If I Die Young (Boromir, Faramir, and Denethor fanfiction)

Chapter Two

           

   Boromir tied the last bag onto his horse, and then looked down at his little brother. Faramir’s eyes were lowered as he waited for his brother to leave him. Boromir grabbed him in a fierce, quick embrace, not speaking. Finally he pulled away, grabbing the reins of his roan horse and swinging himself up into the saddle. The mighty Horn of Gondor hung at his side. A gift from their father to be given to the eldest son.

   Last night Denethor had bestowed it upon Boromir at the feast. He had accepted it gracefully, awe at its magnificent beauty showing clearly on his face. After the feast in Boromir’s chambers, Faramir had snuck in to see the horn. Boromir was out with some friends, probably drinking at one of the local taverns. The horn was lying on the dresser, the shadows deepening the carvings on its surface.

   Faramir had reached out as if to touch it, but stopped, his hand just above the surface.

   “Go ahead, little brother. Touch it.”

   At the sound of his brother’s voice behind him, Faramir had turned so suddenly he almost knocked over the dresser. A blush crept over his cheeks at being caught like a child trying to steal a sweetmeat from the kitchens.

   Boromir had merely smiled softly, ever understanding.

   “Touch it, little brother.” He said again.

   Faramir reached out, gingerly picking up the horn and stroking its silky surface.

   A trumpet blast brought Faramir back to thoughts of the present. Boromir nodded down at Faramir as another trumpet blast echoed throughout the city, signaling the march to begin.

   Faramir watched as his brother mingled into the crowd of soldiers, all of them wearing splendid, glittering armor with shields strapped onto their backs, and swords at their sides. He stood watching still as they rode through the gates, and after the last soldier was through Faramir turned and ran for the Tower of Ecthelion.

   He flew up the stairs, remembering all the times he and Boromir had raced up them together. At the top he stopped, and looked out over the fields of Ithilien and at the mountains of Mordor in the distance. And just below that, were the ruins of the ancient city of Osgiliath.

   The soldiers made their way across the fields at a steady pace, and Faramir, sitting with his feet dangling over the ledge, was content to watch them.

   Suddenly, he heard a voice calling up to him. He looked down. It was his drill teacher, and Faramir suddenly realized he was more than late for practice.

   “I am coming!” He called back.

   His drill master, Harad, crossed his arms as he waited impatiently. He knew the lad was missing his brother, but that wasn’t an excuse to miss training.

   Faramir looked down at the city once more, reluctant to leave so soon. He noticed a few of the soldiers that had planned on leaving tomorrow with extra supplies, and he suddenly had an idea.

   He could put on his armor and sneak in with the troops! He would get a first hand view on battle, and that would be good for him. He would be able to prove to Denethor that he could fight just as good as his brother. He would make his father proud.

   Faramir knew there were flaws in this plan. He could get caught and hauled back to Minas Tirith in shame. He could come in contact with Boromir, who would tan his hide, and then drag him back to Minas Tirith in shame. Either way, Boromir or his father were bound to find out if he wanted a bit of renown for these deeds. But he thought it might just be worth it if it changed Denethor’s opinion about him.

* * * * * * *

   Boromir felt so free riding from the city. Of course it wasn’t his first time riding from the city, but something felt so very different this time.

   For one, he was riding to war. The second reason he realized, was that Faramir wasn’t with him. It felt strange without his second shadow trailing him everywhere he went.

   Boromir worried for his brother. He was alone with Denethor. A man who hated him simply because he reminded him of their mother, Finduilas.

   Meanwhile, Faramir was polishing his armor, attempting to make it look just like the soldiers’ armor had today. It had been a gift last year from their father and was still a bit too big, but he hoped it wouldn’t be too noticeable.

   He packed a small satchel with a clean shirt and a pair of breeches. In it, he also placed some bread he’d snatched from the kitchens, and his full water skin.

   The next morning he rose early, and dressed before putting on his now glowing armor. He belted his sword to his side, and was about to pick up his bow when he thought better of it. Instead he slung his shield on his back.

He stood in front of the mirror, standing straighter and trying to look slightly older. He knew even with his armor he looked young. He had always been slightly small for his age.

   But never mind. He intended to go through with his plan.

   Thoughts of valiant young heroes he had heard and read about ever since he could remember swirled through his mind as he made his way down to the lower level of the city, taking little-used and little-known passages to get there unseen.

   The soldiers were packing the last of their bags onto their horses, and servants loaded the carts with food, medical supplies, and extra weapons.

Faramir saddled a horse taken from the cavalry’s stables, and climbed up. As he mingled with the other soldiers he kept his face down, lest anyone recognize him.

   The trumpet didn’t sound this time, but Faramir didn’t mind as they rode off. It felt so good to actually be riding away from here. Away from his father’s disdainful and scornful looks. Away from his painful words.

   And off to battle like the heroes of old.