WHISPERS OF THE RING
The Storm HitsThey walked, Man of Gondor and Elf of Mirkwood, side by side along the walls of the city. Behind them, a garrison of men followed wordlessly, the clinking of their armor and rustle of cloaks a steady noise in the back of Legolas's mind. One guardsman was ever at Faramir's side, his strength when the Captain had none to spare, his legs when Faramir's wavered beneath him.
"I would make the acquaintance of your most helpful walking stick, Man of Gondor," Legolas said lightly, as he slowed to allow Faramir a less difficult pace.
The Captain laughed, glancing at his aide. "No walking stick, but rather Beregond son of Baranor. Long has he been a faithful friend and loyal man of the Guard." Then his voice dropped lower, and a strange melancholy filled it. "Also is he the one who roused me to action, when I was hesitant to question my brother."
Legolas gave him a long look, reflecting on the depth of the pain in Faramir's voice. "You did not come merely to seek our aid in bringing Boromir to Rivendell, on some whisper of hope for a cure to what may merely be the greed of Man for power?"
Faramir shook his head, and it seemed a weariness was in him deeper than his years. Legolas marveled at it, for such sorrow was a thing of Elves, built upon for ages. He reached out to the man, and squeezed his shoulder in reassurance.
"The things which seem to be revealed to me for the first time in my brother are things that my men have had to watch for many a year now. They say he has grown in some ways, but in dark ways; he is quicker of temper, more proud, and brutal at times. He trusts few and even those he considers trustworthy, he watches with a suspicious eye. He has locked away places my father never kept locked, hiding secrets, and though the realm of Gondor grows in might, he seems to grow in madness with it."
Legolas looked at Faramir, and then at the men behind him. "You alone he trusts truly."
There was a long pause. "Even with me, there is one secret he keeps." Faramir seemed thoughtful, but he did not say more on the subject.
The Elf stopped walking, and the men around him halted also. His eyes were bright and he spoke without doubt. "And he is not alone in his hoarding of secrets. You wished Aragorn to return with you so that you might set him up as King-- but I see that though you love him as if he were truly your King, your purposes to put him in such a position are not those which you have revealed."
"There was no deception," Beregond suddenly cried, stepping in front of his Captain. "It was I who whispered to him of conspiracies in the night. Many times he begged me not to say such things to him, and he spoke well of his brother, and the good things his brother had accomplished in the time of his illness. But in the end he saw as I did: Gondor could not fare well with Boromir as its ruler, not as he had become after the War. Yet even so, he would not have himself set up to take his brother's place-- the arrival of the true King was a thing such as we could not have hoped for, and in the darkness of our hearts the news shone as if a beacon of the truth."
Legolas looked grim. "But Aragorn will not take the throne now, and well I know that his heart is more stubborn than a Dwarf's when he chooses it to be."
"But he must!" Faramir drew himself up, depriving himself of Beregond's support for a moment. "He must, because I cannot betray my brother! I have no wish to rule Gondor, nor to cause Boromir injury."
The Elf turned to Beregond; though Faramir he respected greatly, distress had murkied the clarity of his errand. "How long have you considered these plans? How much is your loyalty to Gondor, and to Faramir?"
The guard stood straighter, and met Legolas's gaze. "To say that I have no love for Boromir would be a lie, and so it breaks my heart to see the shadow on his mind. But my loyalty is to Gondor first, and Faramir second. We have served many a year together, and I would have traded my life for his when I saw him stricken at the Battle of Ithilien. I near wept with joy when they brought him back and he still breathed, and difficult it was to watch him barely live as he slumbered in that black sleep."
Legolas searched his face, and saw that he spoke the truth, and nodded. "And what of men loyal to Boromir?"
"Few, or nearly none; Boromir has driven them off himself, in his own suspicions. He trusts no one, not even his spies, and not even wholly his brother, though Faramir he still has some faith in."
Faramir made some protest, but Legolas stilled it with a gesture of his hand. "You must do this thing, Faramir." The Elf held the Man's gaze unwaveringly. "He may have faith in you now, but I see it waning thin already; more trust he had in you when you were unconscious in your illness. Soon he will suspect the movement of his men against him, if he does not already-- and then you will see blood on his hands, I fear, and on yours as well."
"It would be easy to confront him tonight, my Lord," Beregond said softly. "Every night, he spends alone in his tower, muttering to himself, until finally he sleeps sitting upright in his chair with his eyes turned east..."
Faramir buried his face in his hands, his knees betraying him as he sank down to the dirt. "I cannot do this thing!"
"You must, my Captain!"
"I cannot!"
"You must, if you love him so much as you say," Legolas said to him sharply. "He rots inside, do you not see it? The shadow on his mind invades my senses like the reek of rotting meat some ways in the distance. Whatever evil influence has such power over him, we must pry him from it, or take him to those who will recognize what it is."
"How is it your concern?" Faramir suddenly demanded of him. "What gripping desire do you have, Elf, to control who rules Gondor?"
Legolas's face grew sad then, with a deepness that betrayed the centuries that did not show on his face. "Merry I was in my woods, such joy I found under bough and bloom. I had seen sadness, and folly and death at the War of the Five Armies, and the wickedness of Orcs upon the bodies of my kindred. And yet I was young still, in the eyes of my people, and regret did not have much hold upon my heart. To Rivendell I sometimes went, and to Dale, and once as far as the Shire, but never to Lorien or Rohan or even Gondor. My father warned me of the Shadow spreading west and north, but it weighed little on the lightness of my thoughts. But ai! Inaction was our folly. If only we had heeded Mithrandir earlier, rather than balking. We took no real fear even to learn that Sauron had made a stronghold in our own woods, and little help we leant to drive him from it in his guise of the Necromancer. Perhaps if we had besieged him then, when he was weak-- but nay!
"Only curiosity drove me from Mirkwood to seek Rivendell, and join the first forces against Mordor. Eventually my people followed, when the threat had grown terrible; but by then it was a slaughter, and I watched my kindred fall all around me.
"In the end, my father's regret of his lateness of action, and of the deaths of his people, weighed too heavily on his heart. I watched him fade, my father, and my brothers who had survived as well. Eventually, but near-shadows themselves, they took to the sea-- the sea!-- with only my voice lifted to lament them.
"Would you suffer thus, Faramir of Gondor? For I can no longer take no action when I see darkness. My bow and blade are sworn against Mordor, until it is defeated, or I am dead. Though the sea calls to my heart like a curse, I deny it, though I feel myself and my will fading even as my father and brothers' had."
Faramir touched the forehead of the Elf, then, with his fingertips; as if he might draw off a little of the sorrow that lingered in the night-dark eyes. "I could not watch him fade before me, and yet it seems that he has, growing thinner and darker, like a shadow of himself."
Legolas took his hand up, and gripped it tightly. "Then do what you must, horrible though it seem to your eyes. Or else you will regret, and there is no worse thing, to live in your regret until the end of your days; or if you were an Elf such as me, for the rest of the life of the world, until Arda dies."
Beregond stepped to his captain's side, and offered his shoulder to support Faramir, who accepted it gratefully. "We must move now if you wish to move, Faramir, or there will be far too many questions from far too many beholding eyes. In the cover of darkness, we might say that Boromir has fallen ill as you had, and reassure the people that there has been no treachery, for fear and doubt are our greatest enemies in these times."
Faramir nodded, relief in his voice. "And it would spare his name. I would not see my brother's name besmirched, if I might prevent it."
"Garo vronwe, Faramir Denethorion! An baur arthain ceridh gardh hen: an meleth. Ú-dhannathadh!" Legolas exclaimed, and the music of the words on his tongue sent courage through all the men standing there, whether they understood him or not. "I will delay Aragorn, and we will wait for you to bring Boromir to us, for it would be unsuitable for your brother to linger in the dungeons, until he comes apart bursting like a rotten log."
"How will you prevent him from escaping? He is a powerful man," Beregond said.
"As is Aragorn," Legolas answered, but there was a strange glitter in his eye. "I give my word, he shall not escape us, and we shall bring him to Imladris where the Wise might see what has affected him so deeply."
Faramir only nodded once more, lost in his thoughts. But there was a touch of hope in his expression, and color warmed his pale face. "I will see you soon, Legolas."
"Elbereth tiro dhen," Legolas replied, and for a while after they departed, he stood thinking, a ghost of a smile upon his face.
* * *
When the conspirators came to Boromir's room, impressively silent for a group of ten men, they found him bent over something, facing the Eastern window but not looking out it.
Boromir had somehow fallen so deeply into thought that he did not notice them. His hand, naked in the privacy of his own room, was stretched on his lap and seemed to him almost a foreign thing, a showy cushion for the beauty of the ring. He could not tear his eyes from it, and though they weighed heavy, he could not shut them to sleep either.
A dry scrape behind him drew him out of his fascination with the ring, and he sprang out of his chair to find his brother standing in his room, half-cloaked in shadow.
"Faramir," he said, quickly drawing his bared hand behind his back.
"My brother..." Faramir replied, and there seemed to be a great sadness in him. Immediately Boromir went to his side, looking for some trouble, some illness.
"Has the pain returned?" he asked worriedly, but his brother shook his head. "What distresses you so, Faramir?"
"Brother," and here Faramir fell down on one knee. "I would beg you to go with Legolas and Aragorn to Imladris."
Boromir's lips pressed together, and heat rushed to his face. "Why would you ask this thing of me, Faramir? Leave Gondor! You of all the folk in Minas Tirith should know that I would sooner die than be separated from my city!"
"Yes, I know this," Faramir said with great sadness. From behind him, Boromir was startled to see two men step out of the darkness. "But I had hoped that you might change your thought..."
"Traitor!" Boromir raged, throwing himself back, away from his brother and the guards who came to stand behind him. He found his sword leaned against his bed, and drew its blade hastily. "These men I would have believed unfaithful, but you! Yet I should have known better when you looked at me with such jealousy only a day ago. Well, you will not have it!! You will not steal it! Not all that I have worked for! I will not leave Gondor, and you shall not be Steward, traitorous brother of mine!" He leveled the sword before him, and cast his voice to the corridor, seeking some loyalty. "Do none of you have loyalty to your Lord! Come to my aid, if you wish to be spared! For I will show no mercy to those who oppose me!"
Slowly he crossed the room, and watched the guards draw closer to Faramir, as if to protect him. "A funny sight this is, brother, whom I trusted and loved. All this time I suspected your envy, but I did not expect you to betray it so quickly! You, who lay there in your sickbed, feigning illness so that you might plot against me!"
"That is not truth!" came a cry, but it was not Faramir who spoke it. Beregond stepped into the room, bearing a naked blade. Seeing the treachery of a weapon drawn against him broke Boromir's restraint, and he thrust past the men standing before him, enraged.
"You would all commit this betrayal of your Lord and Master! I will not stand for it. Not even you, brother...!"
And with this he attacked Faramir, and his brother was forced to draw his own sword in his defense. Their blades met with a ringing of steel that echoed in the still silence of the night, and Faramir was driven back down to his knees, his strength evaporated in his long illness. Again Boromir struck, though his brother winced against the blow, barely turning it back.
From his side the Steward sensed the approach of Beregond, and spun quickly to meet the attack aimed at him. The staccato of their swords crossing rang in the ears of all who were present, a relentless beat more insistent than the pounding of their hearts. Not many blows later, Boromir sent Beregond's sword spinning from his numbed fingers; he might have finished the man, but for the cry of his brother behind him.
"Boromir, please!"
He turned, and found Faramir rushing towards him. Snarling he brought his sword down in a strike that would have crushed his own beloved brother's skull, without a thought, without regret; but by some trickery, his brother disarmed him, and as his hand was flung out by the force of the sword abandoning him, so he heard a sharp ringing and something skid across the smooth stone floor.
He felt his stomach wrench, but his brother did not follow the glimmer of gold that rolled away from him. Faramir stood straight and pale, and brought his blade back to his side. "You will leave this place under escort, brother, and go with Aragorn son of Arathorn and Legolas of Mirkwood to Imladris. Please, brother..."
Boromir barely heard him. In the depths of his gut, the snake had uncoiled, and was biting at his insides; cold hate numbed his cheeks, his lips, disbelief and poisonous fear. His eyes searched the floor, and he heard it whispering to him, his precious, his ring. Where had it gone! And why had it fallen from him? Worse than the betrayal of his brother, it seemed; no, some part of him had always known, had it not, that Faramir would steal his throne. Only his ring, only his ring did he have against the darkness of the world!
Suddenly before his brother he fell to his knees, his hand passing quickly over the floor by his feet, before gathering his arms up to his breast as if in penitence.
"You will regret this, Faramir," he hissed, and even in his own ears his voice sounded strange and faraway. "All the black host of Mordor will ruin Gondor without me, and they will beg me to return, and you will crawl on your belly to offer the Stewardship back to me!" He clutched the ring to him, and it burned in his hands, as if with his own scorn and shame. He would not let go, no, he would never; it was his last hope that this betrayal would result in tragedy, it was his faith that he would be returned to his city even when he was cast out by it. They saw him as what? A man who had succeeded too greatly? But in time they would learn what it would be to be without him as the Lord of Gondor. In good time...
Boromir was silent as they drew his hands behind him and bound them, but out of their sight he had slipped the ring into his mouth, against his cheek, where its coolness was comforting. "Have you no apology for me, brother?" Boromir narrowed his eyes, renewed by the closeness of the ring. "Have you no words, as you sell me to the enemy of Gondor's prosperity?"
But Faramir merely looked stricken, a faithful player to what part he had to play. He leaned forward and kissed Boromir's forehead. The Steward recoiled from the kiss as if burned.
"Be at peace, brother," Faramir whispered, and then turned from him. The guards dragged Boromir to his feet, and wrath filled him again; but the bonds they had tied while he was consumed with concern for the ring were too much for him to break.
"You will have no peace, Faramir-traitor! I will return to my city and you will beg for me to forgive you, but I will not!" He spat at Faramir's feet, but they dragged him out of the room, and out of his brother's sight.
He did not see that his brother wept for him, he only knew the suffocating rage that suffused him, and a depthless sense of betrayal.
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Elbereth tiro dhen - "Elbereth guide you."
Garo vronwe, Faramir Denethorion! An baur arthain ceridh gardh hen: an meleth. ú-dhannathadh! - "Have faith, Faramir son of Denethor! For the noblest purpose you do this: for love. You will not fail." Literally "Have faith, Faramir Denethor's son! For need noblest you-do this deed: for love. You will not fall." I'm really not sure on word order on this one. (lenited cardh sen "this deed")
(My Sindarin is at best, bad, and at worst, just plain pathetic. By all means, if you know better than I, send me corrections.)