Soul

Posted: March 2003
Type: FCS
Author: Trinity Helix
Disclaimer: Not mine. Tolkien owns it all.
Website: http://trinitycross.net/lotrfan (my Lotr art and fiction site)
Warnings: R (nothing graphic, but as the pairing says, this *is* INCEST.)
Characters: Boromir/Faramir (implied)
Genre: Romance
Summary: Faramir mourns the death of his brother.
Sequel to 'Heart'.
Comments: Read 'Heart' first. This is Faramir's POV, and it will probably make more sense if you read the first installment of the trilogy.

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/Pain./

No other words can express how I felt the day I received word that my brother was dead. It was pain, plain and simple, and I experienced it through every fiber of my being.

"My captain... we have found Lord Boromir's body."

What does one say to this? How does one react to the messenger of such tidings?

Valar knows I wanted to lash out, to strike the man who uttered the words-- as if in doing so I would make the news less real, and his death would somehow be taken back.

/Pain./

And there was so much of it. So, so much that I felt that I could not breathe, nor, for that matter, *stand*.

But stand I did, and for a long moment Dagoreth and I look at each other, with his words and everything they entailed hanging between us.

Finally I open my mouth. "Where is he?" I ask, and my voice is remarkably calm.

"By the lake, sir," Dagoreth answers, looking somewhat relieved at my apparent control. "He washed up on the shore... along with some boat wreckage. We think he may have been given a proper burial."

I incline my head a little at the news, and hide my white-knuckled fists in my cloak.

"Take me to him," I say, and he nods and leads the way.

It is but an hour-long march to the water's edge, and Dagoreth does not speak. The silence is welcome, and I lose myself in the smell of the earth; wet with dew and recent rain. For this brief hour I pretend I am merely scouting the land, and I content myself with running my hands over rough bark as I take care to leave no mark of my passing.

Finally, we reach the site, and as I approach my men part like the sea.

I do not recogize him at first-- so pale is his face-- and for a brief moment hope blossoms in my chest. But then I kneel by his side, and there is no mistaking his identity.

"My brother," I whisper, and reach out with an unsteady hand to stroke a white cheek. It is icy cold to the touch, and I thank the river's temperature for sparing me the sight of my brother's decayed body. As it is, his form is fairly well-preserved, and save for his color, one would almost think that he was just sleeping.

/Pain./

It returns with a vengeance, now, and I blink furiously against threatening tears.

My men shuffle uneasily behind, unsure of how to react; I know they draw their strength from me, and I bite back my grief and face them levelly.

"What have you found?"

"He has mortal wounds, sir, but they are dressed, and his sword and the Horn of Gondor were found a little further down the river," offers one. "There is boat wreckage also, but they resemble nothing made by men."

"We think it is elvish," another pipes up.

I nod numbly, and set aside the information for future use. "You have all done well," I say. "But now I shall take the reigns. Dagoreth, return to the palace and tell my father of this news-- the rest of you return to the camp."

"Yes, my Lord," bows Dagoreth, and as one they fade into the trees, leaving me to face my brother alone.

/Pain./

Stripped of the cloak of my rank, I fall to the ground, sharp rocks biting into my cloth-bound knees. My heart is beating very loudly, and my hand shakes as I reach over and take his.

"Boromir..." I whisper brokenly, and though my body shakes, the tears refuse to come. It is a grief beyond grief, I realize, and even the comfort of weeping is withheld from me.

The sharpness in my chest has returned now, and I wrap my arms around myself, seeking the solace of strong arms that do not come.

/That will *never* come, now.../

The thought is poison, and I kneel at my brother's side, wracked with dry sobs that provide no release. The grey clouds above begin to thunder, and as the first drops of rain fall from the heavens, I tilt my face up to catch the wetness.

Lightning flashes across the sky, and I close my eyes, retrieving the memory of a tight circle of arms and comforting blue eyes.

//It is a storm, little Faramir... nothing to be afraid of.//

It is an old memory, but it brings me comfort nonetheless.

"I am not afraid, anymore Boromir..." I whisper into the approaching darkness, my voice hoarse and hollow.

As if in answer the rain pelts down harder, and a manic laugh gurgles from my chest. "Do your worst," I call out to the heavens. "I am a child no longer, and I fear nothing that the future holds!"

And as I sit there in the rain, holding my brother's icy hand and trying to will myself to cry, I realize that I have spoken the truth.

The pain has receeded to a dull ache, and I feel hollow and empty and infinitely sad.

I fear nothing that the future holds... because the one thing I care for has been taken already.

Boromir...

/My soul./

*****

THE END

Go to the next story in the series: Mind

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Trinity Helix