Goodbye|Brother [/BOROMIR]

[faramir]

Minas Tirith was busy today. Even before dawn Faramir could hear the rapid clik-clak-clikclak of well over a thousand pairs of feet against stone surface. Men, men of Gondor, soldiers dashing here & there, left & right, north & south east & west – for farewell. Farewell, My City; Farewell, My Lord; Farewell, Mother, Sister, Cousin, Brother. Brother. Farewell, goodbye, farewell, good(fortune on your way there and Back – please Come Back, You Must Come Back)bye. Boromir, son of Denethor II, embarking on a journey to Rivendell for “Isildur’s Bane”, as spoken to him(and|& Faramir) in the dream. Boromir leaving, much to Denethor’s dismay & then[h[H]opefully] Boromir returning, smiles & laughter fluttering around his shoulders, a piece of glory in his palm, warm & snug in the fingers of a man whose hands wielded swords & waved to command other soldiers, fighters. All according to Denethor’s wishes.

Today the city was to bid the eldest Steward-Prince of Gondor farewell. Faramir included. He washed twice and made sure his hair was neat & tidy for no conscious reason at all; he cleaned off every (noticeable) speck of dirt&mud from his boots and cleaned his sword as well, polishing it until it gleamed. So that it would catch the reflection of his brother forever. (And) When breakfast arrived, he could barely eat.

He returned to his room twice: first for thinking, second to think again. Boromir, leaving. Boromir. Leaving. Imagine a birthmark on your back. – Now imagine it being ripped off, never to be able to merge perfectly with your un(flawed) skin anymore. He lowered his head, cast his eyes downward, unable to look out to the horizon. With his brother leaving, Minas Tirith looked as melancholic as a sculpture left behind one second before completion. He[Faramir, he was Faramir |Boromir’s {little} brother.] turned away, left this place[his room] – though not before taking an object wrapped in plain cloth from his desk. Walked out of the stewards’ lodgings & stopped near the White Tree of Gondor. White Tree, white walls, white city. White. This was the colour of the landscape, the colour that would envelope your shoulders, slide down and cover you like molasses, draw you away. This is the colour that haunts.

[boromir]

Boromir had wanted to slip away quietly. He hadn't wanted there to be a big fanfare. But Denethor had insisted on it. He wanted everyone in the city to know that his eldest son was traveling to Rivendell--that he was going to be the savior of their country because he was going to bring back to Gondor the weapon of the enemy. It was as if it was already a foregone conclusion to Denethor, as if he knew how the Council was going to go.

His son, however, had his misgivings. Still, as he walked through the various levels of the city, Boromir kept a smile on his face as he said his goodbyes to people he had known his whole life. He thanked them for their wishes for a safe journey for him. But Boromir's mind was elsewhere. The one person he really needed to say goodbye to he had yet to see. Where was his younger brother?

As Boromir made his way up higher and higher the crowds started to thin out. It wasn't until he had reached the seventh level, the level that required a password to get to, that he spotted Faramir by the dead white tree. If anyone was going to be the hardest hit by Boromir's departure, then it was Faramir. And, the truth be told, Boromir was going to miss Faramir just as much.

He approached his brother slowly; this would be the hardest goodbye, the only one that was going to hurt him. "You would think that I was leaving forever the way they're treating me," he said, a slight chuckle tagged onto the end of his sentence. He didn't want this to be a gloomy departure.

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[faramir]

Faramir knew Denethor would be more than disappointed in him -- was already disappointed, no doubt: Faramir, the steward would say, voice gelid&venomous, eyes looking at but not to his second(second, always second) son, you were not with Your Brother since dawn. Are you possibly celebrating his leaving? And Faramir would answer in silence|secrecy, for his(their) father would not|never stop, much less listen, to his words. No, f[F(?)]ather, he would think (intuitively), I don't want him to leave. ... ...Listen to me, please, show&tell me you care --

He saw Boromir approaching him, walking slowly. Slow . ly . Slow to come, slow to leave -- perhaps he was buying time? Faramir would like to think so; it (further) confirmed(or implied((?))) that he was important to at least one other, that for him his brother was willing to hold back the fast pace(fast,fast,all too FAST) of Minas Tirith, the city which bred military & women destined for mourning. But how slow would he take to come back, return? Intuition sliced at Faramir, quietly screamed into his ears&eyes that Boromir was entering a one-way journey.

Faramir let out a laugh as well, softer than his brother's, trying his hardest to keep the atmosphere positive -- as positive as his own presence would allow. "Formalities," he said, offering an explanation in the (entire) city's place, "with such a grand farewell, you will be thought of every day --" he snapped his lips shut, immediately regretting what he had just implied. He turned his head away from Boromir for a brief moment, tried to hypnotize himself into believing that his brother would return safe & sound. It didn't work. "I'm sorry for not seeing you earlier today," he looked back at Boromir, "I got you something for the journey."

[boromir]

There was no denying the gloom that permeated the city today. But there would have been no denying their father the grand send off that he had wanted to give Boromir. Even if Boromir had argued strenuously against it, Denethor wouldn't have budged an inch. Their father was stubborn like that; Boromir had learned long ago that it was useless arguing with him because once Denethor had an idea or plan in mind he was going to see it through, even if his favored son happened to disagree with him.

Boromir wanted to leave Minas Tirith within the hour. That would give him just enough time to put the white spires of the city far behind him before he was forced to stop for the night. He didn't want the reminder of all that he was leaving behind still sticking up behind him in the sky. He had a duty to perform and needed to solely focus on nothing but it. It was no different than being in a battle. In the heat of a battle, soldiers couldn't let petty emotions or what they wanted to happen get in the way of what they needed to do.

Trying to keep the mood light had almost worked, until Faramir accidentally misspoke. Boromir waited patiently for Faramir to recover and then listened as his brother spoke again. "You did not need to do that, Faramir," he replied. And his brother really didn't need to do it. A reminder of Faramir stuck at home and no doubt being berated by their father day in and day out was not what Boromir needed on his journey to Rivendell. But Faramir had meant well in the gesture and sometimes that was all that mattered.

Boromir walked over to the walls of the top level. He could never stand being by the dead tree for too long. It was a sad reminder of how glorious Gondor had once been. His gaze strayed to the people down below, just tiny specks, but always kept wandering back straight ahead to the land of Mordor. Maybe his journey was going to lead him there, if that was the wish of the Council. He couldn't predict the future. Tearing his eyes away from what his future held in store for him, Boromir looked back over at Faramir again. "I have to go," he said, as if Faramir had said otherwise, "I don't want to go. I'd rather be here defending our homeland with you but you know how stubborn Father is." He hated bringing up their father in this conversation but some things needed to be said before Boromir left today.

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[faramir]

The White Tree was not in bloom. It hung there, practically a corpse, branches stretched out as if clinging onto string-like l[L]ife with slippery fingers; its roots somehow still managed to support it, feeding nutrients to its deteriorating glory. Glory. A word Faramir found more than uncomfortable. He preferred honour or integrity – words which carried greater, (seemingly) less biased ((oh?)) connotations. If Gondor was to lose its glory, then pray for its honour. Giving the tree a quick glance, he followed his brother away to the walls.

He said nothing at first, casting his eyes downward so as to avoid looking at Boromir(physically, for he always, always looked at&to h[H]im). Their father had always been a sensitive topic – too sensitive for one brother to face another at times. Faramir knew – or at least could accurately guess – why Denethor had insisted on Boromir attending whatever [Important, Important, no doubt Important] business|council|meeting that was to be held in far Rivendell: g l o r y. Boromir’s glory. The dream had originally appeared before Faramir, and had done so three times as opposed to Boromir’s one – and yet here Faramir was, bidding his brother farewell,goodbye, waiting for Denethor’s daily criticism.

And so Boromir took up all the hardships & challenges that had been intended for Faramir. If you subtracted all the small(er?) details, the big picture would have appeared even more unreasonable(or suspicious? what was reason in Faramir's eyes? he was probably clouded by his father --) to Faramir.

“I know,” he finally replied, words half-stumbling out awkwardly, as if thirty-five years of poetry hadn’t shaped his vocabulary into anti-Minas Tirith eloquence. I don’t want you to go too. His gaze shifted, falling on the bundle in his hand. He held it out to Boromir and looked at him. Just a few pieces of the city’s finest bread. How oh how he had wanted to prepare something much less common, something much more special, unique – but it wouldn’t be safe. If he gave Boromir a more permanent present, and enemies found it, and they tracked it down to Gondor… still, better to digest something than have nothing at all. "Don't starve on your way to Rivendell."

[boromir]

Boromir took the offered bundle from Faramir. He could faintly smell the aroma of baked goods wafting from it and opened up the cloth to confirm his suspicion. He closed it up again, a small smile on his face, for sometimes even the smallest of gifts could mean much more than what they appeared to mean on the surface, especially when the gift was from someone that you had always loved. When their mother had died, Boromir was the only person that Faramir had had left, and Boromir had never let their father's favoritism get to him.

"Thank you, brother," he said, the smile never quite leaving his face. Provisions were bound to be scarce on the way to Rivendell but Boromir had wanted to travel light so he was going to have to make do with what little he could find in the wild. It would be a perilous trip, and that was exactly why Boromir was glad that it had fallen upon his shoulders. He knew his younger brother would have been more than capable of making it but he much preferred for his own life to be put in danger than to be stuck in the city worrying about Faramir's fate.

Feeling that this meeting might turn somber quickly, Boromir added, "I will come back and, until then, I know that the safety of our homeland is in capable hands." He placed a friendly hand on Faramir's shoulder. Those capable hands were his brother's. Maybe it was a good thing that Boromir was leaving because it might give their father the opportunity to finally see that Faramir was just as much a skilled soldier as Boromir was.

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[faramir]

Faramir had lost hope since not long after his mother's death. Only with Boromir's presence could he consciously wish for their father's acceptance. The (cold) warmth of his hand(s). Faramir had already half-predicted his days after Boromir's departure: [even more] isolated & lonely, away from Minas Tirith because he dared not approach Denethor without something worth presenting -- and nothing would be on par with Isildur's Bane. No matter how hard he tried, how long he persisted, he would always enter the Citadel, pass the White Tree as a failure. He, too, would (physically, only physically) leave the city, defend the kingdom from the hills & forests & streams & rivers of Gondor, where he could pretend to find/have found emotional contentment. Anywhere but the city.

"I will defend our home." A p

romise. He raised his arm and gently pressed his hand on Boromir's shoulder. Capable hands. The words echoed in his mind, a soup for self-esteem. Yes, he could do it. Defend Gondor. He could & would do it. Gondor was his home. Home. Their home. Their. (For home is not physical, but conceptual & spiritual & emotional; home without Boromir & plagued by Denethor was not home at all.)

Faramir mustered a smile. "Tell me all about Rivendell when you return. I want to know if the poems are true or not." Poems he had read growing up, the artistic delicacies that contributed to his loneliness. If this was torture, then he loved it nonetheless. "Tell me about the elves as well," he added, trying not to let his smile falter, "I will be waiting."

[boromir]

Boromir had no doubt that Faramir would do all that he could do to keep their homeland safe while he was away. It would have been impossible for Boromir to go on this journey to Rivendell if Faramir hadn't been staying behind to look after Gondor. Their father no doubt didn't think that Gondor was in any serious danger in the immediate future or else he would have never asked Boromir to leave in the first place. But, with Mordor so close to their borders, Boromir didn't know how Denethor could be sure of Gondor's safety. He had no way of knowing that their father possessed one of the few remaining palantirs in Middle-earth.

He was grateful that Faramir didn't try and contradict his statement that he would be coming home. It would have been the easiest thing in the world for his brother to say that he didn't know what might happen to him on the way to Rivendell or on the way back. Instead, Faramir wanted to focus on the beauty of Rivendell. He had always been the more scholarly of the two brothers. While Boromir was busy reading manuals on war, Faramir was more than happy with a book of poems.

Boromir knew he was going to have too much on his mind other than the aesthetic aspects of the elves' home to ever be able to give Faramir a fair account of what Rivendell looked like so he said, "I will do something even better than that. We will take a trip there together after I come back. Just the two of us." That is if Sauron was defeated. If he wasn't, then Boromir would only be coming home to spend his last days before Middle-earth was destroyed by Sauron.

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[faramir]

What Faramir had said about Rivendell was a joke. A failing attempt to raise the mood, wrap the funereal atmosphere in a cloak of happy stone. He would have meant it, had they not been in the middle of a war; ever since his first Elven poem he had longed(|hungered) to see, with his own eyes, all the ethereal lands of the Elves: Lothlorien, Rivendell, Green_([mirk])wood & al. Away from the cold walls of Minas Tirith he would go([fly]); Escape Artist Faramir, Wander(lover)ust Faramir. This desire[&part] of him he would never joke about -- he wished for Boromir's words to come true&take physical form; they would travel to Rivendell together, as two&one [for it takes two to make one brother].

It was not impossible -- they could visit Rivendell together. After the war was over. If it would end. Faramir immediately tried to throw that thought away; in such times, all you could&should focus on was [your] victory & nothing else; take hold, embrace the noise & chaos of war(the PHYSICAL,the MENTAL,the EMOTIONAL &SO MUCH MORE) & suck out&in every advantage from it. He tried not to consider one's mortality & vulnerability. That everyone could perish in war. Everyone including Boromir.

Just imagining a life without Boromir[& too much Denethor(II)] was too much of a torture. Promise me a lie -- your (sure) return.

"I await that day," replied Faramir. "Now, on your solo journey there, make sure to keep clean daily. Remember to look your finest before the elves. Show them the quality of Gondor."

[boromir]

If it was up to Boromir, he would have taken his younger brother with him on the journey to Rivendell that he was starting today. He would have enjoyed the company immensely but, unfortunately, one of them had to stay behind and protect Gondor; and that duty had fallen to Faramir, if only because their father trusted his eldest son with the grave duty of trying to bring the weapon of the enemy back to Minas Tirith. Denethor was right in believing that Faramir would have never been for that plan, which is exactly why Boromir had kept quiet about it. Faramir--and the rest of the city--knew that Boromir was going to Rivendell to attend a council about the Ring but they didn't know that he was going to try and bring it back with him to Minas Tirith.

It was a lie of omission, one that he hated making but knew was necessary because Boromir knew that Faramir would be able to talk him out of listening to their father. Boromir didn't want that to happen because he believed that their father might actually be right about it. If no one wanted Sauron to get his hands on the Ring again, then why not let a strong city use it against him? Maybe someone with a greater knowledge of folklore, like Faramir, could tell Boromir just how impossible using the Ring against Sauron would be.

Boromir couldn't help but chuckle at Faramir's comments. "My dear brother," he said, "I think I will have more important matters on my mind than bathing but I will represent our home as best as I can." He was sure that once he reached Rivendell any wear and tear come upon him during the journey would be cured. But even then Boromir wouldn't let himself get caught up in the spell of the elves. He had a job to do and wasn't going to let beauty, songs, food, or rest get in the way of accomplishing it.

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[faramir]

Faramir did not mean for Boromir to slack off in Rivendell. Times were too harsh for beauty -- who knew, perhaps even the elves themselves were preparing for battle. He remembered learning about a time when elves and men were elves&men, allies, friends. They had stood side by side (& in front & behind, for you cannot protect just from the right or left) at one point in history, both royal & lived. Then they (were) separated, & now men seemed to be alone. Yet a council was to be held in Rivendell, and a dream sent to Faramir and Boromir, men from Gondor. Curiosity took hold of him; he could not help but wonder if elves and men would fight together as elves&men once more, elves|men, (ideally)equal|(ideally)equal.

Bathing was essential. You could not deny the importance of good hygiene and health. Faramir made sure to wash once a day before dinnertime; on special occasions, such as this day, he would wash twice. He did not like the idea of small organisms leeching their way on|into your body just because you were not clean enough. The thought of another living being stealing your(his) energy away, so that you crumbled down,down down; leeches, parasites ((--now who does that remind you of?)).

Of course, it would not be entirely possible for Boromir to wash regularly during his journey: he had a chance of being... inconvenienced on his way to Rivendell. Inconvenienced, because the words attacked [& k - ...slain] were too severe for the slippery organ in Faramir's chest. He fell silent, yet could not tear his eyes away from his brother.