For some strange reason, I can't get rid of this giant space above here; every time I try to delete it, the font and size of the text changes... Strange...
This is my first attempt at a story in third person; I hope it's okay... I wanted a story where Faramir takes Boromir's place in the Fellowship, so the plot moght have to be twisted a couple of times to make things work.
This is not a 'Evil Denethor' fic; I don't like the portrayal of his character in the films, and so we now have a 'Nice Denethor'... well, nice enough for now; he might go a bit crazy later when he starts using the Palantir more often...
Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think!
Faramir's Chance
Chapter One: A Chance to Show His Quality
"Boromir!"
"Boromir!" The crowd of warriors yelled again, raising their sword, and bows, and all other weapons that had been used in the battle just passed.
The sun shone brightly behind the blonde head, reflecting from silver armour as the man, whose name rang over the once magnificent city of Osgiliath, jabbed the end of a standard between the rocks of the ruined wall he stood upon and raised his own sword high into the air. His green eyes astutely surveying the army that stood below him, Boromir rallied his men.
"This city, was once the jewel of our Kingdom," he cried, looking across the crowd, "A place of light, and beauty, and music; and so it shall be once more!" The crowd cheered, and the white flag of the Steward of Gondor flapped in the breeze; the same breeze that played with Boromir's un-helmeted locks, a fact that endeared him to his fellow soldiers. He waited for the noise to die slightly before continuing.
"Let the armies of Mordor know this;" Boromir's voice rose as he entreated the men to agree with him, "Never again will the land of my people fall into enemy hands!" More, louder cheering ensued, "This city of Osgiliath has been reclaimed; for Gondor!"
"For Gondor!" the men repeated, throwing their heart and souls into the shout.
"For Gondor!" Boromir yelled, his sword stabbing the air.
"For Gondor!"
"For Gondor!"
"For Gondor!!!"
He pushed his way through the men - closely followed by his bodyguard and second-in-command, Anborn - smiling and nodding to them, even exchanging a couple of words with the ones he knew by name. It could never be said that Faramir did not care for his men; he was generous and compassionate, the commander of the Ithilien Company - Gondor's elite forces; some would even say too compassionate…
His target was almost within reach and Faramir's face lit up with a smile, his indigo eyes lighting up; he threw himself into the arms of his brother and held him close, in that way that warriors have when they know that they've managed to survive again, and are reunited with those they love.
"Good speech; nice and short," Faramir remarked with an expressionless face as he pulled himself away; Boromir grinned and his brother broke out into another one of his charming smiles, the ones that tend to catch you off guard and fill you with warmth fight down to your toes…
"Leaves more time for drinking!" The brothers and Anborn burst into laughter, Boromir's trademark humour escaping from its closely guarded cage, "Break out the ale! These men are thirsty!" The men surrounding them cheered in delight as kegs of ale were pulled out of the storerooms and taps hammered into them. Boromir took two silver goblets and filled them up, handing one to Faramir.
"Remember today, little brother," Boromir sighed as they knocked their goblets together in a toast, "Today, life is good," They drank gratefully, eyes never leaving the face of the other. Faramir leant against a stone pillar and smiled at his elder brother, enjoying their time together. That was, until he spotted a well known figure walking through the men further off.
"What?" Boromir asked, grinning at Faramir's face.
"He's here," Faramir answered, using his head to indicate the direction; Boromir's face fell as spotted their father making his way towards them, chatting with the soldiers.
"One moment of peace, can he not give us that?" he muttered, head down, gathering his wits about him. Faramir noted the look of exasperation, and also the look of pain; Faramir and Denethor were not known for their close relationship, and Boromir was often caught between the two.
"Where is he?" Denethor smiled at his son, "Where is Gondor's finest? Where is my first-born?"
"Father!" Boromir held his head high and plastered a smile onto his face; Faramir looked on as Denethor pulled Boromir into a tight embrace.
"They say you vanquished the enemy almost single-handedly," Denethor was pleased with his son's victory over the enemy, even more so when it meant the recovery of one of Gondor's own cities, albeit a decidedly ruined one…
"Ah, they exaggerate!" Boromir exclaimed, "The victory belongs to Faramir also!" Faramir came forward smiling; Denethor frowned.
"But for Faramir, this city would still be standing," he sneered, "Where you not entrusted to protect it?" Boromir's head lowered; he knew what was coming.
"I would have done, but our numbers were too few," Faramir knew that no matter what he said, it would not change his standing in his father's eyes; Faramir was the 'spare', the one that Denethor could palm off to any number of different commands in Gondor without a care in Arda.
"Oh, too few," Denethor's lip curled, "You let the enemy walk in and take it on a whim," Denethor advanced on his younger son and Boromir closed his eyes in hopelessness, as Faramir swallowed against his pain, "Always you cast a poor reflection upon me,"
"That is not my intent," Faramir shook his head.
"You give him no credit, and yet he tries to do your will," Boromir had had enough; he walked off into a chamber, swiftly followed by his father. Faramir stood on his own, trying to control his emotions.
"He loves you, Father-"
"Do not trouble me with Faramir; I know his uses and they are few," Denethor spoke quietly and quickly, watching as his son shook his head, "We have more urgent things to speak of," Boromir looked at his father, confused.
"Elrond of Rivendell has called a meeting," Denethor told him, "He will not say why but I have guessed its purpose. It is rumoured that the weapon of the enemy has been found…" Boromir paled visibly.
"The One Ring…" Denethor nodded; Boromir looked away, "Isildur's Bane…"
"It has fallen into the hands of the Elves, everyone will try to claim it: Men, Dwarves, Wizards - we cannot let that happen," Boromir gazed at his father in sudden understanding, "This thing must come to Gondor!"
"Gondor…" Boromir murmured, dazed; Denethor grabbed his shoulders and shook him slightly.
"It's dangerous, I know," his father hissed, "Ever the Ring will seek to corrupt the hearts of lesser Men. But you, you are strong. And our need is great. It is our blood which is being spilt, our people who are dying. Sauron is biding his time; he's massing fresh armies. He will return. And when he does, we will be powerless to stop him. You. Must. Go." He emphasised the last three words, trying to make Boromir see the importance of this mission, "Bring me back this mighty gift,"
"No…" Boromir shook his head, pushing past Denethor, "My place is here with my people, not in Rivendell!" Denethor followed.
"Would you deny your own father?" he growled.
"If there is need to go to Rivendell, send me in his stead," Faramir strode over to Boromir's side, watching his brother; there was something wrong with him, Faramir could feel it…
"You?" Denethor muttered, "Oh, I see; a chance for Faramir, Captain of Gondor, to show his quality. I think not; I trust this mission only to your brother, the one who will not fail me-"
Boromir drew in a ragged breath before suddenly leaning heavily against the wall next to him, collapsing to the ground; Faramir was next to him in a flash, checking him over.
"Stop fussing over me, I'll be fine in a min-" Boromir gasped as Faramir prodded his side, coming away with blood soaked fingers; Denethor knelt next to him.
"Why did you not go to the surgeons immediately?" he growled, glaring at his stubborn elder son, "You and your unbending pride!" Boromir shook his head.
"The men needed support, they needed their morale boost-" he hissed as Faramir lifted the chain mail away from the wound, revealing a deep, nasty looking cut as his waist; Faramir sighed.
"We have to get him to the Houses of Healing," he whispered to his father, "There is nothing any of the field surgeons can do for this," Denethor looked at him, thinking to himself.
"It will take weeks to heal," he muttered, "By which time the meeting will be over…" Faramir glanced at him, hardly daring to hope, "You must go to Rivendell, and bring me back the news," Faramir's mouth dropped open slightly and Denethor smiled at him.
"Do not think me such a callous beast," he whispered to his youngest, "I do love you; it is just harder for me to show it when you look so much like her…" He was referring to Finduilas, his darling wife; passed away years ago. Faramir was the spitting image of his mother, with his fiery hair and indigo eyes; Denethor could hardly bare to look at him sometimes…
"Thank you Father…" Faramir tried to hold his emotions in check long enough for his father to see that he was genuinely thankful for this chance; everyone in Gondor believed that he was made the Commander of the Ithilien Rangers just to get him away from the Citadel. But now he could prove that he was useful, that his father did love him enough to trust him.
"You must be away soon," Denethor told him, grabbing his hand, "You have only a few weeks to reach Rivendell before the meeting; do me proud…" Faramir kissed his father's hand from fealty, before standing and walking away, listening to his father calling for a stretcher to be brought.
"What happened?" Anborn asked as soon as Faramir appeared.
"I'm being sent on a mission for Father," he answered, gathering his things together, "I won't be back for some time, so I'm leaving the care of the Rangers in your capable hands,"
Anborn stared at Faramir for a few seconds, before helping him wind his black scarf around his lower face and fasten his green cloak over the top; both were symbols of the Ranger's office, the need for camouflage great in the woods of Ithilien.
"Would you like Elmoth saddled?" the new Commander asked, as Faramir began collecting food to go into a pack; the red-head smiled beneath the scarf, knowing Anborn was loathe to see him go without protection.
"If you do not mind-"
"No bother," Anborn shrugged off the thanks that Faramir was about to give him, uncomfortable with strong emotions, and left the chamber for the stables.
Faramir looked around the small room that had been his home for the last few weeks, before shrugging his shoulders. His sword was already belted on, so he picked up his quiver of arrows and buckled it onto his back, threw his lebethron bow over his shoulder and picked up his pack, following Anborn.
Elmoth, Faramir's chestnut roan gelding was waiting patiently outside his stable when Faramir arrived, attaching his pack to the back of Elmoth's saddle. The bow was to stay by Faramir's side, even whilst in the saddle; Faramir was enough of a soldier to know when it was wise to keep a weapon handy. He put a boot in the stirrup and swung himself into the saddle with consummate ease, pulling his cloak out from underneath him.
"Good luck," Anborn was at Elmoth's head, stroking the gelding's cheek for comfort; Faramir sighed.
"You'll be fine, Anborn; don't worry," the young man looked up at the ruins of the once magnificent city, "Will you tell Father that I have gone to do his bidding for me?" The man nodded and let go of Elmoth's bridle; Faramir nudged the gelding's sides and he began walking.
"Oh, and keep an eye on Boromir for me," Faramir called back as he pulled his hood up, "You never know what that hard-headed lummox is going to do when I'm not around!" Anborn grinned.
"As you wish, my Lord," he answered, watching the Steward's youngest ride out into an uncertain future.
Phew; I was sat in front of my computer for at least two hours last night trying to type this, and now I've just done another hour of typing from 7 o'clock on a saturday morning, eating a chocolate yogurt for breakfast! Sugar rush!
Hugs!
Iana XxX