Love and Hate
By: Celebrindal
Is it possible to both love and hate someone at the same time?
That is the question I ask myself now, as I look back on my life. My brother Boromir: the perfect warrior, the perfect brother, and the perfect son. He was always there, my father's favorite son, casting a shadow on me.
I often think that in many respects, he was a mighty oak and I, but a tiny sapling in its shadow, begging for light. My father, the gardener, watering the mighty oak, and giving the sapling but several drops.
I think back on that. I think how unfair it was. My brother was the Steward's Heir. He was good looking, had a good mind for battle strategies, and everybody loved him. I, however, spent all my time in the libraries as a youth, devouring scrolls full of histories of Gondor and Men. When I did come out, I felt everybody's stare comparing me to my brother.
One could find out how my father felt about us by merely looking at our names. My father named my brother Boromir, a name that meant "precious jewel." I was Faramir, which meant only "sufficient jewel." That's how I felt for my whole life. My brother was precious to my father. I was sufficient; I did not reach as high as my brother, I could never compare to Boromir.
I look at all that. I see how mistreated I was, simply the second son, seen as lower than the first. I was ignored when my brother entered the room. Any achievements I had in battle were again "sufficient" because Boromir had done them first. Any goal I reached in learning did not matter to my father: such things were valued but trivial to my father.
I look at that and wonder: why can't I hate him? Why cannot I loathe him with every fiber of my being? The answer is simply because he was the best brother a boy could ask for.
Boromir was the one who comforted my fears when I was afraid as a boy. Boromir was the one who held my hands as I took my first shaking steps. Boromir was there when I stuttered my first word. He taught me how to hold a sword and wield it when we were older. But Boromir left me.
I should have gone, I now see. Boromir. . . Boromir died on that Quest, so young Peregrin Took tells me. And I saw him, fair and cold, in the boat that he floated to the sea in. I held the horn that was hewn in his last battle and wished it were whole. I wish that battle were mine.
Boromir, brother, why have you left me?
By: Celebrindal
Is it possible to both love and hate someone at the same time?
That is the question I ask myself now, as I look back on my life. My brother Boromir: the perfect warrior, the perfect brother, and the perfect son. He was always there, my father's favorite son, casting a shadow on me.
I often think that in many respects, he was a mighty oak and I, but a tiny sapling in its shadow, begging for light. My father, the gardener, watering the mighty oak, and giving the sapling but several drops.
I think back on that. I think how unfair it was. My brother was the Steward's Heir. He was good looking, had a good mind for battle strategies, and everybody loved him. I, however, spent all my time in the libraries as a youth, devouring scrolls full of histories of Gondor and Men. When I did come out, I felt everybody's stare comparing me to my brother.
One could find out how my father felt about us by merely looking at our names. My father named my brother Boromir, a name that meant "precious jewel." I was Faramir, which meant only "sufficient jewel." That's how I felt for my whole life. My brother was precious to my father. I was sufficient; I did not reach as high as my brother, I could never compare to Boromir.
I look at all that. I see how mistreated I was, simply the second son, seen as lower than the first. I was ignored when my brother entered the room. Any achievements I had in battle were again "sufficient" because Boromir had done them first. Any goal I reached in learning did not matter to my father: such things were valued but trivial to my father.
I look at that and wonder: why can't I hate him? Why cannot I loathe him with every fiber of my being? The answer is simply because he was the best brother a boy could ask for.
Boromir was the one who comforted my fears when I was afraid as a boy. Boromir was the one who held my hands as I took my first shaking steps. Boromir was there when I stuttered my first word. He taught me how to hold a sword and wield it when we were older. But Boromir left me.
I should have gone, I now see. Boromir. . . Boromir died on that Quest, so young Peregrin Took tells me. And I saw him, fair and cold, in the boat that he floated to the sea in. I held the horn that was hewn in his last battle and wished it were whole. I wish that battle were mine.
Boromir, brother, why have you left me?