Chapter one
         
          "I have ordered them to tell me the moment she comes into the world," said Denethor.
          "Are you sure it is going to be 'she', not 'he'?" laughed Prince Imrahil, who was sitting opposite the Lord in an armchair, "maybe fate is going to grant you a son."
          "I am positive," replied Denethor, "I hope it is a girl. I have a great son, and he is going to become a warrior who will defend me when I grow old, but I also need a fair daughter who will stay with me and lighten my heart when Boromir goes to war."
            "You have a loving wife, and she will always be with you in times of need. But what about a companion for Boromir? Why should you not wish for a second son just like the first one? They will grow up together, and soon you will be a proud father of two magnificent warriors ... And your second one will be your heir's comrade, and together they will be your best knights. Well, I must say I envy you now!" and with that Imrahil smiled.
          Denethor was silent for a moment, then said, "Why, you are right! Let's wait. It must be over soon," he paused, then continued, "If it is a son, I am going to make a great Captain out of him... I will spend all my free time with him and teach him the art of war, I will encourage him to climb trees, just as Boromir does, run, jump around and ride as soon as he is able to walk!.."
          Just at that very moment there came a knock on the door.
          "Come in," said Denethor, and his eyes shone with excitement.
          A servant entered.
          "I congratulate you, my Lord, you have a second son!"
          Denethor got up from his chair, "Thank you for bringing me the news. Well, Imrahil, you were right, after all! Now let's drink to the health of your beloved sister and my beloved wife and my newborn son!"
          With that he ordered wine to be brought in, and, passing a goblet to Imrahil, embraced him.
          "Let them tell me when we may see my son, and also call Boromir from his studies," he told the servant, and then turned to Imrahil, "Finduilas must be looking forward to showing me my son."
          ****
          In a few hours Denethor, Imrahil and Boromir were in Finduilas' chamber. There Denethor sat down at his wife's bedside, taking the newborn child in his arms. Boromir and Prince Imrahil stood close by. The boy had magnificent gray eyes, of the biggest size Denethor had ever seen, and when the Steward patted the child's brow, the latter gazed at his Father, and Denethor forgot all his troubles when he looked into those sincere, trustful and naive eyes.
          "I will call you Faramir," The Steward looked into the child's face again. "Right?"
          And young Faramir smiled.
          "Boromir," said Denethor, beckoning to his elder son, "Look. You will play with your brother soon. Love him and care for him."
          "Will he fence with me?" cried Boromir eagerly.
          Finduilas smiled quietly, "Ah, Boromir, wait a little bit. Faramir has to grow up yet."
          "Look, he is smiling, as though he were saying 'yes'!" exclaimed Boromir.
          And everyone laughed.
         
          Chapter two.
         
          It was a nice clear morning in the beginning of May. On the eve of that day Faramir was excited, because it was his third birthday, and the first one he was aware of.  That's why he woke up at dawn and immediately sprang down from his bed, and ran across the room to his brother's. Boromir was sleeping with his arm beneath his head and his raven locks falling upon his pillow. He was all in, because the day before he had taken part in a tournament.
          "Boromir!" called his little brother, tugging at his sleeve. "Boromir, today is my birthday!"
          "What?..." Boromir opened one eye, "I want to sleep...Leave me alone..." and he turned onto his other side, ducking his head under his pillow.
          "Boromir! But it's my birthday!" Faramir persisted, while trying to pull the blanket off his brother, "Uncle Imrahil and my cousins are coming! They'll bring me presents!!"
          Boromir groaned, sat up on his bed unwillingly and looked at Faramir.  "O, yes…" he murmured, "Yes. I know." He rubbed his eyes. "My congratulations! You shall get a present from me, too, when the guests come."
          Faramir scrambled up onto his brother's bed and inquired, "What is it?"
          Boromir stretched and said, "Wait and you will know," He grinned and gave his brother a flick on the nose.
         
          Faramir could hardly wait till the evening. At last it came. Finduilas led him into the Great Hall, where the celebration was going to take place, and where Denethor, Boromir, Prince Imrahil, his wife and their four children, two girls and two boys, were already awaiting them.
         
          The table in the middle of the Hall was already laid, and nearby stood also a smaller one, where the presents for Faramir were piled up. As soon as the boy saw them, he let go of his Mother's hand and rushed towards the table to look at the presents. On top of all the presents lay a splendid sword in a sheath with diamonds, but Faramir did not pay any attention to it, and began to unwrap all the other packages and boxes. Neither a ball nor a box of tin soldiers interested him as much as a small book of fairytales, which had bright, big pictures on every page. Faramir took it at once with both his hands, and, having sat down on the floor, he began to turn page after page, looking at the colored pictures with great pleasure. He seemed to forget everything around him at the moment.
          Meanwhile, Denethor came up to him and touched his hand. "Faramir," he said, looking into his eyes. "Faramir, don't you want the gift your father has given you?" With that he took up the sword Faramir had ignored and put it into his son's hands.
          Faramir tore his eyes from the book with a clear effort and stared at his Father.
          "This is my gift," announced Denethor, "Bear it well."
          But, barely looking at the sword, Faramir buried his face back in the book again.
          Denethor was dumbfounded.
          "Do you then reject your Father's gift?" he asked, almost forgetting he was speaking to a three year old.
          Faramir continued looking at the pictures; he did not know what 'reject' meant.
          "Faramir!" said Denethor indignantly.
          "Come on, Denethor," laughed Prince Imrahil, "Leave Faramir with his toys! He is only three, after all, and so why be angry?"
          But Denethor frowned, "He seems not to pay any attention to   my gift!"
          Finduilas touched her husband's shoulder and smiled, "Denethor, dear, please do calm down. Let the children play." She pointed in the direction of Boromir and the two of Imrahil's sons, who were busy making war upon each other with tin soldiers in a far corner of the Hall.
          But Denethor wrenched his arm out of his wife's hand.
          "Well I never!" he cried. "So he is more interested in your silly gifts!" he rounded on Imrahil, "I would ask you not to send any more of those useless books!"
          "But..." began the Prince.
          "But me no buts!" said the Steward sternly, and everyone in the hall fell silent. Denethor's dark eyes flashed suddenly, "Let no more of these scribbles find their way into my house!"
          "Denethor..." Finduilas said quietly, but the Lord, with one last glare at Imrahil, turned on his heel, cast the sword down on the floor and strode hastily out of the room.