Faramir stood, leaning against the unyielding stone of an Osgiliath wall. He had chosen this room, a simple sleeping chamber, because it was one of the few that had windows that faced the west. He had been watching from these windows for hours, unable to sleep. From here, one could almost pretend that the shadow did not exist, that men were free to leave the growing darkness and sail the sea his mother had pined for. But for all his reading of elves and wizards, Faramir had been trained to be practical. He knew that he and his people were trapped, bound to this land that was their only home. There was no place in Elvenhome for men.

Warm arms wrapped around his waist, distracting him from his gloomy thoughts. He gave only a token start of surprise, long years of stealthy archery and his familiarity with his brother's steps had long ago dashed any hopes Boromir had of surprising him.

"Good morning, little brother." Boromir purred in his ear, resting his head on the smaller man's shoulder. Faramir turned and kissed him deeply in response, then pulled back to look him over. His brother was fully dressed, despite the early hour, weaponry and all. Boromir saw the sadness in his face and spoke what weighted both their hearts. "I ride out today."

"And I will remain." As ever, his mind whispered. Boromir always spoke as though he could hear the doubts in his brother's mind, and this time was no different.

"Father needs you here, to protect our borders."

"Father has no need of a man who prefers words to swords." Faramir retorted, starting to turn away.

Boromir grabbed Faramir then, holding his face between his hands. "Swords can bring only fear to our enemies. Words, your words, can bring hope to our people and they may yet bring peace. Father would say many of the same things, if his heart were not so cold." He caressed the face he held, saying sternly, "Do you think your company follows you only because of your skill with a bow? Such things do not win the hearts of men. They love you for your kindness and mercy, you make them feel their sacrifice helps to bring the light back to our great city."

Faramir could only stare into the blue eyes that mirrored his own, both the blue-grey of the sea. He could not possibly match the intensity with which Boromir had spoken, so he remained silent. Boromir smiled to break the tension, the full-blown Man of Gondor, you-know-you-love-me grin. Faramir had often wondered if that expression would have stopped a battalion of orcs in their tracks, and where his brother had picked it up. Certainly neither of their parents had ever used it. It remained a great mystery, but it was also very infectious. Faramir smiled back, though his was not so bright, it had greater warmth, increased by the fact that it was very rarely seen. It faded as he thought of why Boromir might have sounded so desperate to convince him of his worth.

"You speak as though you will not have another chance to repeat the sentiment." Boromir started, his grin twisting briefly into a grimace before settling into a smaller smile, the kind that was meant to comfort, never seen either by citizens or troops, but was shown to his brother alone.

"Do not fear. I will return." In a sudden movement contrary to his soft words, he tore off his gauntlets, worn and frayed from years of use. He took Faramir's hands in his own, pulling them on with care he never took the time to give himself. "They will protect you when I cannot." Then he went to the unused bed in the corner of the room where Faramir's armor was awaiting him. He took the gauntlets from their place between mail and tunic and slid them over his own hands. Returning to his brother's side, Boromir held them out for inspection, saying, "Now, have you ever known me not to return something of yours?"

"Never." Faramir answered, fingering the gloves that still held Boromir's warmth. He knew this man so well, yet he was still surprised that such a natural fighter could also be so gentle. Here was a symbol of their love for one another that they could wear openly, in the middle of battle, or the heart of Minas Tirith, and no one would be the wiser. "I know they will come back to me."

"Do not forget that I also belong to you," Boromir reminded him. "Get ready so you can come and see me off." He started toward the door, stopping before the threshold to kiss Faramir once more, the last place to stop before he stepped out into the open. Beyond the door he became the Steward's son once more, the man whose only desire was to kill and maim all those who challenged Gondor's power.

Faramir watched his brother walk the length of the passageway, then shut the door. He washed up and then combed his hair, something Boromir never seemed to remember to do. He pulled on his chain mail, boots, and breastplate. He used this process to change into a soldier again, though he could never do it as successfully as Boromir. He took a last look into the west before opening the door. As he walked the same path his brother had taken, he reflected on his little ritual. It hurt less, to do the things he had to do as Denethor's son, if he had a mask to hide behind. The Soldier Faramir protected not only the White City; he protected all the other Faramirs, the scholar, the dreamer, and the lover. All these made up the Faramir that Boromir loved, and Denethor could not stand, so he was important to protect. Words alone could never protect him so that he was whole for Boromir when he came home, but after all, that was what the gauntlets were for.