Title: Prophetic Dreams
Author: [livejournal.com profile] hithluin
Rating: G
Characters: Boromir, Faramir
Summary: Boromir and Faramir have dreams about a voice that talks to them, book-canon, the dream that sent Boromir to the Council of Elrond.
Feedback: Yes please, you will be very much adored for it
Disclaimer: Not real, not true
Notes: I'm planning to write a little trilogy out of this but since I haven't written the other 2 sequels yet, I don't want to name the trilogy beforehand, so title subject to change later on. Enjoy!

The air in the tavern was starting to get rather stale and yet in contrast, the night air outside was beginning to look a lot more tempting to breathe. Boromir looked for the opportune moment as he sat at the table, hands wrapped around a mug that looked untouched. The barkeeper, a fat, rather red-skinned and jolly man, had an uncanny ability of knowing when a patron was leaving his tavern, even with his back turned, and it was abundantly clear the barkeeper very much preferred having Boromir stay inside his tavern. Royalty, or atleast, the next thing closest to it in Gondor, was a wonderful sales tool.

And finally, there it was, the barkeeper had stalked away into another room to settle accounts with a haggard looking man, and most of the barmaids looked like they were preoccupied with other patrons. Boromir took the opening given. He gave some excuse about relieving himself to the men at his table, declined any offers of help (darkly scowling all the while - what did they think he was that he'd still need help relieving a full bladder?) and then skilfully dodged the barmaids who were keeping a sharp eye out. For most of them, bedding the Steward's son would not only have been an honour, but also something they could have bragged about for a long time. Rumours told that Boromir rather enjoyed fighting in the army more than taking time off to have some fun with a few girls. In some of the seedier places down near the first circle, it was even rumoured that Boromir preferred to sleep with men and only touched women due to the fact that he was the Heir to the Stewardship. Most thought these rumours created out of spite. Deep inside his heart, however, Boromir wasn't sure whether that wasn't the truer picture of what was happening. To keep on the safe side however, he avoided the ladies.

Just as he thought he'd made the free run, one of the barmaids caught him slipping out, and tugged on his sleeve just as he was about to exit the door. She frowned at him and warned him that if he went any farther than the door frame, she would tell the barkeeper, then spun off to serve more drinks.

Hah, a warning from a mere slip of a girl.

Boromir heeded the warning anyway, and slipped outside to lean back against the wall right next to the entrance. The air outside was fresh and crisp with the coming of autumn, and the wind felt cool against his skin as it buffetted at his clothes and ruffled his hair. He closed his eyes and took a few deep gulps of the air, trying to purge the smoke and the stink of ale and unwashed bodies from inside the tavern out of his system, when an elbow shoved him from the side. Boromir almost gave a shout as he gasped in the middle of a deep breath, and had to cough it out as he glared at Faramir for surprising him. Being caught off his guard was embarassing enough as it is, but Faramir didn't have to look so gleeful about it.

"Never thought I'd catch you by surprise today, brother. But then again, you have been acting a little weird of late. Is something wrong?"

Boromir stood upright, patting down his clothes, as if to summon a semblance of control again. He leaned back against the wall, his shoulder brushing Faramir's as the two brothers stood side by side, calmly breathing in the peace and quiet of the city. Rarely was Minas Tirith as quiet as tonight, but it was a quiet that was good, for it was filled with the happiness and the sleeping thoughts of those who were safe and secure in their own beds. It was not like the quietness before a war when the hearts of men are filled with dread, and no one sleeps for fear of their lives and those of their loved ones. It brought Boromir a sense of pride and accomplishment that in some part, his accomplishments as the Captain of Gondor's armies had brought this wonderful silence to the city he loved and cherished above everything else in his heart.

"I had a strange dream last night, thats all," Boromir murmured in reply.

"A strange dream?" Faramir pushed his foot against the wall to prop himself up properly. "What... what sort of dream?"

"It is nothing to worry you, Faramir, cease your worrying."

"No, no, you don't understand. I've been having a few strange dreams myself, I was just wondering if they had... any link to each other?"

Boromir raised his eyebrow, skeptical as to the possibility. "Well, alright. It made no sense whatsoever. I dreamt that I was standing at the balcony of my room overlooking the whole of Minas Tirith when the sky to the east, where Mordor is, grew dark. Thunder was brewing in the dark clouds that seemed to be forming over the east and yet from the west, a pale light appeared. I was drawn to the light and yet, as I pondered this, a voice clearly spoke from the light saying--"

"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." Faramir interrupted Boromir, completing the rhyme by heart, without a pause between sentences.

"How... how did you know that?" Boromir asked, his mouth agape.

"I told you, I've been having some strange dreams myself. Remember that night, when the forces from Mordor drove us out of Ithilien? I had this dream, the night before the assault," Faramir said grimly.

"Why didn't you tell me, brother?" Boromir asked, an involuntary tone of annoyance creeping into his voice. It had always been an obvious fact that their father preffered Boromir himself to his little brother, and sometimes this preference inhibited Faramir from talking about anything that would be considered stupid to either of them. If it had not been for the fact that Boromir had dreamt the same dream, he could see how easily Faramir's telling of his dream would have just been passed off as a flight of fantasy. "I thought we could tell each other anything, no matter how silly you might think it sounds."

"But Boromir, it was just... it was just a dream. I didn't think it was anything serious. And like you said, it didn't make much sense at first, so I ignored it the first time. And then there was the surprise attack, so the details sort of slipped my mind."

"Wait a moment," Boromir said, stopping his brother. "The first time? You mean you had the dream again?"

"Well, yes."

"And this isn't in the least bit unusual?"

"No. I've had recurring dreams before."

Boromir still looked skeptical about it, but he let the matter go.

"So what does it mean?" the elder asked, after a few more moments of silence.

"Why ask me?"

"You're the expert in lore and fairy tales," Boromir smirked, knowing that Faramir had hated it from a young age when anyone considered the old tales of elves and the history of the years after the Last Alliance of Elves and men as fairy tales. In truth, after years of war, most Gondorians simply ignored the histories, considering tales of Gondor's previous victories over other lands, and the political changes between time periods, something more vitally important than what some elves did with some rings a few thousand years ago.

"Hey!! They're not fairy tales!" Faramir declared out loud in annoyance, though the moment he turned to see Boromir's eyes, he sniffed and jabbed his brother with his elbow again, miffed at the fact that he'd been tricked into getting outraged over a tease.

Boromir chuckled to himself as he rubbed his hand over the area on his arm where he'd been jabbed twice in the last few minutes. "Well, what have you discovered, little brother?"

Faramir turned to look up at his older brother and grimaced. "Honestly, Boromir? I... I don't know."

Boromir's eyes widened for a moment in shock. "Err... well, guess there's nothing we can do about it then."

"Well, actually, brother, I was thinking," Faramir said hesistantly, rubbing a scar on his hand in nervousness. "Maybe you could talk to father about this for me? Or I could be there with you? I think this dream might be serious, or have some sort of meaning and maybe father would know the significance of it."

Boromir smiled and gathered his brother into a bear hug, soothingly rubbing a hand over his back. "You never have to worry, Faramir, you know I'm always here to protect you, even against our father. We'll speak to him, I promise." He drew back from the hug, and kissed his brother on the forehead, and for a moment, Boromir felt like he was still 9, and Faramir was still a happy little toddler of 4, and their mother was still alive, and everything was still all right with the world.

"I know, Boromir. But who will protect me once you're gone?" Faramir asked, his voice drowned in sorrow, as he looked back up at Boromir. He regretted saying such dark words, but it was a possibility both of them had thought of every day.

"You'll be all right yourself, little brother. Now, no more thoughts of the shadow and the darkness. Tomorrow, we shall be off first thing in the morning to meet some of the other captains to talk about the retreat from Ithilien. Also, I have been informed by father that a pretty young lady from out of south-east Gondor, is currently residing in the sixth circle and that she wishes to see me. As I have no wish to see another one of father's pathetic matchmaking attempts, I think I shall drag you along with me."

"But Boromir!" Faramir protested as he was dragged back into the tavern.

"You owe me a few favours little brother, don't forget. Or would you prefer I dunk you into the Anduin again in the middle of the night next time we're camping out anywhere near there?" Boromir flashed a knowing predator's grin.

Faramir grimaced as he remembered the chill of the river. "I think I'll be somewhere near the sixth circle before lunch tomorrow..."
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