Another drabble, a double this time, on the AU theme Dwim wanted for her birthday. If this keeps up, I'll have to do a series of these Boromir Lives drabbles.
We waited in the library, Faramir and I. I could scarce believe what had been said in the Uncle’s urgent summons; but considering the source, had to at least admit the possibility.
“Do you think it could be true?” Faramir asked, leafing through a book.
“It had better be true! Aragorn needs us both in Minas Tirith, not chasing wild geese in Dol Amroth!”
The door opened, and Uncle and Andra came in, shepherding the boy between them. The moment the light from the windows fell on his face, I heard Faramir suck in a shocked breath. I think I might have done the same, for one look had proven the question beyond all doubt.
Andra stepped forward to give me my handkerchief. A precious gift, this relic of my aunt, but nowhere near so precious as the boy that stood before me. An heir, without the sham or shame or deceit that it would have otherwise taken to make one.
Brandmir looked both scared and reluctant. I got to my feet slowly, and smiled reassuringly. Holding out my hand, as the joy burgeoned within me, I said, “How do you do, Brandmir? It would appear that I am your father.”