for needsnoking

[osgiliath]

Faramir wasted no time in traveling back to Gondor when word reached his ears.

Your brother, my lord. He-- it has been said that he has been sighted in one of the inns in Minas Tirith. There can be no mistaking him.

It was as if the very air around him had been stolen by a void. For several moments he could not breathe, could not think, could not feel even the cold hands of his wife as she held on to his arm. Could it be true? Could Boromir be alive?

There can be no mistaking him. Of course, for every man in Gondor knew his brother, loved him dearly. News of this kind would not have made its way to Faramir, not without someone making sure the information was realible.

What if--?

The ride was long and hard, and when he reached the said inn both master and horse were filled with exhaustion. Yet there was no rest for Faramir tonight.

Not until he'd seen his brother.

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[needsnoking]

In the darkest corner of the room sat Boromir, with a tankard of ale, his face hidden by the shadows. One might not recognize him in such a state, for Boromir could scarcely recognize himself, filthy and battered and battle-scarred as he was. His hair, unwashed and unkempt, fell over his shoulders; his face was grimy and his stubble had become a beard, until he'd grown tired of it and taken his dagger to it. His clothes were torn, the White Tree emblazoning covered with mud. Somewhere along the road, he'd lost his scabbard.

On the whole, Boromir was disgraced and ashamed, and ought to have taken himself to Mordor for judgment. But, with nowhere else to call home, his feet had led him back to Gondor. At the very least, he could fade into obscurity after he allowed himself a bed and a meal after surviving on wild game and using rocks as pillows for the last months.

Boromir let his head fall to his arms, groaning; the alcohol was starting to take effect, though he didn't know if it was wise to numb himself to the pain of his injuries.

[osgiliath]

Faramir came into the room in a hurry, and was about to speak to the innkeeper about the whereabouts of his brother as well as to thank him for his silence on the matter - when the man who sat in the corner caught his attention. It took only one glance, yet his heart knew - the innkeeper had not lied, nor had Beregond erred in relaying the news to him. That man was Boromir, and Faramir was at once engulfed with a joy he had never known. The inn had been almost empty save for the three men, and Faramir saw the innkeeper nod at him before shuffling away. Now there was only him and the brother he had believed to be dead.

His first few steps were unsteady as a child's, but soon he reached the corner - yet Faramir stopped before the man. When he spoke, his voice was soft, yet full of love and longing.

"Brother?"

[needsnoking]

Boromir felt warm, though whether from the alcohol or the fire burning in the hearth, he couldn't say. He would have welcomed the oblivion that followed inebriation, maybe even drink a little more to help him on his way--

Until Faramir's voice pulled him from the reaches of his daze. It took considerable effort for him to lift his head from his arms, his eyes unfocused and bleary. Then they came upon on his brother's face, and he drew in a sharp breath.

"I cannot be awake," he muttered. "You are a dream."

[osgiliath]

"It is you who is a dream," said Faramir, reaching out to touch his shoulder, as if it was the very last thing that needed to be done in order for both of them to realize that this was, in fact, truth. Feeling solid, warm flesh beneath his fingers, he let out a laugh. "It is you who has come back from the depths of the realm of the dead. Boromir, you are alive! Truly this is a day more glorious than the rest."

His knees weakened, Faramir sought to seat himself beside Boromir, never taking his eyes off him, nor his hand on his brother's shoulder. Alas, the one before him seemed changed, and Faramir was not a fool nor ignorant to not have seen it, but for now joy had eclipsed the questions which arose from these observations. One thing needed to be said: "Father would be most pleased."

[needsnoking]

Torn between elation at seeing Faramir, and grief that his brother had to see him this way, Boromir winced. He wrangled himself from Faramir's grip, moving back into the corner as much as he could.

"No!" he said in hushed tones. "No, do not say my name. None must know I am here, Father least of all."

Feeling his panic begin to rise, Boromir looked around quickly to see if they had been overheard. He sighed heavily, pulling his cloak tighter around himself.

[osgiliath]

Now, Faramir could give in to the urge to ask, for Boromir's actions, more than his appearance, confused him. This was not the brave, proud brother every man in Gondor had looked up to, drew strength from. Clothed in tattered and muddied robes, he was far from the brother who had left for Rivendell long ago.

"Why?" he asked. Though none was there to hear them, Faramir lowered his voice to match Boromir's. "He had thought you dead. We all thought you were dead. Your horn-- split in half, carried by the waters, the halfling's words--" All they needed then was Boromir's body as proof that he was dead, and yet none had been found. Of course none would be found, for here he was!

Faramir paused. "It would greatly ease his pain if he were to see you." And Faramir's as well, for how it hurt him to see Denethor shuffling in corners and avoiding all contact with him, the son he had almost killed. Surely, with Boromir's return-- "Boromir, would you not go to him?"

[needsnoking]

"Faramir," Boromir said sharply. He felt himself getting further and further from being drunk, which was where he wanted--nay, needed--to be at this moment. He dragged a hand through his hair, gathering his thoughts.

After a few minutes of silence, he looked up at Faramir again, wary. "They did not tell you the whole story, then."

[osgiliath]

"I was able to speak with the ringbearer, and later with both Mithrandir and Pippin." He paused, then shook his head. No, he was not told the whole story, for those he talked with were only able to witness bits of it themselves.

But it did not matter, for here Boromir was in the flesh. "What happened?"

[needsnoking]

Part of Boromir was thankful his brother had not seen him at his worst or witnessed his weakness--that of Isildur, and of all men. He did not even begin to think of what Frodo might have had to say about his momentary lapse in judgment and sanity.

Shifting in his seat, Boromir motioned to the innkeep for another ale.

"What," he began, choosing his words carefully, "did you learn from them?"

[osgiliath]

"That the fellowship had broken not long after it had left Rivendell." He paused. "That you had shown great courage as you helped Pippin and Merry when they were about to be taken by Orcs." Perhaps that was where the tale had blurred, Faramir thought.

"It is yet unclear to me how you have parted with your horn." And the dream that Faramir himself had, of Boromir adrift in the water. He had thought it another omen of Boromir's death, for why would such a dream occur to him if it wasn't the truth?

[needsnoking]

As the man handed him the tankard, Boromir gave a small smile before turning back to his brother.

"Aye, courage," he muttered, draining some of the ale. He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. "Did Frodo tell you I tried to take the Ring? That I was driven into madness? Father should not have sent me." A hint of bitterness in his tone. "You are a stronger man than I, brother. You would have made him proud, and then he could not reprimand you."

At the mention of his horn, Boromir takes another drink. "I halved it, and sent it over the Falls. Better you think me dead than a living disgrace to our House."

[osgiliath]

It was Sam who had told him about Boromir trying to take the ring, but Faramir had thought it prudent to keep his silence about it, not until Boromir had spoken about it first. Yet now that he did--

The denial that rose to his lips was too quick, at the mention of him doing Denethor proud. It had seemed before that there was naught that Faramir could have done to gladden Denethor's heart, and that even his death would mean nothing to him. The unfavored son, whom he wished had died instead of the beloved one. Faramir often wondered what would have happened if he was the one sent in Boromir's place; if he had brought Frodo and the ring to Gondor instead of letting them both go in Osgiliath. Would Denethor be happy with him then, though in so doing damn all the lands of Men?

And yet the knowledge that Boromir had willingly led them all to believe he was dead hurt, and he could not help but think it a foolish deed to do. "I see," he said slowly. "Better that you live in our memory as how you have left us instead of showing us who you've become, under the influence of the One Ring. Better to let us grieve and ache and long for the man whom all of Gondor loved, only so you'd be certain that your dignity is left untarnished."

[needsnoking]

Boromir had not thought of any plans past making it back to Minas Tirith in one piece, wanting only to see his City, feel the breeze on his face from atop the Tower of Ecthelion. He had not counted on Faramir finding him but, he thought, he was Boromir's own blood, and Boromir himself would have done the same if their places were reversed. If it had been Faramir in the fellowship, it might not have failed.

Lowering his tankard back to the table, Boromir fell silent. He felt a rush of shame at his brother's words.

"'Twas not for my dignity, Faramir." Anguished, Boromir grasped a handful of his brother's tunic. "It was to spare you from seeing this. I will not lie: Father's wrath has kept me from home, but I did not fear his opinion as much as yours." He let go abruptly. "At Amon Hen, I was wounded; grievously, I thought. Orc poison in the arrows would see me die slowly and painfully. As you can see, it did not happen," he said lowly, voice thick. "I thought not of dignity, for I have none."

[osgiliath]

"Spare me?" What madness was this? Did Boromir truly think--

Faramir sat straighter, trying to grasp the strangeness of it and failing. "What of my opinion, Boromir? Did you fear that it will change, if I see you like this? Did you fear my love for you would lessen, that I would so easily be ashamed of you and renounce you as my blood and kin?"

Here he stood, and stared at Boromir with hooded eyes. "All this time, I did not realize you think so little of me as well." From Denethor he had accepted and endured it, but from Boromir? It was as unexpected as it was hurtful, and quickly Faramir realized this was not how he had envisioned their reunion to be.

[needsnoking]

Boromir made to rise when his brother stood, but found he was too unsteady on his feet. He sank back down onto the seat, clutching his ale as if it would anchor him to the spot. Spots swam in front of his eyes.

"Faramir," he muttered, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt. Though he hadn't anticipated seeing his brother again, now that he had it, he could not let go. He wrapped a hand around Faramir's wrist tightly. "You misunderstand. I have disgraced our House and our line because of my weakness. I speak not of your love for me, but my shame in failing you and Father." Boromir's shoulders shook but he only held his brother more firmly.

[osgiliath]

"You have not failed me," Faramir insisted, clasping his hands behind his back for lack of anything to do with them. "That you have persisted and lived despite all that you have told me... Boromir, do you not think it spoke of your great strength, of your courage? You have not lost either and I doubt you ever will."

He then drew closer to his brother and knelt in front of him, so that he might look him in the eye. "Some greater power must have brought you here in Gondor. And it is surely not the One Ring's, for it has long been cast in the fires wherein it truly belongs."

[needsnoking]

At the mention of the Ring, Boromir's head jerked up, and his eyes widened.

He had guessed as much after seeing the skies above Gondor and Mordor cleared of the Shadow, and heard whispers of the new King in the streets for the short time he had been in Minas Tirith, but until now there had been no confirmation of it, yet here it was coming from the mouth of his brother.

Boromir's hand landed on Faramir's shoulder, holding it tightly.

"Brother," he said, and his voice was tremulous. "Has Gondor come to peace?"

[osgiliath]

Faramir placed his hand over Boromir's and nodded. On his face was a smile that had now become a fixture on it. "The dark clouds of Mordor no longer looms before her, for Gondor's borders are no longer threatened by evil unslain. Those who clung to hope have finally see it bear fruit: days of peace have come at last to us. We no longer have anything to fear."

He squeezed Boromir's hand. "Would you not come to celebrate it with us?"