ithilien, Fara.” Boromir warned instead, clasping his brother’s arm in a warrior’s greeting, and farewell.

Faramir gave him a much-loved, familiar grin. Boromir grinned back, though he was slightly unsettled by how his baby brother’s rueful smile, the same expression he’d loved for years, was strangely different in Faramir’s newly matured face. Reading the concern but not the reason, Faramir gave him a salute, ranger to Captain, which Boromir returned instinctively.

As Faramir left, his older Boromir pondered when his baby brother had found the time to do so much growing up, in just a few seasons. During Boromir’s recovery these past few weeks, Faramir had seemed more a comrade-in-arms than a pain-in-the-rear tagalong, and where would that lead?

At least Faramir’s trouble-finding friend Dervorin had not been posted to Ithilien, nor would he probably qualify for ranger training for several years, to the unqualified relief of Boromir and of Boromir’s good friend, Dev’s cousin, Lieutenant Gendarion. Fara and Dev found more trouble together….and Boromir was worried enough over his brother as it was. Faramir was an exceptional archer, hunter, and tracker, and as proud as Boromir was of his baby brother’s skills and growing maturity, he worried over Faramir as many a man might worry over a son, despite the scant five years between their ages.

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