multiversallogs | Today, life is good

Entry tags:

Today, life is good

Who: Boromir and Faramir

What: 'Tis a Tale of a Most Epic Reunion of Bros

Where: Just outside the Inn

When: Soon after Faramir's arrival

Warnings: May ~~contain ridiculous amounts of sentimentality~~ INDUCE PUKING OF RAINBOWS ALL OVER THE PLACE

Once he stepped outside Faramir closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling softly. The cool breeze on his face revived his spirits but his hands were still cold, his chest aching with the aftermath of the onrush. All of his memories before the world had turned dark were sketchy at best and it brought a pain of doubt and uncertainty with it. Had he then fallen in battle, thus being reunited with his brother in death?

He opened his eyes again, taking in the view around him, his hand running idly over the Inn's wall. What a strange place indeed, with doors that would not open and devices that would allow you to speak over such vast distances.

He briefly considered pulling the CiD out and examine it again but other things were far more important now. Watching expectantly he strained his ears for the familiar sound of hooves.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

After a change of train and more travelling, it's a decent walk until they reach what looks like a small village (http://multiversal.wikkii.com/wiki/Neighbourhoods#Sobek_Croix) that wouldn't be out of place in Medieval Europe and is not entirely dissimilar to somewhere like Bree.

"Welcome to Sobek Croix." If it sounds as though Boromir is relieved to be back, it's because he is. He can deal with the rest of the city for work related reasons, but it's good to have some respite from the chaos.

Faramir, too, finds himself realxing at the sight. After the overwhelming impressions of the day the familiarity here evokes a certain feeling of arrival and peace.

"It is hard to believe we shall still be within the same city walls," he points out, letting his gaze wander. Walking next to his brother he unconsciously starts picking up a few strong branches here and there - while he brought his bow with him he has long realized his quiver is empty.

"Indeed. It is not the only place a man can go to walk and gather his thoughts. There are some forested areas, and farmlands if you head far enough in the other direction. Although it not a wall that surrounds this city."

There will be plenty of time to explain that. For now, it's comforting but odd watching Faramir go about doing something that was once so familiar. Boromir can't help but grin.

"Come --my table is Hellsing's table. We shall dine at the Guild Hall for now. I must admit, I left my duties unattended when I rushed to meet you. I am sure Sir Integra and the Princess Nuala understand, but I cannot be neglectful for too long."

"I wish not to keep you from your tasks."

Faramir smiles, even though it is strange to have his brother talk of a duty other than their homeland which he was always so adamant about. He shoves the branches into his quiver for now, following behind. He is curious about this Hall Boromir is talking about. And the royal people he mentioned and seems to be working for.

Boromir smiles fondly. "You are the only person who has ever managed to so far, and given the circumstances, I believe that is more than understandable."

Faramir might not be too surprised to learn that Boromir has merely transferred his drive, his need for a goal to work towards, onto the Guild. Hellsing is a noble occupation and a necessity, but Gondor is his one and only love.

The twenty-first century Earth term for it is 'workaholic.'

Workaholic indeed. Faramir should have known that his brother would not be idle - not even in death. Somehow, that brings a great comfort and fills part of that gaping hole Boromir has left behind in his passing.

"Well." He smiles back at him. "I had plenty of time to master that skill."

"And here you are to keep me tested in case this city becomes too simple."

He leads Faramir towards an impressive looking building (http://multiversal.wikkii.com/wiki/Hellsing_Guild_Hall) and while Boromir does the requisite signing-in, he turns to his brother and mentions, "It would be best to stay close. There is powerful magic that guards the building from intruders, and friends must be accounted for."

He chuckles briefly at that. "Will you account then for me, brother? I promise I will not run off these days."

Halls guarded by magic. It seems that the more he sees the more his mind will be tested by questions.

Still, he made a promise to respect the dead, so he patiently waits for Boromir to finish the entrance ritual, letting his gaze wander and marveling at the ornamented structures above them.

Boromir laughs, trying not to think about what's actually in Hellsing's basement (or who). Yes, there are so many things to tell.

"This way to the dining hall." It's after lunch time, and it's not like many Hellsing agents keep regular hours anyway, but there's still some food on the go. Not that Faramir will recognise much of it. "Ah, it seems as though there are hamburgers today. Although don't let the name fool you. It's made of beef."

He goes about helping himself to the hot plates stationed in a little in between area of the kitchen and dining hall. "Is there anything you look the look of?"

"I shall try the ones with the misleading name then."

Not that he would be very picky right now. The food smells delicious and he spent a long time out in Ithilien with only the bare necessities. His brief stay in Minas Tirith had not exactly been a festivity with hearty meals either and the excitement of meeting his brother has even spurred an appetite that was lost in the dark days of late.

Once their plates are sorted, there are plenty of tables to sit at, and it's quiet enough that they can expect not to be disturbed unless something blows up in the city (in which case he's obliged to leave, but nothing less until then).

Before they eat, Boromir looks at him quite apart from the euphoria he's felt since knowing Faramir was in the city. "I expect you must have many questions."

There has been a small knot of unease growing in him this past hour, in relation to the Fellowship, his failure and his death. The same knot that had gradually begun to fade these past months as he sought to move on with his (after)life. Now he wasn't sure how he would be able to answer his brother.

Faramir sits, placing his plate in front of him. When he looks over to meet Boromir's gaze his own expression turns somber. "And so must you."

There is, however, an air about his brother that he cannot quite place, something in his expression Faramir can't remember having seen there before.

It is probably to be expected. These were not happy days and they are not happy stories to be shared. Despite the wonders of this city and their reunion it remains a tale of death and darkness. It makes Faramir wonder how much of that will be mirrored in his own expression.

"It has been many days since we spoke. Much has happened."

For a moment, Boromir looks down to the table and his own food. It has been many days, in more ways than one. "Where would you like me to begin? I feel the tale is longer on my part. There's this city and... how I left things in our world."

'Left.' As if it were a choice. In all honesty, he has gone through something of a grieving process himself these six months. Not for him so much as the those he left behind. The people he was never able to say goodbye to or make ammends with.

Where to begin indeed? There are so many questions, Faramir is almost mute with choice.

You speak of how you left. How did you leave? What magic brought you here? Are the tales true? What final battle did you find yourself in? How have you fared in this strange place?

But he wishes not to be inquisitive. He wants to talk to his brother, without remorse, without hesitation, open and lovingly like they used to.

"I met your halflings."

"My--?" Boromir looks up with sudden dread. His thoughts are suddenly with Merry and Pippin in those last moments of conciousness, their faces tear-stained and fearful.

And Frodo, fearful for another reason altogether.

Does Faramir know what he did? He must.

"Which of the four?" A moment of sadness clouds his face as he thinks on friends he no longer feels worthy of.

Faramir's heart aches at the sight of his brother's pain and he almost reaches out to touch his shoulder. But now is not the right time.

He watches him for a moment, thinking of the best order in which to go on about things.

"Three of them, albeit not at the same time or in the same places. And I know the fourth, the one called Merry resides in Rohan, in the halls of Théoden."

Which he knows because Pippin would not stop telling him stories. The thought of the young hobbit brings a small smile to his face. Faramir is clearly quite fond of him - Pippin was the first to make him laugh in a very long time.

"Pippin dwells within our city walls." Raising his head to meet Boromir's gaze he smiles warmly at him. "He joined the tower guards and entered Gondor's service in your honor."

Edited 2011-11-16 14:14 (UTC)

The thought threatens to overwhelm Boromir and for a moment he presses a curled fist against his mouth. "Oh, Pippin. There is no need of that. It was I who did you and the Fellowship a dishonour."

His out loud musing on distant friends doesn't sound completely separate from his addressing Faramir in the present; it's not meant to. And all the while, the memories of the Ring's hold sends a sickening jolt to his stomach.

"I have done a shameful thing, Faramir. A shameful thing. And it still haunts me in death. May it forever plague me, that I never forget my folly, my pride --my own vainglory!"

Those last words are spoken with a certain deal of vehemence.

It is a sight that breaks Faramir's heart and this time he does reach out to place his hand on his brother's arm. "No. May you find peace."

His fingers curl around Boromir's wrist and he pulls his hand back, away from his mouth so they can face each other. "For I have seen this wretched thing, this cursed creation and its evil deeds. May you find forgiveness in the hearts of Men and Elves and all the Free people of Middle-earth." He pushes down until both their hands come to rest on Boromir's chest, atop of each other. "May you find it in your own," he tells him, his voice quiet but firm.

"Will you not see him who sits with you, eats with you, finds such joy and peace in your company? He is not shamed to call you brother still; he never was. There is not one who speaks of Boromir in anger or contempt and I will not have it any other way."

"Then it is more than I deserve." Despite Faramir's best intentions, it will take longer than that for Boromir to forgive himself. A lifetime built up as Gondor's saviour is not easily forgotten, especially when he feels he failed their people when they needed him most.

After a few moments, he starts to speak again. "I think I would have been driven to despair these past months had it not been for another's gift of foresight. There is a lady here who brought me news that Middle-Earth would be saved and that my friends would survive. I find peace enough in that."

He leaves out what he was told about their own family, for now. Heavy hearts are best not overladen.

Faramir drops his gaze for a moment but his eyes soften with a small smile at that. "Those are good news. I shall take them gladly from you and allow them to easy my own, heavy heart."

"Why should your own heart be heavy? I know we are a long way from home but it is not the last you shall see of Middle Earth." Boromir has not quite added two and two together yet. Then again, he's seen so many other people come here without it being some sort of afterlife and he's been told something to the contrary (not that those with foresight are infallible).

"What makes you say that?" Faramir looks up, a trace of confusion on his face at the confidence in his brother's voice. "How would I return from where no mortal man has come back?"

"You died." It's spoken flatly. Various scenarios run through his mind but there are two he keeps returning to: foresight is fallible or this Faramir is not the brother he'd been told would live, but another who was fated to die.

Either way, he decides to keep quiet while he ponders his options. It wouldn't do to panic his brother (always his brother, no matter what) even more on the day of his arrival. After all, it had taken Boromir some time to understand the concept of multiple worlds and timelines.

"I had --I thought." He pauses, trying to still himself. "I hoped you had come here alive, as other do. Oh, Faramir."

"People come to this place alive?" He looks surprised. That is a new concept for him and a possibility that has not crossed his mind at all.

"I-- do not know. The moments before I woke up in this strange room, they are all a blur and then-- darkness." A shadow crosses his face. He might not remember the nature of his injuries but his spirit very well recalls the blackness of its impact. "We were to reclaim Osgiliath. It was heavily guarded. We encountered Nazgûl."

Another shadow, of a different kind. Yes, he lost the city again and Faramir feels accordingly about it.

"They do, although I can understand why you would come to that conclusion that this was some sort of afterlife. It crossed my mind when I arrived here. Then I was afraid I had become some sort of wraith-like creature. But no; people are brought here during and after their death."

And speaking of wraiths. "You went to reclaim Osgiliath when it was guarded by Nazgûl." It's not a question; it's a statement of disbelief. Of course, he has no idea how badly things became in Gondor during his absence and after his death.

Today, life is good

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)