Blood of a Brother: Confessions by Lieke Visser|
Disclaimer: None of these lovely characters are mine and I am not making money by writing this.
Summary: During the fellowship, Boromir finds that he is anything but the right person on the right place.
Blood of a Brother.
I wish I were more like you, my brother.
The moment Boromir wrote those words he realised the irony. How many times had Faramir told him the same thing? Had his little brother not always tried to be like him?
From the moment the boy took his first steps he had been trying to walk like Boromir.
From the moment the boy could speak he had tried to talk like his brother.
But this was the very first time Boromir had used the sentence. Faramir would probably think he had gone insane.
He had been chosen to represent the city of Gondor in a fellowship, but he knew the only reason he was chosen was because there simply were no others to choose from.
Why else would a warrior have been chosen to represent a city of scholars?
His father must have been crazy when he had sent him on Faramir’s quest.
What on earth was he, Boromir, going to say to an elf?
He had never even believed they really existed.
I wish I were more like you, my brother.
In this new fellowship I’m in, I will need to walk like you, talk like you and even think like you.
I find I am in need of your guidance.
Who would you befriend first, Faramir? The Ringbearer? The elf? Or Isildur’s heir?
And what on earth would you say to them?
You must have heard some rumours by now of this fellowship I joined: A fellowship of fools on an impossible mission to safe the world. A hopeless journey.
Though these people actually believe it is possible to walk into Mordor unnoticed, and dump the ring of power into Mount Doom, right under The Enemy’s nose. (or eye).
I could not find the right words to convince them that the mission was hopeless, nor did they listen to my arguments that the power of the ring could be used to do good.
I cannot speak like you can, brother.
I failed our people...
Faramir would have been able to talk the council out of this impossible mission. He would have found the right words to convince the elves of Gondor’s need, of the hopelessness of their situation. In fact, the moment Faramir would have opened his mouth, that Elrond-elf would have given him the ring.
But then again, Faramir might have agreed with the council. Maybe Faramir would have been the first one to offer his sword and his bow to the little hobbit.
Either way, Faramir would not have made a shame of himself. He would have won the hearts of the elves.
But I won’t fail our people again.
I will do the best I can to become you as fast as possible.
The only problem now is: I don’t really have a clue where to start.
It was strange really. Boromir had known his little brother from the day Faramir was born. He had seen his first steps, and heard his first words.
He had stood beside his brother when their mother was buried and he had watched the tears on his cheeks.
Yet he didn’t really know his brother. It was as if the true Faramir had stayed hidden all the years of Faramir’s live.
But hiding from whom? And for what reason?
I have been thinking about you for a long time now Faramir; I have been trying to figure you out.
Yet I still haven’t found the answer to my question.
Who are you, Faramir?
Who are you, when you are not trying to be me?
I have decided you probably would have tried to befriend the elf first. After all, you did read all those books about elves.
And the poetry. You read the poetry too.
Even at times when you could have been swimming or practicing weaponry.
Elves had always been one of Faramir’s greatest interests. His little brother had buried himself in the library for hours and hours, read every book about them, no matter how dusty and boring. He knew the names of all the famous elves by hearth. His little brother had buried himself in the library for hours and hours, learning all there was to know about the creatures.
How Boromir had laughed at him.
“Why would you fill your head with this useless nonsense?” He had asked Faramir time and time again. “Why learn a language you will never speak? You will never meet an elf, Fari!”
And now Boromir stood next to one. If he stretched out his hand, he would be able to touch its pointy ear. He didn’t speak elvish, he hadn’t read anything about elves and he had never imagined speaking to one. What on earth was he going to say?
“Hi.” he said. “Beautiful sunrise, isn’t it?”
So meeting one of them must seem nice to you.
“It is red.” the elf answered sadly. “A red sunrise.”
Boromir stared at the sun, not understanding what was wrong with it or why to feel sad about it. “Isn’t it always?”
The elf slowly shook his head. “No. Not always. There were times...” he sighed and turned his head away from the sun. “But those are long gone now. And we can only hope they will return.”
Boromir shrugged. “I rather like my sunrises red.”
The elf’s eyes became cold as ice as he looked at him, and Boromir could not suppress a shiver.
“Spoken true to men’s violent nature” the elf said and then he left, leaving Boromir behind; wondering what on earth he had said.
But I can tell you, brother. Elves aren’t as wise and friendly as those books let you believe. At least, not the one on this quest with me. He is insane.
Did you know you can offend an elf simply by talking about the weather?
Of course Faramir did. Faramir knew everything. His little brother was a born diplomat. He could have talked to any elf without insulting him in the first two minutes of conversation.
Oh how he wished Faramir were here. Faramir would know what to say.
He had never realised how much he depended on his little brother. Faramir was his conscience; Faramir was the one he trusted to make their decisions. Faramir was his mind. And without his little brother, Boromir didn’t have a clue on what to do.
As the pathetic attempt of conversation with the elf very clearly demonstrated.
“Do you want to be as smart as your brother?”
Boromir looked around, searching for the one who had spoken.
“Do you want the fellowship to respect you? Do you want the power to save Gondor? It is all within your grasp, Boromir. It is yours for the taking. It is right here, under your nose. Take it.”
I really wish you were here, Faramir. I think the madness of that elf is contageous. I seem to have a voice inside my head all of a sudden.
Oh well. It is nothing serious. It is gone now. I guess that shows you really are the sanity of the House of the Stewards after all. Just writing to you made the insanity go away!
I have to go, we have to get moving again. Did I mention I think this quest is stupid and will get us nowhere?
The only thing good about it is that they are walking towards Gondor too.
I really have to go. The so-called king is calling me.
“All you have to do is take the ring.”
I’m trying to tell myself that it is impossible to become friends with that elf, and that even you wouldn’t have succeeded.
The dwarf seems to share that opinion, and when I am talking with him I can almost convince myself that the elf is simply impossible.
But Isildur’s heir has done it. And I wouldn’t dare suggest you were anything less then he is.
Aragorn turned around and sent Boromir a grin. “Food for hungry soldiers!” the ranger announced as he showed him two rabbits he held in his hands, and threw Boromir one of them.
“Try and keep it out of ‘Hungry Hobbit’ reach!” The ranger said with a smile.
Boromir grinned. “That could well prove the most dangerous part of this journey.”
Aragorn laughed out loud at that. “Why do you think I gave it to you?” The man asked, his eyes filled with mirth.
He is very much like you, that Aragorn. He has this way about him that makes you like him, no matter how hard you try not to.
Even I have fallen for it now. The king has me in his clutches and I don’t even mind. I’m proud to call him a friend.
I just wish...
The steward’s son looked around. As ever the camp was divided in two sections.
There was the section Boromir called “the simple life” where the hobbits sat, enjoying their meals and sharing little stories about peaceful childhoods and distant relatives. The dwarf often sat with them, as his relatives were somehow connected to the relatives of Frodo and his cousins in a way Boromir didn’t understand and doubted he ever would.
The other section was reserved for the “Meditating Members” of the Fellowship. The place where Mithrandir, Aragorn and Legolas sat, often in silence, and when they did speak, it was always in elvish.
Boromir still hadn’t figured out where to sit, so he often sat between the two groups, by himself. In his heart he longed for the easy companionship of the Hobbits, but he knew his brother would have joined the silent sober group. His little brother would have fitted in.
I wish he would consider me a friend as well. I wish he would let me join his conversations.
But he has other friends. Like you he speaks a lot to Mithrandir.
And to Legolas too. He and Legolas are often talking together.
I wish you were here, my brother.
‘As I’m lonely without you.’ Boromir added in his mind. It was strange really how one could be lonely in a company of nine, while he had never felt lonely in Gondor, not even when he had been by himself.
‘You need not be lonely.’ a voice whispered in his mind. ‘I could be with you, and we would never have to part. Reach out your hand, Boromir. Reach out your hand and let all your dreams come true. You want your brother to be with you?
Just reach out… and all you ever wanted will be yours.”
Boromir blinked and shook his head.
He tried to concentrate on the rest of his letter, but his eyes betrayed him and kept staring at the glimpse of gold around Frodo’s neck.
I hate snow.
I know we used to think snow was a miracle created only to play and dance around in, but my opinion has now officially changed, and it is all because of this horrible mountain.
I hate snow.
It is cold and wet, and it reduces your vision to less than zero…
I hate snow.
Did I say I hate snow?
“Don’t you just love snow?” The elf asked him, with a smile on his face. “It is so pretty and soft, and when the sun shines… it is just like you walk on all kinds of little rainbows. It is one of nature's greatest miracles, don’t you think?”
“It is cold.” Boromir answered, as he drew his cloak closer around him. “I think we should make a fire soon, or we will freeze to death.”
“Cold?” The elf asked happily. “Cold?!”
“Ignore him, Boromir.” Aragorn grumbled. “He is trying to prove his own superiority again. Legolas, honestly, if you don’t stop singing and dancing and fooling around now, I’ll swear I’ll drop you off the mountain.”
The elf laughed out loud, and made a little pirouette on top of the snow, before he moved away to help the hobbits.
The ranger dropped down beside Boromir. “Ah.” The ranger sighed as he rubbed his hands to warm them. “How I hate snow.”
Boromir gave him a smile. “I was just writing the same thing to my brother.”
“Ah!” Aragorn said again, but at a very different tone this time. “So that is what you have been doing all this time. You had me and Legolas wondering.”
With a sly smile he added. “We had actually decided they were love letters.”
“Love letters?” Boromir repeated.
The ranger nodded and grinned.
Boromir shook his head. “You two are hopelessly romantic.”
The two humans sat together in silence for a while.
“How do you ever plan to send them?” Aragorn asked suddenly. “You are not...Those letters can give away our mission if they fall into enemy hands, can’t they?“
Boromir shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not even sure if I’ll ever send them.”
It is true what I said to Aragorn. I am not planning on sending you this letters. I don’t want you to know how weak I really am. You always looked up to me. All of Gondor did. But never as much as I look up to you now.
In a way Legolas and Aragorn are right. In a way all I’m trying to do with this letters is telling you how much I love you. You should not try to be me, Faramir, I love you the way you are. And father...Ah well… What does he know anyway? If he knew everything he never would have sent me.
He would not have loved me the way he does.
I’m slowly going insane. Apparently my mind isn’t strong enough to be in a place like this and the elf witch has noticed. She talked to me, inside my head. She told me that there is hope for Gondor, and that we have not yet lost.
Boromir stared at the words he had written. The fact that he had written them down proved them right. He was insane.
It wasn’t just the voice inside his head that kept telling him over and over again that he should just take the ring; this craziness went deeper. It must have been there already.
Maybe he had inherited it from somewhere.
But Mithrandir is dead. Your private mentor has fallen to darkness and flames, and there was nothing I could have done to prevent it.
He had just stood there and watched the old man fall. He had stopped Aragorn from jumping after the wizard. And that was all he had done.
But he would never write that to his brother, not even in a letter he would never send.
He wouldn’t dare to face his brother afterwards.
I have seen darkness now and I know I am too weak. All I am is a warrior, with a fine sword and a strong shield, but none of those will stop the Dark Lord.
I am trained to fight, but I cannot fight this.
When Mithrandir fell I knew it.
Nothing is strong enough to fight this darkness.
It is hopeless.
We are lost.
Even though Boromir had always believed in the power of the sword rather than the power of the mind, the warrior knew Mitrandir was the most powerfull man he had ever met. A man that fought the Balrog when all Boromir had wanted was to hide in a corner.
But even that man had lost.
The most important thing this mission has thought me is that I, Boromir II of Gondor, am in no way perfect.
‘So you can stop trying to be like me, Faramir.’ he thought. ‘You don’t want to be like me. I’m a failure. In the end, we will all be failures.’
He glanced at the sleeping hobbit next to him.
He slowly shook his head, and concentrated on the letter again.
I will stop trying to be like you, Faramir.
I know now that I will never succeed in it, just as you will never succeed in being me.
‘All these efforts are useless, we will never be the same. No matter how we try, you will always be the thinker and I will be the fighter.
If, by some miracle, in some way...’
He glanced at Frodo again.
If this fellowship survives and reaches Gondor, I’ll leave it to you to befriend the elves and the rangers. I’ll stick with Hobbits and Dwarves.
He glanced at the golden band around Frodo’s neck again.
‘If I am able.’
I have seen the final battle in my dreams. I have seen you fighting in Ithilien, dressed in a ranger’s garb. I have seen you riding towards Osgiliath with a hundred other men.
I have seen the look in your eyes.
You knew you would not return.
I have seen father crying over your dead body.
I have seen your corpse.
I have seen your blood.
The blood of my brother.
And I know it was the future I saw. It is like you told me: When you dream about the future, you know it.
Faramir. I’m sorry. It should be me riding that horse to Osgiliath.
It should be you on this journey.
I should die and you should live.
If I can prevent this future I will.
I know my arms are not strong enough.
I know my strength will fail.
But there is one change still open. One pathway hasn’t closed yet. I don’t know what you think of me when I write this. The elf witch hates me and you, who have always loved elves, might hate me too.
But you have to understand, brother.
I will take the halfling’s ring.