Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.
Author's Note: This is a series of drabbles I did for the weekly challenges on A'mael. All are somehow related to Faramir and are in something of an order.
First Night
Golden light spilled slowly though the window of the nursery in the White City. A figure stood by the window but his grey eyes rested not on the splendour of the waking morn. They gazed at the tiny bundle in his arms.
His son, sleeping soundly in his father''s arms as the sun rose on the first day of his life. He had helped create this little life......the feeling was overwhelming.
He would lay down his life for the infant sleeping in his arms. He would sacrifice all that he was to spare him but a moment's pain, his dear child. He had been blessed now twice. First, when Boromir came screaming into the world five years early and again with this new babe.
His little one, Faramir.
Bath Time
Splash!
"Faramir, if you do not stop that..."
It was meant to be a warning, but the child just giggled, peered up at him with great grey eyes and reached his arms out to be held.
Denethor sighed. Faramir had managed to drain half the bath water. Onto him.
"Faramir..."
"Up!"
Denethor complied, wrapping him in a towel first. Faramir promptly cuddled close, his wet hair clinging to Denethor''s neck.
At least he got out of the bath this time. Normally it was as much a struggle to get him out of the water as it was to get Boromir into it. He snorted. He had a cat and an otter for sons and he was sopping wet too boot.
"Next time, little one, your mother bathes you!"
Stars
He could see the stars through his window when his father gathered him, still half asleep, into his arms. It was still dark out and he could not understand why he had been woken.
He titled his head to look at his father's face. Tracks made silver by the stars glistened on his cheeks and one big teardrop rolled off his face to fall onto his night clothes.
"Papa you're crying!"
Denethor summoned a smile for his son's sake. "You must be brave for me, little one, for I have something awful to tell you."
Faramir pushed his face against his father's neck and waiting, feeling his father's strong arms wrap around him tightly.
"Mama has died."
Unwelcome
Denethor had never felt unwelcome in the rooms of his eldest before. No matter what odds he and his youngest found themselves at he had never before felt his presence unwanted by his eldest.
But now he had ventured into Boromir's rooms and found himself the subject of two wary gazes. One of fright and confusion and pain. The other blatantly hostile.
He had retreated then, back to his study to brood about the matter. He was angry, angry at his eldest for moving when he entered the room, as if to shield his brother and making him feel like an intruder.
Not until later did he realize that it was not the hostility that disturbed him so but the bruises that still marred his youngest' face.
Coming of Age
Maybe I should have stopped him early.
Faramir is giggling and his face is bright red. He's smashed and rather well. I doubt very much he'll remember any of this in the morning.
He will not thank me for allowing him to consume so much ale. He will thank me even less for introducing him to hard liquor. He has only ever had diluted wine before and his natural tolerance...well, it leaves much to be desired.
"Boromir, I do not fell so well," Faramir murmurs, his head flopping in my direction. Oh, he is going to hate me come day break.
But it is not every day your little brother comes of age
Blank Pages
It was not yet dawn when he saddles his horse to depart. His eyes strayed upwards every so often, to the Citadel, where he had spent most of his life to this point.
He left today, to join his company, to being life as a soldier. He had, as instructed, packed light. His instruments remained on the shelves of his room to gather dust beside his many books in his absence. Only three he had taken with him. A gift from his mother, a gift from his father and the last a gift of his brother.
A book of blank pages. A copy of what he had gifted him, when he first road out, so that when their lives were separate, they may not be so far apart.
Falls
It was the waterfall that kept him awake.
The sound had stopped registering with him in the day but once night had fallen and the caves carried a certain stillness the sound kept him awake.
He remembered how the noise made him apprehensive during long nights following battles, water pounding against rocks too close to the pounding feet of Orcs marching through the once fair forest. Yet on other night the nearness of the water comforted him, as on ships to Dol Amroth, when the waves lulled him to sleep.
It differed, the meaning, but always the sound remained with him. One thing, he was certain of that night though.
He really should have refrained from his late glass of ale.
Armour
The river swallowed him and his armour dragged him down into the dark depths. He flailed without result, the surface visible but beyond his reach.
He had swam here as a boy and never had the waters seemed so treacherous then.
His lungs screamed for air, darkness creeping at the edges of his vision. He gave a silent prayer, ''See my brother to safety.''
Hands suddenly grasped him under the armpits and he broke the surface, gasping. His armour weighed them both down and they went spurting under. Somehow, slipping under often but always resurfacing, they made it to the shore and collapsed.
Boromir rolled over, his heavy armour creaking, his fingers sliding into Faramir''s wet hair. "Thank you, brother, for my life."
Letters
The Captain had come.
It was an occasion dreaded and welcomed, for whenever he in the city alone he brought news and letters of those who remained.
Welcomed, for it brought news of loved ones a field. Dreaded, because sometimes the letter was one of his own writing.
It was always in his own writing, that final letter, the life changing words,
Dearest Madame,
I regret to inform you that your son has died in the service of Gondor...
He could have passed both writing and delivery to another but he did not shrink from this. His letters of such were long and on rare occasion smudged with his own tears. Small comfort, in a moment of such change and despair.
He never stayed long, the Captain, for whether he brought newfound hope of despair; there were always other letters to deliver.
River Boat
Faramir took another half step towards the boat and fell to his knees in the frigid water. He watched as the river mists swallowed the little boat, taking with it the person he loved most, never to return.
His chest felt tight and for a moment he forgot how to breathe. His head tilted back, his gaze sliding foggily to the stars that hung above, unmoved by the plight of two mortal brothers. He felt a chill that had nothing to do with the river seep into his heart.
Footsteps sounded on the bank, then soft splashes of someone striding through water. Mablung's hand rested on his shoulder. His lungs sucked in air again but his gaze remained unfocussed.
"My brother is dead."
Allegiance
Aragorn stood unsurely in the doorway and looked inside. The man resting on the bed before him was not Denethor but he was his son and Boromir's brother. He knew not what kind of reception he would get.
He had been offered allegiance, in a way, but it was not an oath, and the man had been most ill at the time, if on his way to healing. He could not be sure he would be welcomed here by this, the last acting Steward in the King's absence. His father had certainly never welcomed him.
The healer in him came forth, and moved to rest a hand upon the man's brow, checking for fever. Grey eyes, exhausted eyes, cracked open and focused on him.
Faramir struggled to sit up. Aragorn halted him, he was not well enough yet to move about so.
He looked into those eyes, trying to get him to lay still, and his breath caught in his throat. He saw love there, and warmth and respect. Grey eyes, like that of Denethor and Boromir but oh so very different.
"I would swear allegiance, my King, before you depart, so I may better keep your land in your absence."
Aragorn swallowed, took his hands and let him swear before bidding him to rest for he would need his strength in the days to come.
Shops
The stars were the same, he reflected. He had learned them as a boy, from his grandfather, and they were constant, even when all else had changed.
He looked out at the city before him in wonder. Never before had there been such celebration here, such life. All the city seemed to be decked out in lights and even to these heights the music and laughter carried. It lightened his heart and he touched the clasp that fastened his cloak, a gift from a certain lady, and smiled at his own newly found joy.
"She is much changed since I last looked upon her," a regal voice said from behind and Aragorn came to join him looking out at the city. "That was long ago, before your birth, and I fear I have missed much."
Faramir flushed slightly, still unused to the manners of this man, his King. "You came when you were needed, my Lord, and are here now."
Aragorn nodded, his silver eyes searching Faramir's half shadowed face. There was a smile in his voice. "Still, much of the city has changed since I last walked the streets. I know not even where I would buy a pot of honey."
Faramir's ears reddened. He had a weakness for honey, he wondered if the other man knew that. "I suspect if you but ask you would find yourself with more than you needed, my Lord."
Aragorn laughed and clasped Faramir on his good shoulder. "Indeed! Still, I should like to get to know the city again, perhaps you can help me become reacquainted?"
"If you wish, my Lord," Faramir replied, his face still red with embarrassment.
"I am called Aragorn, by my friends." The silver eyes caught his. "And I would have you be among them."
Faramir smiled and ducked his head. "I would like to be counted as such, Aragorn."
Kin
Imrahil had barely a moment to greet his nephew after Faramir knelt before the King and received the White Rod back into his keeping, as he should, Imrahil thought. The King had swept Faramir away with him into the ocean of cheering people.
Imrahil had not seen him since and was impatient to do so for when he had left Faramir had still been weak still and deeply sad. The past seem to linger upon him like a soggy cloak, weighing him down with discomfort.
It was late when he finally found a moment with his nephew, though he had studied him throughout the day. He was glad at what he saw, for a change had come over him and he looked well.
They embraced upon meeting and then Imrahil held his nephew at an arm's length, looking intently at him. "How do fare you, my nephew?"
Faramir's face shone in a grin and his eyes danced as they had not in years. "Uncle, I am in love."
Sleep
It took but a touch of the calloused hands against his brow to rouse him. He moaned sleepily when he tried to move. His back ached and for a moment he wondered why.
Then he felt the papers beneath his face, and the hand touched him again, this time on the shoulder, shaking gently. He flushed and rose hastily, looking up into a face that resembled his father so at that moment.
He had ink on his forehead from his pen and the indent of a stack of papers on his check. He had drooled a bit on the document he had used as a pillow, still in the stages of being written. He flinched, thinking of what a rebuke it would have earned him from his father.
Silver eyes twinkled with mirth and held a hand out to assist him to his feet.
"Come, my Steward, we shall share a drink before you seek your bed. I daresay it is more comfortable than your desk!"
Author's Note: This is a series of drabbles I did for the weekly challenges on A'mael. All are somehow related to Faramir and are in something of an order.
First Night
Golden light spilled slowly though the window of the nursery in the White City. A figure stood by the window but his grey eyes rested not on the splendour of the waking morn. They gazed at the tiny bundle in his arms.
His son, sleeping soundly in his father''s arms as the sun rose on the first day of his life. He had helped create this little life......the feeling was overwhelming.
He would lay down his life for the infant sleeping in his arms. He would sacrifice all that he was to spare him but a moment's pain, his dear child. He had been blessed now twice. First, when Boromir came screaming into the world five years early and again with this new babe.
His little one, Faramir.
Bath Time
Splash!
"Faramir, if you do not stop that..."
It was meant to be a warning, but the child just giggled, peered up at him with great grey eyes and reached his arms out to be held.
Denethor sighed. Faramir had managed to drain half the bath water. Onto him.
"Faramir..."
"Up!"
Denethor complied, wrapping him in a towel first. Faramir promptly cuddled close, his wet hair clinging to Denethor''s neck.
At least he got out of the bath this time. Normally it was as much a struggle to get him out of the water as it was to get Boromir into it. He snorted. He had a cat and an otter for sons and he was sopping wet too boot.
"Next time, little one, your mother bathes you!"
Stars
He could see the stars through his window when his father gathered him, still half asleep, into his arms. It was still dark out and he could not understand why he had been woken.
He titled his head to look at his father's face. Tracks made silver by the stars glistened on his cheeks and one big teardrop rolled off his face to fall onto his night clothes.
"Papa you're crying!"
Denethor summoned a smile for his son's sake. "You must be brave for me, little one, for I have something awful to tell you."
Faramir pushed his face against his father's neck and waiting, feeling his father's strong arms wrap around him tightly.
"Mama has died."
Unwelcome
Denethor had never felt unwelcome in the rooms of his eldest before. No matter what odds he and his youngest found themselves at he had never before felt his presence unwanted by his eldest.
But now he had ventured into Boromir's rooms and found himself the subject of two wary gazes. One of fright and confusion and pain. The other blatantly hostile.
He had retreated then, back to his study to brood about the matter. He was angry, angry at his eldest for moving when he entered the room, as if to shield his brother and making him feel like an intruder.
Not until later did he realize that it was not the hostility that disturbed him so but the bruises that still marred his youngest' face.
Coming of Age
Maybe I should have stopped him early.
Faramir is giggling and his face is bright red. He's smashed and rather well. I doubt very much he'll remember any of this in the morning.
He will not thank me for allowing him to consume so much ale. He will thank me even less for introducing him to hard liquor. He has only ever had diluted wine before and his natural tolerance...well, it leaves much to be desired.
"Boromir, I do not fell so well," Faramir murmurs, his head flopping in my direction. Oh, he is going to hate me come day break.
But it is not every day your little brother comes of age
Blank Pages
It was not yet dawn when he saddles his horse to depart. His eyes strayed upwards every so often, to the Citadel, where he had spent most of his life to this point.
He left today, to join his company, to being life as a soldier. He had, as instructed, packed light. His instruments remained on the shelves of his room to gather dust beside his many books in his absence. Only three he had taken with him. A gift from his mother, a gift from his father and the last a gift of his brother.
A book of blank pages. A copy of what he had gifted him, when he first road out, so that when their lives were separate, they may not be so far apart.
Falls
It was the waterfall that kept him awake.
The sound had stopped registering with him in the day but once night had fallen and the caves carried a certain stillness the sound kept him awake.
He remembered how the noise made him apprehensive during long nights following battles, water pounding against rocks too close to the pounding feet of Orcs marching through the once fair forest. Yet on other night the nearness of the water comforted him, as on ships to Dol Amroth, when the waves lulled him to sleep.
It differed, the meaning, but always the sound remained with him. One thing, he was certain of that night though.
He really should have refrained from his late glass of ale.
Armour
The river swallowed him and his armour dragged him down into the dark depths. He flailed without result, the surface visible but beyond his reach.
He had swam here as a boy and never had the waters seemed so treacherous then.
His lungs screamed for air, darkness creeping at the edges of his vision. He gave a silent prayer, ''See my brother to safety.''
Hands suddenly grasped him under the armpits and he broke the surface, gasping. His armour weighed them both down and they went spurting under. Somehow, slipping under often but always resurfacing, they made it to the shore and collapsed.
Boromir rolled over, his heavy armour creaking, his fingers sliding into Faramir''s wet hair. "Thank you, brother, for my life."
Letters
The Captain had come.
It was an occasion dreaded and welcomed, for whenever he in the city alone he brought news and letters of those who remained.
Welcomed, for it brought news of loved ones a field. Dreaded, because sometimes the letter was one of his own writing.
It was always in his own writing, that final letter, the life changing words,
Dearest Madame,
I regret to inform you that your son has died in the service of Gondor...
He could have passed both writing and delivery to another but he did not shrink from this. His letters of such were long and on rare occasion smudged with his own tears. Small comfort, in a moment of such change and despair.
He never stayed long, the Captain, for whether he brought newfound hope of despair; there were always other letters to deliver.
River Boat
Faramir took another half step towards the boat and fell to his knees in the frigid water. He watched as the river mists swallowed the little boat, taking with it the person he loved most, never to return.
His chest felt tight and for a moment he forgot how to breathe. His head tilted back, his gaze sliding foggily to the stars that hung above, unmoved by the plight of two mortal brothers. He felt a chill that had nothing to do with the river seep into his heart.
Footsteps sounded on the bank, then soft splashes of someone striding through water. Mablung's hand rested on his shoulder. His lungs sucked in air again but his gaze remained unfocussed.
"My brother is dead."
Allegiance
Aragorn stood unsurely in the doorway and looked inside. The man resting on the bed before him was not Denethor but he was his son and Boromir's brother. He knew not what kind of reception he would get.
He had been offered allegiance, in a way, but it was not an oath, and the man had been most ill at the time, if on his way to healing. He could not be sure he would be welcomed here by this, the last acting Steward in the King's absence. His father had certainly never welcomed him.
The healer in him came forth, and moved to rest a hand upon the man's brow, checking for fever. Grey eyes, exhausted eyes, cracked open and focused on him.
Faramir struggled to sit up. Aragorn halted him, he was not well enough yet to move about so.
He looked into those eyes, trying to get him to lay still, and his breath caught in his throat. He saw love there, and warmth and respect. Grey eyes, like that of Denethor and Boromir but oh so very different.
"I would swear allegiance, my King, before you depart, so I may better keep your land in your absence."
Aragorn swallowed, took his hands and let him swear before bidding him to rest for he would need his strength in the days to come.
Shops
The stars were the same, he reflected. He had learned them as a boy, from his grandfather, and they were constant, even when all else had changed.
He looked out at the city before him in wonder. Never before had there been such celebration here, such life. All the city seemed to be decked out in lights and even to these heights the music and laughter carried. It lightened his heart and he touched the clasp that fastened his cloak, a gift from a certain lady, and smiled at his own newly found joy.
"She is much changed since I last looked upon her," a regal voice said from behind and Aragorn came to join him looking out at the city. "That was long ago, before your birth, and I fear I have missed much."
Faramir flushed slightly, still unused to the manners of this man, his King. "You came when you were needed, my Lord, and are here now."
Aragorn nodded, his silver eyes searching Faramir's half shadowed face. There was a smile in his voice. "Still, much of the city has changed since I last walked the streets. I know not even where I would buy a pot of honey."
Faramir's ears reddened. He had a weakness for honey, he wondered if the other man knew that. "I suspect if you but ask you would find yourself with more than you needed, my Lord."
Aragorn laughed and clasped Faramir on his good shoulder. "Indeed! Still, I should like to get to know the city again, perhaps you can help me become reacquainted?"
"If you wish, my Lord," Faramir replied, his face still red with embarrassment.
"I am called Aragorn, by my friends." The silver eyes caught his. "And I would have you be among them."
Faramir smiled and ducked his head. "I would like to be counted as such, Aragorn."
Kin
Imrahil had barely a moment to greet his nephew after Faramir knelt before the King and received the White Rod back into his keeping, as he should, Imrahil thought. The King had swept Faramir away with him into the ocean of cheering people.
Imrahil had not seen him since and was impatient to do so for when he had left Faramir had still been weak still and deeply sad. The past seem to linger upon him like a soggy cloak, weighing him down with discomfort.
It was late when he finally found a moment with his nephew, though he had studied him throughout the day. He was glad at what he saw, for a change had come over him and he looked well.
They embraced upon meeting and then Imrahil held his nephew at an arm's length, looking intently at him. "How do fare you, my nephew?"
Faramir's face shone in a grin and his eyes danced as they had not in years. "Uncle, I am in love."
Sleep
It took but a touch of the calloused hands against his brow to rouse him. He moaned sleepily when he tried to move. His back ached and for a moment he wondered why.
Then he felt the papers beneath his face, and the hand touched him again, this time on the shoulder, shaking gently. He flushed and rose hastily, looking up into a face that resembled his father so at that moment.
He had ink on his forehead from his pen and the indent of a stack of papers on his check. He had drooled a bit on the document he had used as a pillow, still in the stages of being written. He flinched, thinking of what a rebuke it would have earned him from his father.
Silver eyes twinkled with mirth and held a hand out to assist him to his feet.
"Come, my Steward, we shall share a drink before you seek your bed. I daresay it is more comfortable than your desk!"