short ficlet, Faramir
Mar. 3rd, 2005 12:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
archetHave been raiding the old fic folder again...this time it's Faramir's turn.
Title: Faith
Author: Archet
Pairing: Boromir/Faramir
Summary: Faramir’s faith.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I neither own nor created these characters.
Feedback: welcomed and appreciated
~*~
I’ve heard it said, more than once in my life, that the great walls of Minas Tirith could withstand any storm, any enemy. Standing before them in my youth, I remember wondering that what indeed, might topple a place of such strength.
I’ve heard it said by fresh young men on the practice fields, as their blades flashed in the sunlight of my youth, that the Steward was a great man who would lead them to glory. I might have shared their belief, then.
I’ve heard it said by drunk old men warming themselves by a tavern’s hearth that Gondor’s army is too mighty to fall, that in the end it is they who will smite the enemy, who will claim victory. I’ve sat and drank, and have wanted to believe this.
Now I hear different things, whispers of dread, fear, of mistrust. I listen and I remember those people who had placed their faith in stone and mortar, in the might of a valiant army, in the glory of their Steward. I remember, and I know that my faith is in neither stone nor steel nor glory; it is in none of these things.
I placed all my faith in my brother, my lover, long ago. Boromir. Should the stars go out, let him be my guide. I would follow him into whatever night might fall, and I would follow, unafraid.
Title: Faith
Author: Archet
Pairing: Boromir/Faramir
Summary: Faramir’s faith.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I neither own nor created these characters.
Feedback: welcomed and appreciated
~*~
I’ve heard it said, more than once in my life, that the great walls of Minas Tirith could withstand any storm, any enemy. Standing before them in my youth, I remember wondering that what indeed, might topple a place of such strength.
I’ve heard it said by fresh young men on the practice fields, as their blades flashed in the sunlight of my youth, that the Steward was a great man who would lead them to glory. I might have shared their belief, then.
I’ve heard it said by drunk old men warming themselves by a tavern’s hearth that Gondor’s army is too mighty to fall, that in the end it is they who will smite the enemy, who will claim victory. I’ve sat and drank, and have wanted to believe this.
Now I hear different things, whispers of dread, fear, of mistrust. I listen and I remember those people who had placed their faith in stone and mortar, in the might of a valiant army, in the glory of their Steward. I remember, and I know that my faith is in neither stone nor steel nor glory; it is in none of these things.
I placed all my faith in my brother, my lover, long ago. Boromir. Should the stars go out, let him be my guide. I would follow him into whatever night might fall, and I would follow, unafraid.
