A collection of stories of Faramir's first year as a man. And since I don't remember how old a man has to be to come of age in Middle Earth according to Tolkien, so I'm using fourteen, which was the year men came of age in the Middle Ages.

Summary: Faramir is young enough to be slapped and old enough to fight. Boromir doesn't want his brother to get hurt.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

.

"Father, he's too young!"

"Boromir, it is not in your best interest to protect him. The boy is no longer a child. He has certain obligations to fulfill."

"But to send him so far away? It's been naught but a day since he entered his fourteenth year. He barely reaches my shoulder."

"You left at fourteen as well, Boromir. Time and size are of no importance."

Faramir sits outside the royal study, listening to his father and brother argue over his incompetence. Against the wall that is his father, Boromir's words are useless. As the Steward's son, he is given a position of power with no prior experience other than shooting a target and studying the victories and losses of ancient battles. It was all he could do to avoid becoming one of his brother's soldiers, having to fight with a sword that he can barely use properly. Father has never believed a longbow to be a weapon of honor, and Faramir has the unfortunate curse of possessing impeccable aim. Naturally gifted, Boromir calls, but he knows that in the end Father is always right.

And since Father is always right, he is the failure of the family.

He hears his brother say, "Ithilien is constantly under attack and Faramir does not have the proper ex -"

"He requested his admission into Rangers' ranks and Ithilien has the highest concentration."

"Regardless, Father, he has to be -"

"Boromir, you try my patients."

"But, Father -"

"This discussion is closed, son."

The door to the study swings open, and he quickly scurries out from behind it, not wishing to be to stuck between the heavy metal and stone wall. His brother notices him without pause and no surprise passes his over his face.

"I should have you would be here," Boromir says as the door shuts, sticking out his arm and helping Faramir up. "Did you hear everything, Fara?"

He hesitates. "Nearly," he answered quietly. "I know I oughtn't have eavesdropped, but my curiosity caught the best of me."

Boromir sighs and slips an arm around his narrow shoulders. "Let's go for a walk," he says and leads him away from the study before Father discovers his auditory trespassing. He feels miserable and scared and doesn't want to show it, but Boromir knows anyway. He always knows. "Don't be afraid, little brother. I know many Rangers - they will keep you safe."

They exit the palace by a side door. The clean, chilly air of autumn clears away the tension in his shoulders and begins to shake. "How do you know?" he asks, looking at his brother with wide eyes. "I'm Second Lieutenant now; there must be someone whose position I've usurped."

"This is legal."

"It doesn't feel it."

So Boromir turns him around and brushes his hair from his face. "I swear to you, they will understand. Assist you, even. When you are ready, you will fully take the power of Second Lieutenant, but for the time being they will lead you along. You did not ask for it. Neither did I when I joined the military."

"Are you sure?"

Despite coming of age, he feels like a child. He's been dreaming of getting away from the White City for quite some time, though he knows how disloyal it is to both Father and his city, but now, presented with the opportunity, he wavers. Boromir gives him a smile, and he feels comforted. "Of course. And if they fail to, I'll come to your aid without delay."

"Boromir!"

Then his brother laughs and grabs his arm, leading him down the outside shortcut to the kitchens and he refuses to tell him the surprise.

.

As it turns out, Boromir was true to his word, and for the first time in his short life, Faramir, son of Denethor, discovers himself surrounded by people who like him. He finds that accepting this as fact is difficult.

In the morning of his second day, Captain Rimpa approaches him, arrows in hand. "I want to see you shoot, Lord Faramir."

"Please, Captain, call me Faramir," he answers, accepting the arrows held out to him. "What out you like me to target, sir?"

He points to a tree about fifty paces from where they stand. There's a knob on the trunk, and around it the carve marks of hundreds of inaccurate arrows. "Try and hit the center of the knob," Captain Rimpa says. "If you miss the mark, do not stress. Men older than you are not always accurate."

For the first time, Faramir realizes that no one is aware of his skill level. Whether or not he may actually do well in a battle is yet to be discovered, but regardless of Father's disdain for archery, he takes pride in his aim. He knocks an arrow and pulls the string back, training his gaze on the center of his target. Then he pauses, properly aligns it, and releases it. It connects with the center, embedded deep into the wood of the trunk.

For a moment, the captain says nothing. Then, "Dear Valar, how long have you been using a bow?"

"Four years," he answers.

"Have you ever shot a moving target?"

"Naught but the occasional small rabbit or bird, sir."

Captain Rimpa sighs and puts a hand on his shoulder. "You'll be shooting bigger than that soon enough, young soldier. Now find Arta and get yourself a uniform that fits."

.

Horrible ending I know, but I can never end anything well. And I know that it's short, but it's supposed to be - these are supposed to be short in general. And not necessarily go in chronological order. This was just an effort to get over writer's block.

Please review!