Faramir frowned as he stared at Boromir. He suddenly felt as if every thought in his head had been plucked from his mind and laid bare on the tip of Boromir’s tongue. How was he supposed to react? What was he supposed to say to such a confession? He pulled his horse to a stop near a small copse of cottonwoods. “I will make camp here tonight. You should return to Rivendell so that you will be able to speak with Lord Elrond’s council.”
Boromir pulled his large black horse up short and glared at a spot between its pricked ears. He laid his heart out for Faramir to see and the fool chose to ignore him. He did not know whether to shout at the captain or to wrench is horse around and fly back to Rivendell. “Does none of this matter to you? Have you heard nothing I have said?”
Faramir climbed down from his saddle and, with bridle in hand, began leading his horse to the trees. “I have heard every thing you said, Lord Boromir,” he called over his shoulder. “For the life of me, I cannot imagine what you think I can do about it.”
The level of calmness infuriated Boromir all the more. He did not feel so calm; nor did he take their afternoon together so lightly. He resented Faramir’s attitude. Leaping from his own horse, he stalked after Faramir. “Do not turn your back on me, captain.”
Faramir paused, straightened his spine, and then faced Boromir. His green eyes blazed with pain and anger and something else, shimmering beneath the sparkling surface that he dared not reveal. “I am not your subject, Boromir of Gondor, to do your bidding where and when you will it. My fealty lies with Dol Amroth, for better or worse, I owe only Prince Imrahil my allegiance. Lord Elrond has shown me that you and I are related by blood, but there is no acknowledgement of that from my uncle or the man who was likely my father. You, on the other hand, would treat the matter between us far too lightly for my comfort. What more can I say or do to make you understand how this affects me?”
Overhead, the sun began to set, turning the white clouds russet and orange. A flock of birds roused themselves for one last push south and they wheeled darkly overhead. On the greenway, nothing moved for miles in either direction and it was almost as if the two men were alone in all of Middle Earth. A deep silence followed Faramir’s outburst and Boromir could find no way to fill it. He looked away, studying the sky, as if reading the answers to his heart’s riddle upon the clouds and the faint outline of stars.
Faramir stroked his horse’s nose to calm him. After a minute, he pulled on the animal’s bridle and again began to make his way towards the trees where he intended to sleep. “He did not want me, Lord Boromir, for whatever his reason, he sundered me from Gondor. I cannot express how I feel for I do not yet understand my feelings. Your presence only makes matters worse, not better.”
Boromir balled his hands in to fists and the leather gauntlets creaked. Taking his horse’s reins, he followed Faramir into the stand of trees. “I do understand,” he began more quietly as he dropped the reins over a low branch. Turning, he began to loosen the saddle. “I think I understand more than you realize. Did we commit a crime? Is there a law that says brothers cannot love one another?”
Faramir snorted, a sound that startled Boromir for he never thought to hear such from the quiet, gentle man. “I do not think what we did counts as love.”
“More than you know,” Boromir muttered against his horse’s proud neck. He bowed his head and closed his eyes as the weight of all his responsibilities crashed over him like a wave. He should return to Rivendell and seek Lord Elrond. He could not bring himself to remount his horse for he had a strange idea that once he left the trees, he would never see Faramir again. “I feel the weight of what we did, Faramir. I stand on the brink of something beyond my ken; I can choose to live as my father taught me: the only son of a great steward and turn to the one person I have ever found who makes me feel complete and hope he feels the same. Or, I go against my father and choose to believe that he hid from me the knowledge of kin. I would rather choose the former than the latter.”
“You forget that you are not the only one given a choice,” Faramir said quietly as he pulled his bedroll from behind his saddle. He tossed it on the ground and stared at it as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. “I do not know what choice is the right one. My honor says I should keep riding and never look back. My heart longs to stay. Either choice is the wrong one, I fear.”
“We did not make this,” Boromir began.
Faramir lifted and lowered one shoulder. “Nor can we unmake it. Please do not make me regret my decision. In you I know what I have found, but I cannot take what you offer. My heart longs to, but my mind knows that it is wrong. Would you dishonor us both?”
“I would not,” Boromir moved his hand gently over his horse and moved the buckles of his saddle. With grim determination, he tightened the girth and yanked the reins from the branch. “I will not reach Rivendell before dark now.”
Faramir said nothing as Boromir pulled his horse back through the thicket. He heard the jangle of harness and stirrup as Boromir mounted and then the faint thundering of footfalls as his brother galloped away.
*~*
Faramir remembered little of his ride back to Dol Amroth. The pain and anger that he’d kept in check while with Boromir simmered in his heart. He skirted Gondor and the desire to confront Denethor was so powerful that he almost gave in. He tightened his grip on this horse’s reins and kept riding. Everywhere he looked, he saw preparations for war and his heart clenched painfully. Would Gondor stand and for how long? Dol Amroth did not have the troops to be of any use to Gondor if a full out war came. How many allies had they, between them, to answer such a call of the foulness that spilled out of the dark gates of Mordor? Who would survive to till the land and raise the children? Or would Middle Earth become a wasteland in service to the Dark Lord?
As he entered the realm of his uncle, Faramir’s anger trebled, but at whom was he angry? His father rejected him and by his silence, Imrahil supported Denethor’s decision. He dismounted in the palace’s courtyard and accepted the enthusiastic welcome of those who knew him with a small smile. Dol Amroth was not a large place and the palace was nothing, from what he’d seen, like the expansive Minas Tirith or the sprawling Rivendell. The castle was well fortified with minarets and towers and a crenellated wall surrounding the courtyard. Faramir climbed the stone steps leading to the massive double bronze doors and entered the well-lit interior. Candles in sconces lined the walls and combined with weak autumn sunlight. Fires blazed in strategically placed hearths and people bustled to and fro, but always pausing when they saw Faramir to smile and bow. He accepted this with grace and humility. He was a captain and Imrahil’s nephew, but he had never taken either for granted for he was not spoiled nor his designs self-serving. Despite the heaviness of his heart, he was glad to be home at last.
He went to the main hall and paused for a moment, surveying the wooden doors hiding Imrahil’s court. They were carved with scenes of the Numenor, to whom Imrahil and Faramir both claimed blood ties. Entering, he found himself alone with Imrahil and he paused.
Imrahil glanced up from the parchment held close to the light. His brown hair was loose and the circlet of power that he normally wore was tossed carelessly on the marble table. “What did you think of the elves?” He asked quietly.
Faramir chose his words carefully. “They are a fair folk and have much knowledge.”
Imrahil looked away, unable to keep contact with Faramir’s eyes. “Then you have met the steward’s heir.”
“Why did I have to learn of my brother from Lord Elrond? Why did no one see fit to tell me I was the steward’s son?”
“Denethor did not care if Finduilas stayed or went. He did not care that there was a second child, since he had his heir. He never asked of you and when she passed, he did not come to give her a farewell. I saw no reason to hurt you or fill your head with empty promises. Here, in Dol Amroth, you will be my heir and Boromir will one day rule Gondor, providing Gondor still stands when Denethor passes. I would have preferred Lord Elrond said nothing—I assume Lord Elrond was the one to reveal your heritage.”
“He was,” seating himself at the table Faramir poured himself a goblet of wine. The cool beverage leeched the anger from him. “Lord Elrond was not given a choice, Uncle.” He said after he drank the goblet.
Imrahil watched as the faintest blush crept across Faramir’s cheeks and guessed what might have happened if Boromir and Faramir stumbled upon one another. Faramir was uncommonly handsome and so was Boromir. They would have found an attraction, assuming they did not clash first as warriors and leaders. Looking at his nephew, Imrahil knew that the second scenario was unlikely. Faramir rarely clashed with anyone save enemies. There he was fierce and determined. But with an ally or friend? He was remained gentle and placid to the point of submissive. Realizing that he did not want or need to know the details, Imrahil changed the subject. “Was your journey a success in other ways?”
“I have seen Isildur’s heir and I believe his bane was in Rivendell, though I did not discover what it was before I left.”
“Boromir has not returned to Gondor,” Imrahil spoke again, lost in his own thoughts. “Denethor grows restless.”
“What has that to do with Dol Amroth?”
“Should Boromir not return soon, Lord Denethor may recall you to Minas Tirith.”
“I would not go even if he came and begged at my heels.”
“You would, for I would make you.” Imrahil’s gray eyes flashed a warning. “Whatever else Denethor may be, in the end he is your father and you will show him allegiance and respect if he seeks you out. Faramir,” he held up a hand as he saw the younger man bristle. “I know you are angry and hurt. This pain I would have spared you if possible. Now it is too late. The portends that were written in the stars ages ago come to pass now. Many men will fall and much will be changed in the course of the next year. You must accept these changes; as must we all.”
“Let us hope that Boromir returns to the White City soon, then,” Faramir rose wearily to his feet. “If you would excuse me, uncle, I would like to rest before dinner.”
*~*
Boromir walked silently ahead of Aragorn. Each step took him farther from Minas Tirith. Each step took him farther from where his heart now lay. No word had come back to Rivendell of Captain Faramir and every day Boromir’s heart grew heavier. He’d found and lost a brother in one long night and he did not know how to assimilate his feelings. He dreamed at night of a red haired man with expressive green eyes and warm, sensuous lips. And in the mornings, he awoke alone and aching with both a physical and emotional need. He’d volunteered to be a part of the quest because he could do aught else. Isildur’s Bane was too weighty a matter to leave in the hands of the careless or reckless and Gondor had as much duty—and right—to be a part of the mission to destroy it as even did the elves or the ring bearer. But his mind was on Faramir. He longed to be with the young captain, to sit at his side in the sun and speak of things having nothing to do with dark lords or foul orcs. He wanted to show Faramir Pelennor Field from the heights of tower. He wanted show Faramir the heights of passion in the large soft bed in his chambers. He let out a long sigh as the company called a halt. Many miles stretched between Minas Tirith and where he now stood. He glanced up at the sun. Did Faramir also stare at the sun and wonder? Shaking his head, he realized he might never know.
*~*
The months passed uneventfully at Dol Amroth and Faramir used the time to train with the Knights and prepare them for what was surely to come. There were only a few thousand to spare, but he wanted to make sure every one of them was prepared and ready to fight when the time came. Faramir knew they would give up their lives for the protection of Gondor and he was determined to make sure the price the enemy paid for Dol Amroth blood was high indeed.
Early that evening, a messenger had come to Dol Amroth and spent the rest of the day closeted with Prince Imrahil. Such events were no longer rare and Faramir gave it no thought as he continued to train and drill with the green and gold clad Knights. Not until suppertime, when he and Imrahil sat at the high table and the Gondorian sat between them did Faramir attach any importance to the man’s visit. The hall was noisy with knights and guests and minor dignitaries. From his place, Faramir could see the entire room and everyone in it. He enjoyed the moments spent at meals, for it was one of the few times he could see everyone at once and gave him the opportunity to speak with specific people after the meal.
During the course of roast duck stuffed with wild steamed rice and walnuts, Imrahil reached beneath his robes and extracted a scroll, which he soundlessly passed to Faramir. The messenger nodded, as if he approved, and kept on eating. Faramir placed his fork beside his plate and searched Imrahil’s eyes before taking the parchment. What he read in the gray depths told him what he would find as he unrolled the scroll. At first, he thought to refuse, but Imrahil shook his head slightly and Faramir bowed his head for a moment, accepting defeat.
Carefully he unrolled the parchment and scanned the contents. The letter was short, terse, and direct. Lord Denethor of the House of Hurin, demanded that Lord Faramir of the same house, return at once to Minas Tirith to resume the duties so recently abandoned by his older brother, Lord Boromir. The letter informed Faramir that he would assume the duties only until such time as Boromir returned. The letter left him cold. He was not given salutations as the second son or even of a welcome guest. Denethor gave him orders, expecting them to be obeyed without question and that irritated Faramir almost as much as the presumption he would prefer to be in Minas Tirith more than in Dol Amroth. His only hope was that soon Boromir would return. And then what? Would he and Boromir clash as brothers or as lovers? Would Boromir demand that Faramir remain in Gondor as his brother and captain or would he honor Faramir’s wishes and send him back to Dol Amroth and Prince Imrahil? As yet, none of his questions had answers, so he rolled the parchment back into its cylinder and set it beside his plate.
“I shall be ready to ride to Gondor in the morning,” was all he said.
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