Untitled - BoG-Archive

never felt so weary in his life. He shielded his eyes from the sun with his hand,
and did not even realize as he closed them.
He dreamed. In the dream, he clung by his fingertips to the side of a cliff in
the middle of a roaring wind. He felt battered by the wind, and terribly cold.
Somehow he did not know what had become of Faramir—had he fallen? Did he
also cling to the edge, perhaps calling out for help? Boromir was unable to turn
his head to look. He felt the stone against his cheek, and saw only the darkness
around him. Horror had welled up inside him as he had called out his brother’s
name over and over, and heard no reply. Unable to hold on any longer, he had
found himself falling, and awoke with a start. He felt stifled. He struggled to
wakefulness, pushing away the fog in his mind and the remnants of the dream.
He understood, underneath his half-frozen confusion, the terrible situation they
were now in. At least an hour had passed. Night was falling, and he could barely
see Faramir beside him, sunken down into a snow drift with his head on his pack.
Scuffling to his knees, he leaned over his brother. Faramir’s face looked terribly
pale, and he did not stir.
“Faramir,” he said as he lifted his brother’s shoulders from the snow and
drew him close, “awaken, it is too cold…” His teeth chattered and he felt his
lower lip crack painfully as he spoke. His blood tasted of thin salt on his tongue.
He wrapped his cloak around them both and pressed Faramir’s hands between
his own. They were like ice. He pleaded and shook him, and silently condemned
himself for falling asleep and endangering them both. He could not think clearly,
or he might not have been in such a panic—breath misted softly from Faramir’s
mouth: he was only deeply asleep and very chilled.
“I was dreaming of a fire, of being warm… why did you wake me?”
Faramir suddenly asked in a sleepy whisper, without opening his eyes.
“Because we should not have fallen asleep! Up! Up!” Boromir said. His
voice was harsh in the cold, thin air, and his fear made it more so. More softly, he
added “we can make a fire, if you want, but first you must get up.”
The urgency in his brother’s voice cut through the calm of Faramir’s dream,
and he too struggled to wakefulness.
They got to their feet and dusted the snow from themselves. “I thought for
a moment… your hands were so cold… not that mine are much warmer,”
Boromir said with an apologetic grin. “So, do you say it is time for our fire?”
“No… no, we should save it. We should go on for a little, find some sort of
shelter,” Faramir said slowly, flexing his fingers. They seemed to burn a little as
they warmed; he stuck them quickly under his cloak.
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