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A/N: A B2MEM 2015 prompt by Grey Wonderer for a story featuring: a discussion between Boromir and Faramir as Boromir prepares to leave for Rivendell for the council. Exactly 1000 words long.
Seek for the Sword that was broken:
In Imladris it dwells;
There shall be counsels taken
Stronger than Morgul-spells
There shall be shown a token
That Doom is near at hand,
For Isildur's Bane shall waken,
And the Halfling forth shall stand.
~The Fellowship of the Ring, The Council of Elrond
To Seek for the Sword
“You do not have to do this, Brother.” Faramir said, crossing his arms as he prepared himself for battle.
Midday light was streaming through the Citadel windows illuminating Boromir’s chambers. The Steward’s heir was standing beside his bed which was strewn with clothes of various colors. Boromir held a crimson tunic before him and was inspecting the flowers that were embroidered upon it in gold thread. Grimacing, he tossed it aside atop a pile at the foot of his bed.
“Indeed I do, if I am to have something appropriate to wear when I reach Imladris.” Boromir replied wryly as he chose another tunic from the pile. This one was dyed a dark green, the color of pine boughs, and was embroidered with brown vines at the cuffs and collar.
“Fortunately, I will not be required to wear anything nice on the way there. Yet I must have at least one formal tunic for when I arrive. Imagine what Mother would have said if I were to meet Elves improperly attired? I spent most of my childhood dressed in something uncomfortable that would ‘suit my station’, at her insistence.”
“That is not what I mean and you know it.” Faramir responded sharply, forfending his brother’s tactic of deliberately misunderstanding him.
Boromir sighed. “Have we not argued over this enough?” he implored, dropping the green tunic back on the bed and holding up a black one to examine in the light.
“Apparently not, as you have yet to listen to a word I say.” Faramir answered sardonically, successfully parrying Boromir’s appeal for peace.
“I like this one,” Boromir said idly, scrutinizing the black tunic embroidered with leaves in silver thread. “What do you think? Surely in all of your reading you have come across something that will aid me in my search for clothes that will impress Elves?” he asked lightly.
“And you still are not listening to me,” Faramir sighed, refusing to fall for the feint. “The dreams came to me first. I ought to be the one to go.”
“I am listening to you. Yet no matter what you say I will not permit you to go in my stead. If the Archive maps are accurate, I will be traveling nearly four hundred leagues over Wild and dangerous lands to seek a dale in the far North, which no one save Father has even heard of.” Boromir huffed in exasperation.
“This Rivendell which is purportedly ruled by a Lord Elrond whom is Half-elven. Tell me that does not sound like the tales Grandmother used to tell us before we went to bed? This venture is perilous at best, utter madness at worse, and all for naught but a dream.” Boromir and shook his head in disbelief.
“You do not trust the dream?” Faramir asked, truly surprised and momentarily disarmed.
“I do not put much hope in visons,” Boromir snorted disdainfully. “Especially when they say there will be counsels stronger than Morgul-spells. Have you ever seen or heard of such a counsel? Unless it means their strength is in their capacity to inspire boredom. That I might believe,” he added, chuckling.
“The dream also said that Doom is near at hand,” Faramir said softly, attempting to penetrate his brother’s defense.
“All the more reason for you to stay here where it is safe.” Boromir stated firmly, evading Faramir’s attack.
“In this I am decided. I am leaving on the morrow whether you approve or not. I did not go through all the trouble of ensuring you were brought up properly after Mother died only to have you perish in the wilderness, far from family and friend. You are my favorite Brother and I shall not let anything happen to you if I have the strength and ability to prevent it.” Boromir said, his tone gentle as he pierced Faramir’s heart.
“I am your only Brother,” Faramir pointed out wryly as he shook his head, conceding defeat.
“That does not preclude you from being my favorite.” Boromir rejoined primly, affecting a supercilious demeanor.
Faramir snorted and cast his eyes to the celling as his brother held up another tunic. This one was dyed indigo with the cuffs and collar woven of grey and silver threads. In the center of the stiff high collar was a single white stone. It was a moonstone the size of a walnut, polished to a fine sheen and set in silver. Crossing the room in several passes, Faramir put his hand on Boromir’s shoulder.
“You ought to wear that one,” he said.
“You do not think the black tunic more suitable?” Boromir asked.
“Nay, you cannot wear that. Your good fur lined cloak is black as are all your trousers. Too much of the same color does not go well together.” Faramir said authoritatively.
“I do not see why Father says I need a wife when I have you to tell me such things.” Boromir remarked dryly, then cried out in pain as Faramir punched his arm hard.
“I think I liked you better when you were small enough to sit on when you annoyed me,” he grumbled, rubbing his arm.
Faramir laughed and punched his brother again, more gently this time. Then he sobered, frowning as he gazed at the tunic Boromir was now folding.
“My heart forbids this journey, Brother.” He said softly. “Yet as I cannot dissuade you from it, I will remind you to take care.”
“You sound like Mother. She was always telling me to be more careful,” Boromir muttered.
“Perhaps because you were known for recklessness, even at a tender age. And you have yet to grow out of it.” Faramir returned dryly. “Promise me you will be safe?”
“I will not promise that which I cannot keep, Faramir. Yet whatever befalls I will endeavor to be careful, if only for your sake.” Boromir said with a twisted smile.
Faramir embraced his brother and, holding Boromir tightly as if might prevent him from leaving, he whispered. “Fare thee well, Brother.”
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