They are caught before they get out of the camp

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Well, since the interactive starts with young!Faramir, whom I personally love to heap angst on, I just wondered if we might not consider one branching heading off for older Faramir, on whom also I like to heap angst:)) And then Iris suggested that instead of just a post-war branching off as I thought of, we could also have a wartime one, so here’s a shot at it. Also, therefore, this is a 2 chapter update.

They slipped out of the tent, and it was then that Faramir felt the darkness pressing in around them.

“Mablung,” he called out softly, as he realised that a thin mist was gathering outside.

“Yes, dearie,” came a voice that was much rougher than his ranger’s.

Faramir gasped aloud, as a large creature loomed up near him. An orc, he thought dazedly, and drove his word through it, not bothering to wonder where the sword had come into his hand from.

“Excellent work, brother,” said Boromir suddenly, appearing from behind a row of grey tents.

“Boromir!” Faramir said, trying not to sound annoyed, “Are we done with this stupid game now? May I leave and rejoin my men?”

Boromir laughed, “Later, little brother, later…for now, you will admit we've caught you. Again!"

"Aye, Boromir, I submit. You captured me again. Let us return to your tent now, share a glass of wine and then I shall leave for it is darkening and this mist over the river worries me."

He had not even realised they were so close to the rver.

"That's strange," Boromir commented.


"I must go see what that is out on the river," Boromir said and slid off in towards the river. Faramir followed hurriedly.

The mist thickened around them, and Boromir moved suddenly ahead. Faramir found himself knee-deep in cold water, black with the night.

“Boromir,” he said, worried.

The boat moved in front of him, emanating an ethereal glow. He tried to back away, out of the water as the boat neared, knowing somehow, deep inside, what he would see, but he couldn’t move. The water seemed to surround him and hold him in. He felt his knees buckle, the closer the boat came, and as he caught a glimpse of his brother’s broken shield, he felt himself collapse in a heap in the water, his head sunk in his hands.

The mist thickened, almost grey – like smoke, and the water that surrounded him, seeping through his clothes felt warm…hot even. The distant lap of waves sounded louder, almost crackling…the heat was almost searing, and the smoke thick and black… he raised his head in alarm and looked up and screamed….

A familiar face loomed over him, concerned.

“It’s all right,” came the soothing voice, “It’s all right. Just a dream.”

He was trembling he realised, and not just from the cold that stung his now aware body. His blankets lay in an untidy heap, dangling over the side of the heap. He must have kicked them away.

“I-I’m fine,” he murmured, as he had done before, “Just a dream,” he agreed softly, “Just a dream…”

He hated these dreams. They started out lightly, reminisces of days past, and then they turned dark suddenly, filling his mind with these bitter memories and vision that he fought and fought to dispel.

“Stay here. I’ll get you something to drink. Something warm and nice. Just stay,” he was told.

Faramir considered protesting, repeating that he was fine but by the time his sluggish mind responded, the other man was already out of the door. He leaned back heavily against the pillows and ran a hand through his hair, feeling the dampness from the sweat. And he tried not to think again about his dreams. Instead he should think about... well, he was in Minas Tirith, and...

What happens next?


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