A/N: Blame my roommate for this, she gave me the prompt. If you like this, I'd love if if you fav/review!
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"Boromir?"
"What?" the older boy sighed, rolling his eyes and turning to look down at his younger brother.
"I want to learn how to fight," Faramir said, staring up at his big brother with wide, blue-grey eyes.
"You want to learn how to fight?" Boromir repeated.
"That is what I said," Faramir quipped.
Boromir groaned, dropping his head forward to rest against his fingers. "You want to learn how to fight." This was another of his little brother's insane ideas, desperate pleas, really, to which Boromir always said yes.
.*.*.*.*.*.
Now the boys were standing in the courtyard outside the citadel of Minas Tirith, dressed in armor—exactly like the armor worn by the guards of the city, but smaller, built to scale for each boy. Boromir's fit perfectly, but Faramir's was to big in some places and too small in others. The younger boy squirmed uncomfortably, tugging at sleeves that were too short at the wrists and too loose around the shoulders, and his mock helmet slipped over his eyes. Boromir groaned again, pressing his hand against his face.
Boromir sighed and looked down at his brother. Helmet shoved back, Faramir stared back up at him with those wide blue-grey eyes that could weasel just about anything the child wanted out of his older brother. Boromir sighed again, for what he knew would not be the last time of the lesson, and squared his shoulders. "Okay," he started, "do you have your sword?"
"No."
"No? Why not?"
"Because a giant Rock Monster ate it."
"Be"—Boromir started. "A what?"
"A giant Rock Monster," Faramir replied.
"I don't…" Boromir sighed. "I can't… A giant Rock Monster?"
"Yes, and I need your help to get it back," Faramir said plaintively.
"You need…" Boromir stared at his little brother. "You need my help?"
"You're the best fighter I know," Faramir beamed. "Only you can help get my sword back."
Boromir sighed. "Faramir, I don't have time to help you fight an imaginary Rock Monster."
"But you had time to teach me how to use a sword."
"Because that was real!" Boromir cried. "Learning to fight is real, and useful, and something that you need to know, because things are getting worse in the world and one of these days you're going to have to fight someone or something evil, and I don't want you to get hurt doing it!"
Faramir blinked, then nodded. "I know. That's okay. I know you're busy."
Boromir sighed. "Why did you want me to teach you how to use a sword?"
"Because," Faramir mumbled, looking down and scuffing a toe against the ground."
"Because why?" Boromir pushed.
"Because…" Faramir repeated.
"If you won't tell me, I won't teach you."
"Because you're so busy now!" Faramir cried. "You're always busy, doing things for Father, or with the guard, and you're never around. I never see you anymore…"
Boromir stood still and silent, looking down at his little brother. The helmet, rarely worn by a boy more interested in books than armor, was polished so much that Boromir could see his own, albeit distorted, reflection. A million thoughts whirled through his head faster than comprehension, ending in a final decision. He knelt in front of his brother and rested his hands on the boy's shoulders; Faramir's head rose and his wide eyes—which Boromir noticed guiltily were oddly more watery than usual—stared into his older brother's.
"Faramir," Boromir sighed. "Where exactly is this giant Rock Monster that stole your sword?"