Standard Disclaimer: No, I don't own LOTR, and despite what I'd like to
think in my head, I don't actually own Boromir, Faramir, Denethor...etc. I
am just borrowing them for now.
Note: Right now, Boromir is 16 and Faramir is 11. Since an age/birthdate is never mentioned for Beregond, I have decided to make him around 15 at this time.
If you have time, please check out my other story (The Sons of Minas Tirith) :)
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The sun had barely risen above the second wall of Minas Tirith, but the yells and crashes coming from just outside the citadel made it clear that someone was awake in the great city. It was only March, when the chill morning air caused most people to postpone their duties an extra hour.
Of course, Boromir hardly wanted to classify himself as "most people".
The eldest son of Denethor II had awoken at a very early hour for a single, simple purpose: to perfect the sword fighting skills that he was so proud of. After all, Boromir was already 16, and would soon (in his eyes) be old enough to join the groups of Rangers that patrolled the lands of Ithilien. All he needed was a little extra practice (and perhaps some excellent persuasive skills to use on his father, but he felt that would come later).
Unfortunately for Boromir, his sole opponent in this early hour was his sleepy, slightly reluctant brother Faramir.
"Come on, Faramir!" exclaimed an exasperated Boromir, when Faramir didn't parry a simple attack. It was the fourth time Boromir had been forced to move his sword at the last minute, to avoid giving his brother a choppy haircut. Although the swords the brothers used for everyday practice had fairly dull blades, to prevent any unnecessary injury, they were certainly capable of cutting hair.
Faramir yawned. "It is still early," he mumbled, "and I was up late last night. Had I known you wished to wake me up before the sun, I might have gone to bed sooner."
Boromir frowned. "Up late?" he repeated. "But our evening meal was early, as Father had business to attend to, and there certainly wasn't anything interesting enough to keep us awake." He paused for a moment, thinking. "You haven't left me out of anything, have you?"
"Of course not, brother," Faramir replied, rubbing his eyes. "I was reading about the Elves. There are a couple books about them in the library, so I picked the best one I could find."
It was Boromir's turn to yawn. "I'm sure it wasn't necessarily the best; but simply the longest book you could find. Wouldn't you rather find something on war to read? Or Gondor? Besides, how often have you seen any Elves roaming around Minas Tirith?"
"I haven't seen any," Faramir was forced to admit. "But it is useful to know about them. After all, the Rangers of Ithilien speak more than just Common, you know. They learn Elvish, and if you want to join them, you must learn it too."
"There's time enough for that later. Come on!" With that, Boromir raised his sword again, preparing for battle.
Faramir sighed. His sword fighting skills were reasonable, but he could never seem to get his heart into the fight as Boromir could. Killing people irked him, even when he knew it was necessary, and besides, he had little chance against an opponent who greatly outmatched him in size, strength, and experience. It was like attempting to fight and defeat a solid brick wall.
Nonetheless, Faramir adored his brother, and, adjusting his grip upon his small sword, silently agreed to continue practicing.
********
A while later, Boromir pulled Faramir to his feet for what seemed to be the fiftieth time. "Don't worry, little brother," Boromir said. "It takes a lot of practice to become really good, and you still have years to work."
Faramir nodded, rubbing a sore spot on his head. "I guess I also have years of bruises to look forward to," he mumbled. "At least reading doesn't cause so much pain!"
Boromir couldn't help laughing at the reference to bruises, but suddenly became serious when he glanced towards the sky. "How long have we been out here practicing?" he asked, while attempting to calculate the time. "The sun was barely over those buildings when we began..."
His younger brother groaned, but not in pain. "I think we're late for breakfast! We better run before we......hey!" Faramir grabbed his sword and ran after Boromir, who was already bolting towards the door to the hall.
********
Faramir managed to catch his brother right before he pushed open the door to the kitchen. Normally, they would never present themselves for any formal meal without washing up, but both had decided that being a little sweaty would be more easily excused than being late. Unfortunately, in their eagerness to present themselves for breakfast, Boromir managed to trip over his brother, and they both tumbled to the ground in an ungainly heap.
A cold voice greeted them as they attempted to untangle their legs from one another. "I see that you have finally chosen to grace me with your presence," stated Denethor, who was seated in his chair at the head of the table. Generally, the family did not eat all meals together, for the Steward had business to attend to, and his sons often wandered around the city or studied. However, it was well known that breakfast was considered a formal meal, and the presence of all was expected.
Boromir straightened himself, and attempted to explain his actions. "We woke up early to perfect our sword fighting techniques," he began.
"I am well aware of that, Boromir," replied his father. "The noise you created was indeed enough to wake most who were still trying to achieve another hour of sleep."
It was clear to Boromir that this was not the best way to start a conversation, but he knew that Faramir stood silently next to him, and was unlikely to speak unless forced to. Thus, he had to find another way to steer the conversation. "We are sorry to have created such a racket, Father," admitted Boromir, "but it was the optimal day for sword fighting." He thought quickly. "We....we have some new techniques that should impress our tutor, next time there are lessons. He will be greatly impressed with our skill, and tomorrow we will be sure to arrive on time for breakfast."
In spite of his initial anger, Denethor seemed interested in his elder son's words. He knew that Boromir was immensely proud of his fighting skills, though he was beginning to learn not to brag without reason. Perhaps he did have a good reason to boast. "Very well," the Steward replied, "if you are early tomorrow, then perhaps your dedication to your work makes this a transgression that can be overlooked. And now," he added, glancing at Faramir, "tell me you have also been practicing."
Faramir nodded. "I was with Boromir," he stated.
"And?" Denethor was not satisfied with his younger son's response.
Faramir disliked being compared with Boromir, though his friend Beregond always said it was common among siblings. "We were practicing, very hard actually," replied Faramir, "though Boromir's skills outstrip mine." He forced himself to meet his father's eyes, though he would have been happier watching his feet.
The Steward judged his son's answer to be sufficient. "You have much to practice, but there will be plenty of time for that later. Come now, both of you, before the food grows as cold as the morning air! And see that you are not late tomorrow."
No further words were necessary. Boromir and Faramir seated themselves, and breakfast continued as it normally did.
********
Later, both brothers could be found in the second circle of Minas Tirith. Boromir seemed ready for battle as he wandered around, mumbling to himself and waving his sword in a series of seemingly complicated maneuvers. Every so often, he would pick a small stone off the ground, and throw it towards a small, circular target, perhaps imagining a strike against an enemy from Harad. Many of the rocks made impressively accurate hits, but occasionally they would sail wide, and he then attempted to convince Faramir that he truly was aiming for a potted plant, or a closed door.
His younger brother spent the majority of his time reading, but also looked up once in awhile to carefully aim an arrow at the target. Despite his dislike for killing, Faramir still found entertainment in archery, a skill in which he generally outshone his elder brother. With a fine bow that he had acquired in one of their earlier adventures, he was seldom off his mark.
Now, as Boromir watched one of his rocks go flying into a pail of water, Faramir fitted another arrow to his bow. Fixing his gaze upon the target, he released the arrow and heard the satisfying 'ping' that signified another accurate hit.
Boromir sighed slightly in frustration, but still congratulated his brother. "I may slay the enemy with my sword," Boromir began, "but you can hit him half a league away! Wait until we have an archery contest here in the White City. Even Beregond will be highly impressed."
Faramir grinned, glowing in the praise from his brother. He could still feel the bumps and bruises from the earlier sword practice, but now he was not so frustrated competing with Boromir.
Nonetheless, he knew the unhappiness of being second best, so he decided to put away his arrows and book. "Let's find something else to do," Faramir began. "When our tutor returns next week, there will be plenty more time to work."
Boromir frowned slightly, caught between his desire to practice more, and his longing to find some other entertainment. After all, a little leisure never hurt anyone...
The elder brother finally spoke. "Let's go swimming!"
"Swimming?" When Faramir had mentioned finding something else to do, he thought Boromir might suggest finding Beregond, or even dropping rotten fruit off the outer wall 'just to see what would happen'. Swimming wasn't exactly the top thing in his mind. "It's March," he stated, finding no better way to word his thoughts.
"It's great exercise," replied Boromir. "The weather is not too cold, and we have permission to go to the river, so long as we are 'back at a reasonable hour and not subjecting ourselves to unreasonable risks'." The last statement was quoted from their father.
Faramir was not quite convinced. "It's March," he repeated, not quite believing that Boromir had suddenly become unconcerned with the cold waters. "The river is excellent for swimming, but have you forgotten how cold it is in spring?"
Boromir laughed and shrugged his shoulders, giving Faramir reason to suspect his brother of hiding something of interest. "We're not just going to the river to swim, are we?" the younger brother said, slowly. He wondered what other reason they would have for visiting the river, but he couldn't deny the fact that he was curious.
"Of course not," Boromir replied, "I should have known you wouldn't fall for that. But you'll have to wait until you see for yourself. Let's see if we can track down Beregond, and someone else...Anborn perhaps, or Mablung. Then I can show you what I have in mind."
He sheathed his sword, and soon both brothers were gone.
********
Yes, not the most exciting chapter, but I had to set it up for the story. Don't worry, plenty more action next time.
Note: Right now, Boromir is 16 and Faramir is 11. Since an age/birthdate is never mentioned for Beregond, I have decided to make him around 15 at this time.
If you have time, please check out my other story (The Sons of Minas Tirith) :)
______________________________________________
The sun had barely risen above the second wall of Minas Tirith, but the yells and crashes coming from just outside the citadel made it clear that someone was awake in the great city. It was only March, when the chill morning air caused most people to postpone their duties an extra hour.
Of course, Boromir hardly wanted to classify himself as "most people".
The eldest son of Denethor II had awoken at a very early hour for a single, simple purpose: to perfect the sword fighting skills that he was so proud of. After all, Boromir was already 16, and would soon (in his eyes) be old enough to join the groups of Rangers that patrolled the lands of Ithilien. All he needed was a little extra practice (and perhaps some excellent persuasive skills to use on his father, but he felt that would come later).
Unfortunately for Boromir, his sole opponent in this early hour was his sleepy, slightly reluctant brother Faramir.
"Come on, Faramir!" exclaimed an exasperated Boromir, when Faramir didn't parry a simple attack. It was the fourth time Boromir had been forced to move his sword at the last minute, to avoid giving his brother a choppy haircut. Although the swords the brothers used for everyday practice had fairly dull blades, to prevent any unnecessary injury, they were certainly capable of cutting hair.
Faramir yawned. "It is still early," he mumbled, "and I was up late last night. Had I known you wished to wake me up before the sun, I might have gone to bed sooner."
Boromir frowned. "Up late?" he repeated. "But our evening meal was early, as Father had business to attend to, and there certainly wasn't anything interesting enough to keep us awake." He paused for a moment, thinking. "You haven't left me out of anything, have you?"
"Of course not, brother," Faramir replied, rubbing his eyes. "I was reading about the Elves. There are a couple books about them in the library, so I picked the best one I could find."
It was Boromir's turn to yawn. "I'm sure it wasn't necessarily the best; but simply the longest book you could find. Wouldn't you rather find something on war to read? Or Gondor? Besides, how often have you seen any Elves roaming around Minas Tirith?"
"I haven't seen any," Faramir was forced to admit. "But it is useful to know about them. After all, the Rangers of Ithilien speak more than just Common, you know. They learn Elvish, and if you want to join them, you must learn it too."
"There's time enough for that later. Come on!" With that, Boromir raised his sword again, preparing for battle.
Faramir sighed. His sword fighting skills were reasonable, but he could never seem to get his heart into the fight as Boromir could. Killing people irked him, even when he knew it was necessary, and besides, he had little chance against an opponent who greatly outmatched him in size, strength, and experience. It was like attempting to fight and defeat a solid brick wall.
Nonetheless, Faramir adored his brother, and, adjusting his grip upon his small sword, silently agreed to continue practicing.
********
A while later, Boromir pulled Faramir to his feet for what seemed to be the fiftieth time. "Don't worry, little brother," Boromir said. "It takes a lot of practice to become really good, and you still have years to work."
Faramir nodded, rubbing a sore spot on his head. "I guess I also have years of bruises to look forward to," he mumbled. "At least reading doesn't cause so much pain!"
Boromir couldn't help laughing at the reference to bruises, but suddenly became serious when he glanced towards the sky. "How long have we been out here practicing?" he asked, while attempting to calculate the time. "The sun was barely over those buildings when we began..."
His younger brother groaned, but not in pain. "I think we're late for breakfast! We better run before we......hey!" Faramir grabbed his sword and ran after Boromir, who was already bolting towards the door to the hall.
********
Faramir managed to catch his brother right before he pushed open the door to the kitchen. Normally, they would never present themselves for any formal meal without washing up, but both had decided that being a little sweaty would be more easily excused than being late. Unfortunately, in their eagerness to present themselves for breakfast, Boromir managed to trip over his brother, and they both tumbled to the ground in an ungainly heap.
A cold voice greeted them as they attempted to untangle their legs from one another. "I see that you have finally chosen to grace me with your presence," stated Denethor, who was seated in his chair at the head of the table. Generally, the family did not eat all meals together, for the Steward had business to attend to, and his sons often wandered around the city or studied. However, it was well known that breakfast was considered a formal meal, and the presence of all was expected.
Boromir straightened himself, and attempted to explain his actions. "We woke up early to perfect our sword fighting techniques," he began.
"I am well aware of that, Boromir," replied his father. "The noise you created was indeed enough to wake most who were still trying to achieve another hour of sleep."
It was clear to Boromir that this was not the best way to start a conversation, but he knew that Faramir stood silently next to him, and was unlikely to speak unless forced to. Thus, he had to find another way to steer the conversation. "We are sorry to have created such a racket, Father," admitted Boromir, "but it was the optimal day for sword fighting." He thought quickly. "We....we have some new techniques that should impress our tutor, next time there are lessons. He will be greatly impressed with our skill, and tomorrow we will be sure to arrive on time for breakfast."
In spite of his initial anger, Denethor seemed interested in his elder son's words. He knew that Boromir was immensely proud of his fighting skills, though he was beginning to learn not to brag without reason. Perhaps he did have a good reason to boast. "Very well," the Steward replied, "if you are early tomorrow, then perhaps your dedication to your work makes this a transgression that can be overlooked. And now," he added, glancing at Faramir, "tell me you have also been practicing."
Faramir nodded. "I was with Boromir," he stated.
"And?" Denethor was not satisfied with his younger son's response.
Faramir disliked being compared with Boromir, though his friend Beregond always said it was common among siblings. "We were practicing, very hard actually," replied Faramir, "though Boromir's skills outstrip mine." He forced himself to meet his father's eyes, though he would have been happier watching his feet.
The Steward judged his son's answer to be sufficient. "You have much to practice, but there will be plenty of time for that later. Come now, both of you, before the food grows as cold as the morning air! And see that you are not late tomorrow."
No further words were necessary. Boromir and Faramir seated themselves, and breakfast continued as it normally did.
********
Later, both brothers could be found in the second circle of Minas Tirith. Boromir seemed ready for battle as he wandered around, mumbling to himself and waving his sword in a series of seemingly complicated maneuvers. Every so often, he would pick a small stone off the ground, and throw it towards a small, circular target, perhaps imagining a strike against an enemy from Harad. Many of the rocks made impressively accurate hits, but occasionally they would sail wide, and he then attempted to convince Faramir that he truly was aiming for a potted plant, or a closed door.
His younger brother spent the majority of his time reading, but also looked up once in awhile to carefully aim an arrow at the target. Despite his dislike for killing, Faramir still found entertainment in archery, a skill in which he generally outshone his elder brother. With a fine bow that he had acquired in one of their earlier adventures, he was seldom off his mark.
Now, as Boromir watched one of his rocks go flying into a pail of water, Faramir fitted another arrow to his bow. Fixing his gaze upon the target, he released the arrow and heard the satisfying 'ping' that signified another accurate hit.
Boromir sighed slightly in frustration, but still congratulated his brother. "I may slay the enemy with my sword," Boromir began, "but you can hit him half a league away! Wait until we have an archery contest here in the White City. Even Beregond will be highly impressed."
Faramir grinned, glowing in the praise from his brother. He could still feel the bumps and bruises from the earlier sword practice, but now he was not so frustrated competing with Boromir.
Nonetheless, he knew the unhappiness of being second best, so he decided to put away his arrows and book. "Let's find something else to do," Faramir began. "When our tutor returns next week, there will be plenty more time to work."
Boromir frowned slightly, caught between his desire to practice more, and his longing to find some other entertainment. After all, a little leisure never hurt anyone...
The elder brother finally spoke. "Let's go swimming!"
"Swimming?" When Faramir had mentioned finding something else to do, he thought Boromir might suggest finding Beregond, or even dropping rotten fruit off the outer wall 'just to see what would happen'. Swimming wasn't exactly the top thing in his mind. "It's March," he stated, finding no better way to word his thoughts.
"It's great exercise," replied Boromir. "The weather is not too cold, and we have permission to go to the river, so long as we are 'back at a reasonable hour and not subjecting ourselves to unreasonable risks'." The last statement was quoted from their father.
Faramir was not quite convinced. "It's March," he repeated, not quite believing that Boromir had suddenly become unconcerned with the cold waters. "The river is excellent for swimming, but have you forgotten how cold it is in spring?"
Boromir laughed and shrugged his shoulders, giving Faramir reason to suspect his brother of hiding something of interest. "We're not just going to the river to swim, are we?" the younger brother said, slowly. He wondered what other reason they would have for visiting the river, but he couldn't deny the fact that he was curious.
"Of course not," Boromir replied, "I should have known you wouldn't fall for that. But you'll have to wait until you see for yourself. Let's see if we can track down Beregond, and someone else...Anborn perhaps, or Mablung. Then I can show you what I have in mind."
He sheathed his sword, and soon both brothers were gone.
********
Yes, not the most exciting chapter, but I had to set it up for the story. Don't worry, plenty more action next time.