Safe In My Arms

"Faramir, it’s time to wake up."

The voice was unfamiliar, but it was warm and inviting and Faramir, Prince of Ithilien and Steward of Gondor, trusted it implicitly. He slowly opened his eyes, half expecting to be in the Houses of Healing, or even in his own bed. But no, he did not recognize this place.

He felt a hand on his chest and focused on the person sitting on the edge of the bed. It was a man, or someone who appeared to be a man, dressed in a midnight blue velvet tunic with moonstones and black opals sewn along the hem and neck. He wore a shirt of grey watered silk underneath, his woolen breeches the same shade of grey. His blue-black hair was long, longer than Men usually wore it, and it was carefully braided like an elf’s and bound with a circlet of silver. Four black opals surrounding a moonstone graced the center of the circlet. His eyes were slate-grey, but full of warmth and... love.

"D-do I know you?" Faramir asked softly. He found the man’s gaze mesmerizing and a deep sense of calm and peace permeated him and Faramir felt that he could stay this way forever.

The man, if so he was, smiled and nodded. "We met a long time ago." His voice was low and melodious. "You were so lost. You wandered far, looking for your brother."

"Boromir."

The man nodded. "Boromir. You searched for him but could not find him and you wept, for you were quite small and alone. I found you. Do you not remember, child? I found you and brought you back home for it was not yet your time to follow me. Do you remember the lullaby I sang to you?"

The man began to sing and suddenly Faramir was transported back in time and he gasped as memory opened to him and he knew who sat by him.

"Un-uncle Námo?" he whispered in disbelief.

Námo, Lord of Mandos, smiled broadly. "Yes, it’s your Uncle Námo. You were very, very ill. Do you remember? It was soon after your mother died and everyone thought you might die as well. You almost did, but it wasn’t your time and I had to lead you back to your hröa, for you had slipped out of it in the midst of your fever looking for your brother."

Faramir listened to Námo speak, stunned. He remembered being very ill with fever and the "uncle" who came and helped him to find his way home when he was lost, but he always thought it was a dream.

"That is what everyone else said, child," Námo said. "Over time, you began to believe it, but now you know it was real, as am I."

Námo gently began singing the lullaby again. Faramir began to feel more and more contented and at peace. His limbs felt heavy and he had no desire to escape from his bed or from the one who was singing to him.

"Wh-what’s happening to me?" he finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper, fear beginning to take hold as the strangeness of his situation began to impinge on his consciousness. "What are you doing?"

"Hush, child," Námo replied, placing a finger on the man’s lips. "Do not be afraid. I am merely bringing you to a state of total calm and acceptance. You need to feel safe and I am offering you the chance to feel it again." He began singing again.

Faramir gasped as he felt everything going dim and then he finally blacked out....

****

"Farry, time to wake up."

Little Farry opened his eyes to see his brother, Borry, looking down at him with a smile. He smiled back. "Borry!" He reached out with his hands and gave Borry a hug. Then the two brothers were on the floor playing. Suddenly Little Farry began to cry. Someone came into the room just then and knelt down to comfort him.

"I’m sorry, my lord," Boromir said contritely. "I don’t know why he’s crying."

"It’s not your fault, Boromir," Námo said with a smile. "Your brother is just overwhelmed by emotion is all. Nothing to worry about. Come, let us put him back into bed and I will send him back to sleep. His death was very recent and he is unused to what is happening to him."

With that, Boromir stood and helped Námo to put his brother back in the bed and cover him up. Boromir watched as the Lord of Mandos sang to his brother and wondered. He had been reluctant to play the role Námo insisted he play. Only his deep love for Faramir and Éomer’s encouragement (not to mention the hobbits’) allowed him to play out this charade.

"Boromir, it’s not a charade," Námo said, never taking his eyes off the recumbent Man.

"What is it then?" Boromir asked heatedly, springing to his feet to stare down at his brother and the Vala.

Námo looked up, his expression mild. "A chance for your brother to feel safe as he has not felt so since before your mother died."

Boromir blanched at that and felt his hands clench. "And turning him into a mewling infant is supposed to do that? Do you enjoy watching us crawl on the floor that much that you would reduce us to such a state forever? I’m surprised you haven’t made me or Éomer crawl around the floor playing with our stuffed toys as well."

Námo sighed and stood up. "Come with me," Námo said, making a sudden decision.

Boromir hesitated as Námo headed for the door. "Fara—"

"He will be watched over, never fear. Now come." The words were mild in tone but Boromir had no doubt that they were a command not to be ignored. With a last look at his sleeping brother he followed the Vala out the door to find himself...

He was surrounded by elves. Playing catch-me of all things. Laughing, singing, dancing. No one paid any attention to them, to him. He might as well not exist.

"You don’t. At least, not to them," came the startling words from the Lord of Mandos. Boromir looked at the Vala standing next to him and shivered at the expression on his face. He suddenly felt completely out of his depth.

"Who are they?"

"The Dead, Boromir," Námo said gently. He pointed to one particular elleth clutching a small stuffed toy and staying close to another elleth who had a protective arm around her shoulders.

"Her name is Eluwen. In the days of your ancestor, Cirion, she died at the hands of orcs while attempting to protect her mistress, the Lady Celebrían, wife to Elrond Peredhel of Imladris. You met Celebrían’s parents in Lothlórien."

Boromir gasped at the Vala’s words, stunned beyond speech and feeling suddenly very young.

"As indeed you are, child," Námo said, not unkindly. He looked back at Eluwen, who was now laughing at something one of the ellyn in their group had said. "She has recently joined us."

"But you just said she died nigh six hundred years ago!" Boromir protested in confusion, for he had learned much of the history of Imladris during his stay there before the Fellowship set out on the Quest.

Námo nodded. "Yes, and she has spent the better part of that time crawling on the floor of her sleeping chamber playing with her stuffed toys and learning to feel safe again. Now she has progressed to the point where she can be with other ‘children’. Slowly she is coming back to herself. In time, perhaps another six hundred years from now, but probably sooner, she will have reached the stage where she can be Reborn and will join her husband who awaits her on Tol Eressëa along with their two children."

Boromir stared at the elleth in wonder. "Si-six hundred years! Is that to be my brother’s fate as well?"

Námo smiled and put an arm around Boromir’s shoulders. "Faramir will take as much time as he needs to feel safe again. If that is six hundred years, what of it? Time has no meaning for the Dead, as well you know."

"Why does he need to feel safe?" Boromir asked in a perplexed tone. "Has he never felt safe in his life?"

"No, child," Námo answered gently. "Your father saw to that."

Boromir flinched at the mention of his father and grimaced. His eyes wandered over the Hall, watching the elves at play and suddenly he had a vision of his brother when he was truly a youngster trailing after his older brother. He realized for the first time that he never once saw Faramir relaxed and at ease. Always there was a sense of wariness about him, as if he expected to have an orc jump out at him at any moment. He looked at the Vala, a grim determination in him. He had always tried to protect Faramir in life; he would continue doing so in death.

"My little brother needs me," he said. "He will want me to play with him when he awakens."

Námo leaned down and gave Boromir a kiss on the brow. "Faramir is most fortunate to have such a loving brother as you, child. Come, let us return you to your proper Hall."

****

When Little Farry woke up he found his brother Borry smiling down at him. He gave a crow of delight and when Borry suggested they play he was willing. They played on the floor for a long time, Borry helping him with some of the more intricate toys. How long they played together Boromir never knew. In time, he ceased to remember anything but the fact that he was Borry and his little brother Farry needed him.

Whenever the Lord of Mandos appeared Boromir was just as delighted to see ‘Uncle’ Námo as Little Farry was, perhaps even more so, for the Vala lavished as much love and attention on the older brother as he did on the younger. Boromir would never know that all that was happening was as much for his own healing as it was for Faramir’s.

For the first time ever Boromir was experiencing what it felt like not to have any expectations laid upon him by others. Here, he was not Denethor’s firstborn. Here, he was not heir to the Steward’s throne. Here, he was not even Captain-General of Gondor’s army. Here, he was simply Borry and he was loved, not because he was Denethor’s son or a great warrior, but because he was Boromir and for no other reason. The freedom from expectation and the unconditional love that went with it was a gift given to him by Námo and Boromir reveled in it, though he did not realize he was doing so.

Little Farry continued to play in the company of his beloved big brother, the only person in his life who had truly loved him. But it was difficult to feel completely safe, even in Boromir’s presence. Bedtime was the hardest on him. He had difficulty sleeping and often ‘Uncle’ Námo would have to come and sing to him before he felt secure enough to fall asleep, even with Borry lying beside him.

"Why doesn’t he feel safe, Uncle Námo?" Boromir asked one time, tears in his eyes as he watched his little brother drift off to sleep after Námo had sung to him.

"He will, child," Námo replied gently. "Give him time. He already feels safer now than he ever did and your being here with him has helped."

Boromir had to be content with that as he lay next to Faramir and eventually he, too, fell asleep.

But it wasn’t just Little Farry who needed to feel safe. Borry needed to feel safe as well, though he little realized it, safe enough to relinquish his role of ‘leader’ and allow his brother to take on that role even when Little Farry was not very good at it and messed things up. For the first time for Boromir, the words ‘older brother’ began to have no other meaning than ‘the one who was born first’. There was no longer any expectation of responsibility, the responsibility thrust upon him by his father and by his own need for approval. Here, he was loved whether he led their games or not and Uncle Námo even praised him when he saw Boromir sitting back and allowing Little Farry to take the lead.

One day, as the two brothers were playing, Little Farry suddenly stopped and crawled into Boromir’s lap, his favorite stuffed toy nestled in his arms. Boromir held his brother. Little Farry sighed.

"Wuv you, Borry," he lisped then closed his eyes and fell blissfully asleep, feeling warm and loved and, best of all, safe in his brother’s arms. Boromir wept. It was the first time his little brother had voluntarily fallen asleep. Námo was suddenly there with two Maiar attendants, who helped Faramir up and placed him in the bed, then stood on either side of the bed on guard.

Boromir’s tears had ceased by then and he looked up at Námo who smiled at him and held out his hand to help him up. "Hush now. It is well, best beloved," the Lord of Mandos said. "Faramir is ready now, and so, I suspect, are you." The Vala led Boromir to the bed and saw him settled. Then he was singing an ancient lullaby. Boromir fell asleep.

****

Boromir woke first and woke to himself, remembering all that had occurred. He glanced down at Faramir lying next to him and pondered. How long had they been like little children playing on the floor? Had Aragorn died and gone on? How had Éomer and the hobbits fared? He reached out a tentative hand and brushed an errant lock from his brother’s face, suddenly overcome with love. He was so engrossed in experiencing the emotions overtaking him that he was unaware that Námo was there until the Vala placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Boromir gave a small gasp and looked behind him.

"How long has it been?" he asked simply, not really expecting an answer, but needing to ask nonetheless.

Námo smiled gently. "Nearly ten years of the Sun have passed in the Outer World since Faramir came here."

"T-ten years!"

The Vala nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed. He reached out and stroked Boromir’s hair. "Do not fret, child. Aragorn still lives and will for some time yet."

Boromir shook his head. "And I left poor Éomer alone with the hobbits for all that time."

Námo laughed. "Do not concern yourself on his account. Éomer has done quite well for himself and I only had to reprimand Peregrin twice in the last five years."

Boromir grinned slyly. "Do I even want to know why?"

Námo laughed again. "Not unless you’re willing to listen to me complain for the next three ages of Arda."

"Did we really think we were children playing on the floor?" Boromir asked with chagrin.

"I’ll tell you a secret," Námo said with a smile. "All that you remember doing was only a dream. In your dreams you are allowed to playact to your heart’s content. I merely gave you the freedom to do so. You woke up because you no longer needed to dream."

"Then that elf-maid..."

Námo nodded. "She slept for six hundred years, her fëa slowly repairing itself from the horrors of being tortured by orcs. During that time her mind retreated to an earlier time in her life where she felt the safest. As her fëa strengthened she no longer needed that dreamworld in which to exist. Now she is awake and simply learning to be. With the help of their Maiar attendants, she and the other fëar are learning innocence again. It often manifests itself in play, since a sense of play is integral to all sentient creatures, even we Valar. It does not denote childishness, which is often selfish and self-centered, but a childlike sense of wonder towards the universe at large."

Boromir nodded, remembering the times, even as adults, when he and his brother teased one another, and played practical jokes on one another or their friends and realized the truth of the Vala’s words.

"But how were we able to dream together?" he asked. 

Námo smiled. "One of my brother Irmo's specialties." Then he laid a hand gently on Faramir’s forehead and called out in a deep voice that left Boromir feeling breathless.

"Lasto bith nîn, Faramir. Tolo 'ni galad!"

Faramir began to stir and soon he was opening his eyes. He looked up into his brother’s face, a face he knew so well and had not seen in so long.

"Boromir?" he asked in disbelief.

"Hello, Little Brother, it’s about time you woke up," Boromir said with a teasing smile.

Faramir smiled back and then they were embracing and laughing and Faramir suddenly realized he was no longer in pain. Indeed, he felt better than he had felt in a long time. He pulled back from his brother’s embrace to get a better look at Boromir, his eyes glinting with sly amusement.

"So, if you’re here that means I’m..."

"Late for an appointment."

Faramir looked up and found himself gazing into the amused eyes of the Lord of Mandos, and recognized him. Without thinking he struggled to rise, but Námo gently pushed him back into the bed and Boromir held him in his embrace as they both faced the Vala.

"My lord, you called me. I come. What does my lord command?"

Námo nodded, pleased at the youngster’s response. Here was one who had remained faithful where another had given up hope. Here was one who had welcomed the fulfillment of his House’s purpose where another had clung to an imagined authority not his to command. Here was one who helped to usher in the Dominion of Men beside the King with the Light of Stars in his eyes, assuring that the purposes of Eru would not be confounded by false pride and arrogance.

"My servants will help you dress and then there is a place where you need to be. Where you both need to be," Námo said, including Boromir with his eyes as he spoke to Faramir. "When you are ready, step through that door." The Vala pointed to a door that had not been there previously. "I will await you on the other side."

With that the Vala disappeared but before either brother could react two Maiar were there offering them help with their clothes, for these were formal robes of state and both brothers well remembered how difficult it was to don them without help. Faramir was dressed in the robes of the Prince of Ithilien: a shirt of white samite and breeches of white kid leather under a knee-length velvet tunic, also white, trimmed with white rabbit fur and sea pearls. On the front of the tunic the White Tree of Gondor was embroidered in gold thread with the sword and rod of the Steward in saltire above it. Soft ankle house boots of white kid leather also trimmed with white rabbit fur graced his feet. One of the Maia braided his hair in elvish style and placed a coronet upon his head, a circlet of mithril with a single emerald. It was a copy of the one that the elves of Ithilien had made for him as Prince.

Boromir was dressed in the black and silver of the Tower Guard with all the insignia of his rank as Captain-General of Gondor. He only lacked a sword to complete the picture. The two brothers looked at each other and grinned.

"I see they finally taught you how to dress properly, Little Brother," Boromir said teasingly.

Faramir laughed delightedly, "This from the man who would wear the same set of clothes for days on end."

"But only when on campaign, otherwise I knew how to dress appropriately. You on the other hand..."

Faramir raised a hand to forestall Boromir’s comments on his sartorial habits. "I think Lord Námo is waiting for us."

*Yes, I am,* came the thought in their minds, sounding more amused than upset. Both brothers started at the words and blushed in embarrassment; the Maiar standing about grinned. One of them went to the door and opened it and the two Gondorians stepped through. Námo nodded his approval and without a word proceeded down the hall, the two brothers trailing him, exchanging bemused looks.

As they walked Faramir decided to ask Boromir the question that had been in his mind since waking. "Why are you here, Brother?" he asked softly. "Why have you not left the circles of Arda as is the fate of all mortals?"

Boromir shrugged, giving Faramir a slight smile. "I was waiting for you... and Aragorn. Éomer is here, as well as Merry and Pippin. We’re all waiting for Aragorn to join us."

"Is that where we are going, then?" Faramir asked.

"No," Námo replied from ahead, never breaking his stride. "There is a task you must perform, the both of you." He stopped before a door and looked at the brothers gravely. "You must deal with what you will find behind this door as best you may."

"What—" Boromir started to ask, but Faramir laid a hand on his brother’s arm. Boromir looked at Faramir in surprise. Faramir, on the other hand, kept his eyes on the Vala.

"We will do what we can, my lord," and he gave a small bow.

Námo nodded. "It is all Eru ever asks of any of us. Go now."

The door silently opened. The brothers glanced at Námo and then at each other. Faramir nodded slightly and the two entered at the same time. Even as they stood there, looking about the chamber, the door closed quietly behind them.

Before them they saw a dais where a man sat on a throne of black marble flanked by two warrior Maiar. A ring of fire, the flames man-high, separated the two brothers from the throne. The light of the flames was the room’s only illumination. It took them a moment to recognize who sat there.

"Father." It was but a whisper emanating from Boromir. "He’s been here all this time and I never knew."

One of the Maiar stepped down from the dais and crossed the ring of fire as if it weren’t there and bowed to them.

"Greetings, Prince Faramir. Greetings Captain Boromir. I am Manveru of the People of Manwë."

Boromir was not sure if he should be upset or amused that the Maia had not addressed him first as the older brother. Instead, he merely smiled and said, "You’ll have to blame Faramir for any delay, my Lord Manveru. He insisted on playing with his toys first."

Faramir gave his brother a shocked look. "I never did!"

Boromir smirked. "For ten years according to Lord Námo."

Faramir gave Boromir a shrewd look. "And what were you doing all that time?"

"Playing right alongside you," Boromir replied with a laugh, throwing his arm around Faramir’s shoulder. "You don’t think I would let you have all the fun, do you?"

Faramir rolled his eyes at that but smiled at his brother, ducking his head in embarrassment at the thought of having spent ten years playing with toys. He didn’t know why he had no memory of it, but trusted Boromir not to lie to him. He noticed Manveru standing there patiently, smiling at the brothers’ banter.

"Forgive me, my lord. It’s been a long time..."

Manveru shook his head. "There is nothing to forgive, child. If it had taken a hundred years for you to come here it would have been one and the same for us. We rejoice that you have been reunited with your brother at last."

"May I ask, my lord," Boromir said, "what you are doing here? Why is our father surrounded by flames? Is he a prisoner?"

Manveru shook his head. "When the Lord Denethor first came here, Lord Námo requested us from his brother, the Elder King, that we might serve as guardians to your father until such time as you and Prince Faramir came to him. These flames are not of our making, but of Lord Denethor’s and they are not designed to keep him in so much as they are designed to keep others out."

"And yet, you passed through them as if they do not exist," Faramir commented.

The Maia nodded. "Because for me they do not. The wills of you Children have no hold over us who come from the Timeless Halls of Ilúvatar."

"How do we reach him then?" Boromir asked.

Manveru gave Boromir a steady look and when he spoke his tone was grave. "You do not. There is only one mortal who can breach the wall of flame safely, only one whom Denethor will permit past the barriers he has set about himself." His gaze moved to Faramir with these words and Boromir saw his brother blanch and he held out a hand to steady him.

Boromir turned back to Manveru, his face suffused with anger. "Why Faramir? Has he not suffered enough at our father’s hand?"

Manveru gazed at the mortal calmly. "It is because he has so suffered that his is the right to pass through the flames if he will." He then turned back to Faramir, his mien becoming gentle. "Your father is lost in darkness and despair, child. Will you not go to him and offer him your forgiveness?"

"I forgave him a long time ago," Faramir whispered, his gaze on his father, a shadowy form through the flickering flames.

"But he needs to hear it, child," Manveru said quietly. "He has waited to hear those words from your very lips for all these years. Will you go to him, Faramir?"

For a long moment Faramir did not answer, but stared through the flames, remembering the last image of his father that he had as he lay in Mithrandir’s arms, oil-soaked and fevered.

Boromir watched his brother with concern. He knew what had happened between Faramir and their father, for first Éomer and then Peregrin had told him and he had wept for both of them, though for different reasons. He stood there in anguish, wishing he could save his brother from the pain he must be feeling at the moment, but knew that he could not. This was Faramir’s trial and he could do naught but stand idly by and watch.

He felt a hand squeezing his shoulder and looked up in surprise at the Maia who stood there offering him comfort, shining with compassion and love for him, for all of them, including the one who sat behind a wall of flame, lost to himself and all else beside.

Faramir suddenly squared his shoulders, as if coming to a decision and turned to Manveru. "We will both go," he said and he looked at Boromir, his hand stretched out. "You were ever the one who led and I followed when we were children. Will you trust me to lead you now, brother? I go to rescue our father, if I can. Will you come?"

Boromir stared at Faramir in surprise, for he no longer saw his little brother standing before him, but one who held Authority in his hand, a Prince of the Realm who had the favor of the King and the love of their people. Boromir suddenly realized that Faramir had grown beyond him in stature and power and with no sense of mockery in him he placed his hand over his heart in salute and bowed deeply to Faramir. "Be iest lîn, i gaun nîn." Then he took Faramir’s hand.

Faramir looked at Manveru and the Maia bowed. "My brother and I will leave you then."

At that the other Maia stepped down from the dais and walked through the flames and bowed to the two mortals. "Hail, Prince of Ithilien," he said, offering Faramir his own salute. "Long have we awaited your coming. Now our watch ends and we rejoice that you are here. Eru’s grace go with you, with both of you."

With that both Maiar faded away, leaving the three mortals to themselves. Faramir looked at Boromir and smiled. "Are you ready, Brother?"

Boromir only nodded. The two brothers stepped towards the ring of fire and for the first time they could feel the heat of the flames. Boromir felt himself sweating and he gulped nervously. There was an inimical sense to these flames, a hunger emanating from them that left him feeling weak and sick. They were nearly at the edge of the flames when he balked and could not go forward, the fire mesmerizing him to immobility as fear began to overwhelm him. He felt an arm around his shoulders and looked to see Faramir smiling at him, the fire reflected in his face.

"Fear not, Boromir!" Faramir said confidently. "Remain in my arms and you will be safe."

Boromir stared at Faramir and suddenly he realized the truth. It wasn’t Faramir who had needed to feel safe, but himself. The last ten years had been for his benefit, not for Faramir, or rather, not strictly for Faramir. If his brother had needed to learn safety it had been in the arms of his beloved Éowyn and in the love and regard of his beloved king. It was Boromir who had needed that lesson, learning to feel safe enough in Faramir’s presence to let his brother take the lead when necessary. Only Faramir could lead him harmlessly through the flames of their father’s hatred and despair.

He felt hot tears forming and then Faramir took him fully into his embrace and held him through the storm of emotions that swept through him. "I’m so-sorry, Little Brother," he stuttered once he calmed down.

"It is well Boromir," Faramir answered, patting him on the back, then giving him a smile as he released him from his embrace. "Come, our father awaits us. Close your eyes and trust me."

Boromir did just that and with one arm around his brother, Faramir walked confidently through the wall of flame, leading Boromir. Boromir felt the heat of the fire and felt the flames licking at him, but he did not suffer any burns.

"You may open your eyes, Brother," Faramir whispered. Boromir did and glanced at Faramir, seeing not condemnation for his weakness but understanding and sympathy.

"It was a long time before I felt safe around even the smallest fire," Faramir said with a wry smile, "but I had many who loved me and were willing to help me face my fears."

Boromir nodded, feeling humbled and proud at the same time — humbled by his need to trust in Faramir’s own strength and proud of his brother who had offered him his love and understanding with such grace. "Let us see to Father."

The brothers stepped up to the throne. Denethor was much as they remembered him, grey before his time, worn down with cares and the lies of the Shadow. His eyes were opened but unseeing.

Boromir knelt by the throne on Denethor’s right. "Father, it is I, Boromir. Will you not greet me?"

Denethor, however, either would not or could not respond to his firstborn. Boromir glanced at Faramir, a questioning look in his eyes. Faramir shook his head, then moved closer to Denethor, laying a hand on his father’s left arm.

"Father. Look at me." The words were spoken barely above a whisper but there was a ring of command to them that sent shivers through Boromir’s soul. His little brother had grown indeed, in both power and majesty.

Slowly, as if from a dream, Denethor blinked and focused his gaze on the person standing before him. "Boromir?" he asked hesitantly.

"Nay, Father. It is I, Faramir." Boromir marveled at the profound love that emanated from his brother. There was no bitterness in his eyes, only forgiveness.

"Where is Boromir?" Denethor asked plaintively. "Where is my son?"

"I am here, Father," Boromir replied, feeling anger towards his father for ignoring Faramir. Denethor looked down and smiled.

"My son. You have returned to me at last."

"Nay, Father," Boromir said. "I would not be here at all were it not Faramir who led me."

"Faramir?" Denethor echoed in disbelief.

"Aye, Father. It was Faramir who braved the flames. It was he who called you to yourself."

"Faramir? Nay, it was you, my son, who called me. Should I not recognize your voice when I hear it?"

"It was my voice you heard, Father," Faramir said softly. There was no trace of recrimination in his voice, nor any resentment.

Denethor looked up at Faramir in confusion. ‘You aren’t Faramir. Faramir is..."

"What am I Father?" Faramir asked gently.

Denethor gave an anguished moan and closed his eyes. "Faramir is dead. I killed him."

"Not so, Father!" Faramir protested, going to his knees next to Boromir. "I did not die. Do you not remember? Mithrandir and the perian saved me and Aragorn... the king... brought me back to myself as my soul wandered in despair."

Denethor looked uncertain. "You... you are Faramir?"

His eyes drifted towards Boromir for confirmation when Faramir nodded without saying anything.

"Yes, Father," Boromir said with a nod. "It is Faramir. He lived and became a Prince under Aragorn and he remained Steward of Gondor."

Denethor shook his head. "I am Steward..." but his tone was uncertain and confusion clouded his eyes once again. Then he looked down at his sons kneeling before him and realized that his youngest son was attired as a prince yet his oldest was dressed in rags. He suddenly became incensed and stood up. Boromir and Faramir leapt to their feet, stepping down to give their father room.

"Who dares?" Denethor shouted, staring at Boromir. "Who dares debase my firstborn by dressing him in rags?"

The brothers stared at each other in confusion for a moment and then Faramir understood, and gave Boromir a nod. "Compared to me, I think Father thinks you are dressed in rags," he said with a deprecating smile.

"Compared to you, Little Brother, rags are more than I deserve after what I did," came Boromir’s surprising answer, though there was no sense of recrimination either for himself or for Faramir, merely an acceptance of what was.

Faramir shook his head. "You did nothing wrong, Boromir. Aragorn... do you know he once told me that the only thing you did wrong at Parth Galen was to get yourself killed? He’s never truly forgiven you for that, you know." Faramir gave his brother a sly smile and Boromir had to laugh.

The laughter seemed to bring Denethor out of his silent rage, for he had gone still, his eyes unseeing. "Boromir, my son, what have they done to you?" Denethor reached out to touch his firstborn and Boromir laid his hands on his father’s shoulder, a look of compassion on his face.

"They have done nothing, Father," he said. "Do you not see that I wear the uniform of my rank as Captain-General of Gondor? Look, do you not see the White Tree on my tabard?"

Denethor stared at his son’s clothes and nodded slowly, then glanced at Faramir briefly before turning back to Boromir. "But you are my firstborn. You should be the one..."

"Nay, Father," Boromir said with a smile. "I am content to be what I am, Captain-General of Gondor’s army. Faramir is Steward and Prince of Ithilien and I rejoice that I am able to serve him and my king in whatever capacity they deem appropriate." He gathered Denethor in his arms as the older man began to weep. "Hush now, Father. It is well. I am well. I love you and I forgive you."

Denethor pulled back from Boromir’s embrace. "For-forgive me? Forgive me for what, my son?"

Boromir gazed into his father’s haunted eyes for a moment and then leaned in and kissed him lightly on the brow. "I forgive you for loving me too much," he said gently, speaking barely above a whisper.

"And I forgive you for loving me too little," Faramir said with equal gentleness as he came to them and kissed Denethor on the brow as well. "I love you Father. Can you not find it in you to love me as well?"

Denethor looked at Faramir as if seeing him for the first time clearly. He shook his head, his voice cracking in shame and horror. "I-I tried to kill you... I don’t deserve your love or your forgiveness."

"Nay, Father," Faramir replied with a sad smile. "It was not you who tried to kill me, but Sauron. You were merely an instrument of his dark design to see our House destroyed. He could not abide the thought that the faithfulness of the House of Húrin to our oaths would be rewarded once the King returned. He lured you into darkness and madness for the sole purpose of seeing me destroyed. It was not your fault. I never blamed you."

Denethor stared at his younger son and saw the truth in his eyes and he was overcome with regret at what he had done to Faramir, what he had done to them both and he crumpled to the floor, weeping. Both brothers went to their knees and embraced him.

"Hush, Father," Faramir crooned. "It is well. We forgive you. Now it is time to forgive yourself."

Then Boromir did a surprising thing. He began to softly sing an ancient lullaby and though he had no conscious memory of ever hearing it, Faramir found himself joining in. As they sang Denethor’s weeping stilled and he fell asleep, safe in the arms of his sons.

As the last Ruling Steward of Gondor slept, the ring of fire that had continued burning slowly died away, leaving the three mortals in darkness that was nevertheless brighter than any flame.

****

Denethor woke and saw his sons smiling at him.

"Welcome back, Father," Faramir said. "Are you ready to leave this place?"

Denethor looked at Boromir who gave him a slight nod then returned his gaze to Faramir. "Yes, my son. Come, lead me hence, for I deem that you have gone beyond me in all things and I can do naught but follow."

"Nay, Father," Faramir laughed lightly. "It will be you who will lead us hence, for only you have the power to open the door of your own prison. Boromir and I will follow and gladly."

With that, the brothers helped Denethor to rise and suddenly it was as if years had fallen away from their father and he stood before them as they had remembered him in their youth, strong and hale, his hair dark, his eyes bright and clear. Denethor looked upon his two sons and gave, first Boromir, then Faramir, a kiss on the brow. "We will go together."

He took his sons’ hands into his and then the door of the chamber began to open of its own accord. The three mortals stepped out and found themselves facing the Lord of Mandos who smiled at them in approval. All three men bowed deeply.

Denethor straightened. "Hail, Lord Námo. I am ready to go to my doom."

Námo raised an eyebrow, humor glinting in his eyes. "I think we can delay that for a time. Would you not rather stay here with your sons?"

Denethor looked at the Vala in confusion. "Stay here? But why?"

It was Boromir who answered. "We are waiting for Aragorn, Father, Faramir and I and others. We wait for the King to join us and lead us to the Presence. Will you not wait with us as well? Will you not greet the King when he comes?"

Faramir took his father’s hand in his. "Aragorn always regretted that you were not there to greet him upon his return to Minas Tirith. He wished for nothing but to honor you for your faithfulness as Steward. It grieved him mightily that he could not greet you with a kinsman’s kiss, for he always hoped you and he could have been gwedyr."

"Truly?" Denethor asked, uncertainty clouding his eyes as he remembered how he had treated a certain Captain Thorongil, jealous of the love his own father had bestowed on the Northerner.

"Truly," Faramir confirmed. "But stay and see for yourself when he comes."

Denethor looked at his two sons, then at Lord Námo. "I may do this, remain here with my sons?"

Námo nodded. "Yes, child. It is what we have all hoped for and I rejoice that it is so, as does Eru." Then the Lord of Mandos held Denethor’s face in his hands and kissed him gently on the forehead, releasing him to do the same, first to Faramir and then to Boromir. When he stepped back the same blank looks were on the faces of all three men as they communed silently with the Source of their being, coming slowly to themselves, their expressions ones of wonder and awe.

Námo nodded in satisfaction. "Come, I will lead you back to Éomer and the periannath." He gave them all a sly smile. "Éomer will be very glad to see you."

Boromir and Faramir started laughing at that and when Denethor gave them a bemused look, Boromir laughed even harder.

"Don’t worry, Father," Faramir said as he struggled to get himself under control. "We’ll explain along the way."

By the time they reached the chamber where Boromir had first found himself after death Denethor was laughing just as hard as the rest of them.

****

Lasto bith nîn, Faramir. Tolo 'ni galad!: (Sindarin) "Listen to my words, Faramir. Come into the light!"

Saltire: A heraldic term describing any two heraldic charges crossed diagonally. The Saltire Cross, also known as the Cross of St. Andrew, is found on the flag of Scotland.

Be iest lîn, i gaun nîn: (Sindarin) "As you wish, my prince."

Gwedyr: (Sindarin) Plural of gwador: sworn brother.

Historical Note: According to Appendix A and the Tale of Years (Appendix B), Faramir died in Fourth Age 82 at the age of 120.