Captain Faramir of Gondor (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
laststeward) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2012-05-22 02:10 pm
laststeward) wrote in towerofanimus2012-05-22 02:10 pm
Entry tags:
O'Brother
Characters: Faramir and Boromir
Setting: Dorm 4-04
Format: Prose
Summary: The brothers wake up together. in amazing outfits.
Warnings: emo bromance
The battle for Osgiliath was an old one, one his brother and himself had fought so many times before. Boromir had pushed until the last bridge had been destroyed and one half of the ruined city was clear and free. Faramir had assisted but now that Boromir was gone from Gondor, it fell to him in this next push. Faramir was not as strong in swordarm as his brother, and Father knew that all too well. He expected not so much from Faramir but demanded it, and the two were warring in his heart. It was not honor that he would fight for, nor approval from his father. Faramir fought because it was his duty and he believed in the fight, and in protecting the people. It was not Osgiliath itself that the forces of Mordor wanted but what Osgiliath led to: Minas Tirith.
What he had not expected was how prepared the enemy forces were. They had repaired vital bridges, crafted boats, and bloated their numbers to where Faramir was not just concerned for the safety of the men he lead but for all of Gondor. This was the first battle of the War of the Ring and Faramir knew he was going to fail. Not a glorious way to begin any war, he thought, though he did not vainly grieve for himself or the legacy of his name in this. He grieved that he would not see his brother again, and hoped only that his brother had been more successful in his task than Faramir was with his.
It was with these thoughts that Faramir awoke suddenly, as if from a dream. The battle moments ago had been very real: the orcs had been pushing the assault and his Rangers falling back. His own sword had been drawn instead of his bow for the onslaught, and then...
White. Faramir stared at the ceiling, slowly blinking. His muscles were not fatigued from battle, his hair and brow dry from any sweat or dust. He tried to set up but found himself quite unable to and immediate panic rose in him which he fought down carefully. After what seemed so long his limbs were freed from what unseen force had prevented their use and Faramir sat up to the sound of foreign material, a squeak not completely unlike leather but unfamiliar to his skin. The white of it looked alarming on him and Faramir made a noise of discontent at its unexplained appearance.
Setting: Dorm 4-04
Format: Prose
Summary: The brothers wake up together. in amazing outfits.
Warnings: emo bromance
The battle for Osgiliath was an old one, one his brother and himself had fought so many times before. Boromir had pushed until the last bridge had been destroyed and one half of the ruined city was clear and free. Faramir had assisted but now that Boromir was gone from Gondor, it fell to him in this next push. Faramir was not as strong in swordarm as his brother, and Father knew that all too well. He expected not so much from Faramir but demanded it, and the two were warring in his heart. It was not honor that he would fight for, nor approval from his father. Faramir fought because it was his duty and he believed in the fight, and in protecting the people. It was not Osgiliath itself that the forces of Mordor wanted but what Osgiliath led to: Minas Tirith.
What he had not expected was how prepared the enemy forces were. They had repaired vital bridges, crafted boats, and bloated their numbers to where Faramir was not just concerned for the safety of the men he lead but for all of Gondor. This was the first battle of the War of the Ring and Faramir knew he was going to fail. Not a glorious way to begin any war, he thought, though he did not vainly grieve for himself or the legacy of his name in this. He grieved that he would not see his brother again, and hoped only that his brother had been more successful in his task than Faramir was with his.
It was with these thoughts that Faramir awoke suddenly, as if from a dream. The battle moments ago had been very real: the orcs had been pushing the assault and his Rangers falling back. His own sword had been drawn instead of his bow for the onslaught, and then...
White. Faramir stared at the ceiling, slowly blinking. His muscles were not fatigued from battle, his hair and brow dry from any sweat or dust. He tried to set up but found himself quite unable to and immediate panic rose in him which he fought down carefully. After what seemed so long his limbs were freed from what unseen force had prevented their use and Faramir sat up to the sound of foreign material, a squeak not completely unlike leather but unfamiliar to his skin. The white of it looked alarming on him and Faramir made a noise of discontent at its unexplained appearance.
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