Disclaimer: The characters, places, and other recognizeable bits of Lord of the Rings were created by J.R.R. Tolkien and are now owned by someone or something else. This is written for fun. Please don't sue me.

Faramir of Gondor sat in his hiding place with his legs tucked under him, his back against the wall and a book open across his lap. Faramir's hiding place was a window casement on an obscure stairwell. He was not hiding now—at least, if asked, that would not be his verb of choice. He preferred perhaps relaxing, unless of course Denethor was very busy in which instance 'keeping out of the way' might be a better answer. In truth Faramir did so many things at turns that no single word encompassed everything. He was indeed relaxing, hiding and keeping out of the way, but also reading, daydreaming, and munching an apple. He ate carefully, fearful of a single drop of juice marring the page. What if it wore a hole, or caused rot? What if he, Faramir, mere second son and a sickly one at that, was the last to read these pages?

The thought sent a tingle through the boy. He would be one among many, but perhaps the most significant of all. As Faramir thought this, a blush crept onto his cheeks. Dreams of recognition, what good were they? Recognition was not honor. It was not glory. It was being known and not worth the knowing. This was not a fate to be dreamt of.

"Faramir?"

He turned his head sharply at the call. Immediately Faramir began to panic. Had he forgotten an important arrival? Should he have been bowing and scraping in the yard ten minutes ago? Was it past supper? Denethor would be unhappy indeed if this was so! Faramir was small and often ill; the last thing he needed was insufficient nutrition. Or, as Denethor preferred to say, if the boy lost any further weight he would be lighter than a longsword.

Faramir considered: would he rather be in trouble now, or big trouble later? He knew in his mind that it was best to get it over with now and hope while waiting on his father's time he would remember what he had forgotten, at the very least managing to format a decent apology. But his emotions told him to run! Perhaps this would be forgotten in a matter of hours.

He closed his book and moved to climb out of the casement when he heard footsteps. Faramir threw himself against the wall. Luckily the window was small and Faramir only bruised his shoulder. He rubbed the sore place.

"Faramir!"

Now that he heard the voice, Faramir smiled. He dropped down to the stairs. "Boromir!" He hopped down the stairs until he encountered his brother, then hugged him.

Boromir laughed. "An enthusiastic hello to you as well, little brother!" he cried. "Hiding as usual?'

Faramir blushed and mumbled something about not having been hiding, only needing a bit of space, which only caused his brother to laugh harder. "Did I forget something important?" he asked nervously.

"Nothing important," Boromir assured him. He placed an arm around Faramir's shoulders and gently but quite firmly led him down the stairs. He had spent the better part of his day in the yards and as a result was dusty and smelled of sweat. Boromir had been looking forward to splashing water on his face and napping, but Faramir's tutor had been unable to locate him. The message had reached Boromir as he trudged to his chambers. Faramir disappeared like a lizard, quickly and thoroughly, and Boromir seemed uniquely possessed of the ability to stalk him. "And what have you done with this day that was important enough to shirk lessons, hm?"

"Oh…" Faramir blushed. He had forgotten something after all. "I'm sorry."

Boromir yanked Faramir into a headlock with loving cruelty and rubbed his knuckles against Faramir scalp, ignoring Faramir's protests. "Was it a lady?" he teased. "Is my baby brother in love?"

"No!" Faramir yelped. There would surely be time for that later, and Faramir trusted that in years he would be interested in females, but at the moment they seemed like foreign beings carrying some sort of ill humor. But Faramir was only ten years old and lacked much knowledge of the way of things between men and women—not that he would admit to any so gaping lack! This was all second chair, however, to the evils Boromir inflicted on his head. "I was just thinking! Stop it, Boromir!"

Boromir released Faramir.

He suppressed chuckles as Faramir rubbed his head, then asked, "And? What is it you have been thinking on?"

"I thought… do you think one day we will have candles that burn brightly for a thousand days? Or carts that can move with the speed of a dozen horses? What if tutors taught ten students at once, or twenty, and everyone learned to read and write? Do you think that will ever happen, Boromir?" Faramir asked. He tilted his chin up to fix his keen gaze on Boromir's face as he considered his reply.

Boromir wanted to reply that no, he did not think candles would ever burn for a thousand or even a dozen days, that never would every person afford the beautiful, expensive books his brother seemed not to understand were a great luxury. But Faramir watched Boromir with such eager hope that Boromir nodded. There was no other road. "One day it will, yes."

Faramir smiled. "One day we will all be equal, Boromir," he said with such innocent conviction that Boromir's heart melted. At times his brother seemed strange and foreign as an Elf or even, Boromir thought with a quick request that his blasphemy be forgiven, a Maia. The strangeness only smacked of Faramir's nature. He seemed at once fully foreign and more familiar than Boromir's own hands.

He reached out and slipped his hand into Faramir's. "They will," he murmured.

Faramir gasped. "Promise?" he asked, grinning. "Will you help it happen?"

In that moment Boromir's heart leapt as he realized that his acquiescence to his brother's far-fledged dreams meant more to Faramir. He spoke of his ideas to his brother, but heard the approval of a future steward. Boromir forced a smile, an almost ferocious smile determined to show his loyalty.

"I will make it happen," he swore. Then he gripped Faramir by the shoulders and steered him sharply to the left. "Go and find Iorthon and apologize," Boromir instructed, certain his brother would be punished with some unnecessarily boring work. Boromir accepted that. Faramir may have been a clever, loving boy, but he need reining in.

Faramir started trotting off, then hesitated. "Boromir... does Papa know?" he asked. Boromir shook his head. "Are you going to tell him?"

Boromir replied honestly, "No." He saw no reason to involve the steward of Gondor in the non-issue of a child with a mind apt to wander. Besides, Denethor worked hard. His time with his family should be a joy.

"Are you angry with me?" Faramir asked.

Boromir smiled. "Of course not. Go and find Iorthon."

Faramir turned, scampered a few feet down the corridor, then turned. "Boromir?" he asked. "I love you."

fin!

A note on Faramir's health: This does not necessarily mean a negative bearing on his future status or capacity. Jesse Owens was a sickly child, and look what he accomplished.

A note on longswords: a longsword weighs about three pounds. This is meant to be about the equal of "knocking someone over with a feather".