towerofanimus | O'Brother

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.

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There is yet hope.
But I see none.

A shot of breath, a pinch of pain, and a whistle that cut through the air so quickly Boromir could not see. Again. The white city shining beneath the touch of sun, the raised flags waving, beckoning him home. Yet the drift toward the city went with vain, for each step he took another whistle called for his doom, and he fell.

A sweat of darkness coiled around him, both hot and terribly cold, and Boromir woke with a shake. An uncomfortable white stung his eyes and he rubbed at them slowly. A headache at his temple, which his fingers then moved to, his eyes free to look around.

An unfamiliar place, and across from him, a familiar body. "Faramir?" His brother, in all white, a clothing that looked so tight–– and that was when he looked to his own body, finding that the suffocating feeling was from his own white suit. "Such a strange attire.." He pulled at it needfully.

Faramir did not have thoughts further for the strange white material clothing himself save for the fact that they also clothed what now had his utmost and fullest attention. Boromir, alive-

"Brother," a sigh of disbelief more than a word from his lips. Faramir sat up more urgently and moved to the other bed. Both hands came to clasp his brother's shoulders and the solidness, the familiarity beneath his fingers brought a choke of emotion over him that caused him unable to vocalize more. The most he could do was stand in utter happiness for the life shown in the face he loved so dearly. Last he had seen this face it was misted, gray and lifeless.

Boromir embraced his brother, well enough, happy to see Faramir –– yet still a little disoriented. "Brother, where am I?" Had they fetched him from the battlefield, had he fallen into a dark abyss and woken with his family's healing wenches? Or had Aragorn proclaimed himself king and gave him the gift of a king's healing powers? Had he truly not perished there?

"What has happened?" He bowed his head, unable to really focus on anything, and his mind was quick to roll through his many thoughts. His attention back to the suit of white. "What is this.." A soft rub at his face. "So strange, I feel .." A sigh and he looked helplessly at his brother.

"I know not where fate has brought us, only that it has brought us together again. Brother, it gladdens my heart to see you here." Faramir swallowed down his strongest emotions however he kept one hand firmly on Boromir, lest he disappear before him by cruel magics.

He looked the same to Faramir's eyes, whole and well, though as confused as he. "Boromir, my brother, what remember you last before your awaking here?"

"We are not.. home..?" Surely he was brought to Minas Tirith, where his brother awaited him –– in such strange garb. "Where is father?" He calmed his own questions to consider Faramir's, "I remember," his eyes trailed from his brother and his body felt the weight of memory, he seemed to sink further onto the bed he sit on. "Aragorn.." How he pledged his fealty to him in the end ––

the end. "Death, little brother.." His eyes moved to Faramir's. "I have died."

"You have not, you are here," Faramir said earnestly. He sat next to his brother, his eyes finding details of the room he had not before perceived for his intent interest in his brother's presence. Four beds, four trunks, and one door. While his eyes lingered there on the door he spoke the truth as he knew it.

"Though I did see you, upon the riverbank in a boat. You had been given a proper sending, Boromir, with your sword in hand. I grieved deep in heart for that discovery." Faramir looked then to his living brother. "But you are here now, as alive as I."

Either that, he suddenly realized, or he was dead too. Osgiliath...

Boromir's brows furrowed and a frown pulled at his face, his eyes fell to his empty hands. Hands that looked clean, fingernails trimmed, and skin smooth. "Such a strange dream this must be." He considered. "To be delivered here, with you, even after death." He had not considered where the black of death would take him, though he knew it would not be the same place as the Orcs, as the Uruk-hai, surely he would not be taken back down into the pits of the earth as which Suraman had raised them from.

Or was his sin unforgivable? He looked to Faramir, to be reunited with a loved one brought thoughts that perhaps he was forgiven. But how did this happen? Where were they now?

"Yes, we are here, and together.." A swallow and he tried to shake the feeling of uncertainty from his shoulders. "That is what importance is foremost in my heart now." The subject of the One Ring was still too tender in his soul that he dared not ask how Frodo fared, though he wished to know the success, he could not bring himself to admit, just yet, his wrong doings.

Faramir was too moved by the sight of his brother for whom he had grieved so darkly, to worry overly about where they had now found himself. Boromir meant so much to him, his absence a heavy weight with the burden of the fight for Osgiliath.

"I have not seen Father, for I only awoke moments before you." His eyes again went to their surroundings and he stood, hands resting on his abdomen for feel of the strange material of his white dressing. "Perhaps he is here yet."

Boromir gently nodded, his eyes closing softly and a sigh of great weight slipped from his dry lips. "Yet, some part of me wishes he remains –– if we are not there, he need be there to keep Gondor," a pause while his eyes moved to his brother. "Best as he can." Their father was a great man, and for many years the burdens of not only Gondor, but the loss of their mother, weigh on those great shoulders.

It would be with little doubt that Boromir would see those shoulders slouch. "In any means, we must find where it is we have found ourselves..." As impossible as it may seem, Boromir knew well enough now that he was not still dreaming.

No comment was made on their Father and his ability to lead Gondor. It wasn't his place as the second son to make that comment, leastways not at this moment when their situation was unknown. Faramir looked briefly to Boromir as the suggestion was made and to him it was as a command. He trusted in Boromir and respected him as the oldest son. He was also content to do as his dear brother wished, especially considering the circumstance.

He moved toward the door and opened it quietly, looking out into the hallway. What he saw was more unremarkable doors such like the one he peered out of now, as well as alcoves periodically interrupting the pattern of doors which strange markings and objects in them which held no significance to his memory.

Faramir turned back to Boromir and shook his head, indicating he saw nothing and noone in the hallway. His attention then fell to the trunks in the room and he moved to open his.

"My ranger's hauberk," Faramir noted as he picked up the leather article which was decorated with the White Tree.

At Faramir's discovery, Boromir was up and looking into the trunk at the end of his bed. The outfit he wore was entirely uncomfortable and thus was pleased to see that the trunk held his own clothing attire. "We are gifted, brother, with few items of our own.. it seems." Relieved, he began to figure out a way to remove the white suit. "Perhaps we are not too far from Gondor –– these provisions should help us on our journey back to the White City.."

After suiting up, boots sword and all, Faramir was back into the hallway with his brother. Outside, the both of them noticed their names by the door next to two unknown names though this did not concern him overly. What concerned him was that neither of those names was their Father nor any other relative or captains of Gondor. Faramir's previously carefree and relieved expression over having been reunited with his brother darkened into a somber disquiet.

"There are other doors, and these alcoves. Where shall we look?" He looked to Boromir for command.

The hall was as long as Boromir could see, and as white as the bright of an early morning light. "All of this is a strange sight, I could not think of where to wander; I almost fear to be at a loss in the midst of this .. dream." He could not imagine anything, aside the magic of elves, to create such a strange structure. It was all too foreign.

The brothers came before a strange obstacle; a small room with a barrier that smoothly slid apart, both slabs of steel left and right. "What .. kind of prison is this?" He could not think of it to be anything else but a cell. The small quarters –– with steel doors, what else could it be? "I should not think it wise to enter here." And Boromir took a secure step back and looked down the hall in which they came. "I would sooner return to the room, brother, than this smaller .. confinement."

"I would urge us on to see if we can meet Father," Faramir countered. He respected Boromir's insight and he neither wished to linger at the small confinement, however there was nothing left at the room for them to do but wait. They could wait too long. On the other hand, Father might be angry with them if they didn't wait there. Perhaps he even knew that the sons would be in that particular space.

Father could blame him then, and Boromir would not feel any disappointment at the possible derision. That was settled contently with him.

"What say you we move further, Boromir?" However if his brother insisted, Faramir would graciously accept his judgment and return to the room.

"Where is it that you see to go?" Boromir lifted his hand and gestured to the small room before them. "This is the end of the road, less we turn the other direction at the start of the room we awoke in." Perhaps there was something else on the other end of this hall.

"I would agree, but I do not think it is wise to step into this cell."

"What of this?" He moved quietly across the hall in a diagonal to one of the alcoves, in which was series of carved objects and what Faramir interpreted as artwork, though its construction and design were unlike anything he had seen before. "Have you seen anything of this make before?" Boromir had traveled much further and to strange places unlike himself, and so Faramir thought perhaps his brother knew what they were looking at since he did not.

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O'Brother

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