Disclaimer: Same as always…I don't own anyone from Lord of the rings, or anything to be honest.
A/N: Yet another one-shot, but this one I just wrote to pass time when the internet wasn't working and I had nothing else to do.
Additional notes: When this story begins Boromir is ten and Faramir five. Faramir's personality and actions I based on a mixture of my six year old nephew and my five year old niece. Also, it doesn't say anywhere how Boromir and Faramir's mother died so in this story I say she dies of pneumonia, which would be a possibility since it's possible for people to die of it even in this time of science and technology.
Now, on with the story.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Title: Curse of Numenor
Boromir sat up when he heard his bedroom door squeak quietly as it opened. Looking over he sighed when he saw the small silhouette framed in the doorway backlit the dim light from a torch left burning in the hallway.
"Bor'mir?" a small voice asked.
Boromir found himself grinning, even at five his brother still hadn't mastered the second 'O' in his name. Either that or he just didn't care to say it.
Boromir lifted the blanket covering him, "Come, Faramir, tell me what disturbs your sleep this night."
The sound of small feet pattering on the stone floor preceded Boromir getting hit in the face by a flying stuffed horse seconds before the younger boy jumped up onto the high bed with some difficulty.
Handing the stuffed animal back to Faramir, Boromir wrapped his arms comfortingly around the child as he snuggled closer, "Just keep your feet away from me, little brother. They're always cold."
Faramir gave his solemn promise and Boromir continued, "Now, tell me why you disturb my sleep yet again."
Faramir released an obviously tearful sigh as he whispered almost fearfully, "I had the dream again."
Boromir instinctively tightened his hold on his brother, "The one about Mother?"
Faramir nodded against Boromir's chest, "I look all over but I can't find her. She don't come when I call."
The younger boy suddenly sat up, looking down at Boromir in the darkness, his voice husky with tears when he spoke, "Why don't she come, Bor'mir? Don't she love me?"
Boromir sat up as well and pulled Faramir into a hug, "Nay, Faramir! Never say that! Of course Mother loves you. I do not know why you have this dream every night, my brother. But that's all it is, a dream. Mother loves you. She will always come when you call."
"Promise?" Faramir asked tearfully.
"Promise." Boromir agreed.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Boromir sat on the floor outside a room in the House of Healing, listening to the healer and his father talk inside. They were discussing Boromir's mother, the Lady Finduilas.
A week earlier she'd fallen ill. The healer had called it pneumonia. As Boromir listened through the slightly open door of the room his mother inhabited he felt tears roll down his face as the healer spoke.
"I am sorry, Lord Denethor. We did all we could. Nothing worked. We lost her last night while she slept."
Boromir didn't hear his father's reply as he remembered a promise he'd made a mere month earlier. A promise that mother would always come when she was called.
His promise was broken by fate. Mother would never come at Faramir's call again.
Boromir got to his feet, irrational anger spurring his step as he walked out of the House of Healing. He had a brother to find.
Mother may have left Faramir, but he, Boromir, never would.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
30 years later, February 30, 3019
Faramir sat cross legged on the bank of the Anduin, staring out at nothing. He remembered the dream that had woken him up before dawn four mornings earlier, and he remembered in vivid detail.
Boromir, fighting valiantly against a swarm of orcs. Only the orcs were strange. They were larger…and walked in daylight.
Faramir knew not why Boromir fought, the dream had not told him. It just showed Boromir fighting until he was felled by an arrow piercing his shoulder. But it did not keep him down long. Soon he was up, fighting again, only to be forced to his knees once more by a second arrow. Still Boromir got to his feet to fight until he was hit by a third arrow.
With the third arrow Boromir fell to his knees again, but that time he didn't get back up as he stared up at his assailant as the creature strung o forth arrow, ready to release it, knowing Boromir could not survive another hit.
It was then, just before the creature would have released the arrow that Faramir had woken up, screaming his brother's name. He didn't want to believe it. He couldn't. He refused to believe it, even when the dream came again, yesterday, once again waking him before dawn. Still he wouldn't believe it. It was a dream. Just a dream.
Then he'd seen the boat that bore his brother's body toward the sea, and he could deny it no longer. He was forced to believe. His beloved brother was dead.
The wizard, Gandalf, had told Faramir many times in his youth he had the Gift of Numenor. The gift of vision.
Faramir wiped the tears from his face. He had no gift. Nay. Not a gift. It was a curse; given to him to show him when first his mother, and then his brother, would die.
'Not the Gift of Numenor, Wizard', Faramir thought. His next thought he spoke aloud.
"The Curse of Numenor."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Just some final notes here…I still haven't figured out why there's a February 30th in Middle-Earth, but according to the timeline at the end of ROTK there is so I took advantage of it.
A/N: Yet another one-shot, but this one I just wrote to pass time when the internet wasn't working and I had nothing else to do.
Additional notes: When this story begins Boromir is ten and Faramir five. Faramir's personality and actions I based on a mixture of my six year old nephew and my five year old niece. Also, it doesn't say anywhere how Boromir and Faramir's mother died so in this story I say she dies of pneumonia, which would be a possibility since it's possible for people to die of it even in this time of science and technology.
Now, on with the story.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Title: Curse of Numenor
Boromir sat up when he heard his bedroom door squeak quietly as it opened. Looking over he sighed when he saw the small silhouette framed in the doorway backlit the dim light from a torch left burning in the hallway.
"Bor'mir?" a small voice asked.
Boromir found himself grinning, even at five his brother still hadn't mastered the second 'O' in his name. Either that or he just didn't care to say it.
Boromir lifted the blanket covering him, "Come, Faramir, tell me what disturbs your sleep this night."
The sound of small feet pattering on the stone floor preceded Boromir getting hit in the face by a flying stuffed horse seconds before the younger boy jumped up onto the high bed with some difficulty.
Handing the stuffed animal back to Faramir, Boromir wrapped his arms comfortingly around the child as he snuggled closer, "Just keep your feet away from me, little brother. They're always cold."
Faramir gave his solemn promise and Boromir continued, "Now, tell me why you disturb my sleep yet again."
Faramir released an obviously tearful sigh as he whispered almost fearfully, "I had the dream again."
Boromir instinctively tightened his hold on his brother, "The one about Mother?"
Faramir nodded against Boromir's chest, "I look all over but I can't find her. She don't come when I call."
The younger boy suddenly sat up, looking down at Boromir in the darkness, his voice husky with tears when he spoke, "Why don't she come, Bor'mir? Don't she love me?"
Boromir sat up as well and pulled Faramir into a hug, "Nay, Faramir! Never say that! Of course Mother loves you. I do not know why you have this dream every night, my brother. But that's all it is, a dream. Mother loves you. She will always come when you call."
"Promise?" Faramir asked tearfully.
"Promise." Boromir agreed.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Boromir sat on the floor outside a room in the House of Healing, listening to the healer and his father talk inside. They were discussing Boromir's mother, the Lady Finduilas.
A week earlier she'd fallen ill. The healer had called it pneumonia. As Boromir listened through the slightly open door of the room his mother inhabited he felt tears roll down his face as the healer spoke.
"I am sorry, Lord Denethor. We did all we could. Nothing worked. We lost her last night while she slept."
Boromir didn't hear his father's reply as he remembered a promise he'd made a mere month earlier. A promise that mother would always come when she was called.
His promise was broken by fate. Mother would never come at Faramir's call again.
Boromir got to his feet, irrational anger spurring his step as he walked out of the House of Healing. He had a brother to find.
Mother may have left Faramir, but he, Boromir, never would.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
30 years later, February 30, 3019
Faramir sat cross legged on the bank of the Anduin, staring out at nothing. He remembered the dream that had woken him up before dawn four mornings earlier, and he remembered in vivid detail.
Boromir, fighting valiantly against a swarm of orcs. Only the orcs were strange. They were larger…and walked in daylight.
Faramir knew not why Boromir fought, the dream had not told him. It just showed Boromir fighting until he was felled by an arrow piercing his shoulder. But it did not keep him down long. Soon he was up, fighting again, only to be forced to his knees once more by a second arrow. Still Boromir got to his feet to fight until he was hit by a third arrow.
With the third arrow Boromir fell to his knees again, but that time he didn't get back up as he stared up at his assailant as the creature strung o forth arrow, ready to release it, knowing Boromir could not survive another hit.
It was then, just before the creature would have released the arrow that Faramir had woken up, screaming his brother's name. He didn't want to believe it. He couldn't. He refused to believe it, even when the dream came again, yesterday, once again waking him before dawn. Still he wouldn't believe it. It was a dream. Just a dream.
Then he'd seen the boat that bore his brother's body toward the sea, and he could deny it no longer. He was forced to believe. His beloved brother was dead.
The wizard, Gandalf, had told Faramir many times in his youth he had the Gift of Numenor. The gift of vision.
Faramir wiped the tears from his face. He had no gift. Nay. Not a gift. It was a curse; given to him to show him when first his mother, and then his brother, would die.
'Not the Gift of Numenor, Wizard', Faramir thought. His next thought he spoke aloud.
"The Curse of Numenor."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Just some final notes here…I still haven't figured out why there's a February 30th in Middle-Earth, but according to the timeline at the end of ROTK there is so I took advantage of it.