Fallaciously Framed!
Author's Note/Disclaimer: I'm sure you're all getting tired of looking at this section, and reading the same thing over and over, so I've deleted it. Merry Christmas.
This chapter is a lot longer than the others, which were a bit on the…heh heh, short side, if you will, (Thanks, Noldo : D), and features an actual conversation, short though it be, between Boromir and Faramir (for you, vtangelchix). The other chapters have also been slightly edited after I found a few grammatical things. The authors both thank our youngest sister Lauren for coining the phrase "You ball of orc's heads, you" and our younger brother, who only repeated it once in front of our parent's and spared us much punishment and pain.
Alright, on with the show.
Ch. 4 Revenge Is Sweet
Lady Ienmir was sifting through the day's mail as she sat contentedly by the fire, the smell of dinner still lingering faintly in the air.
"Nothing but junk," she said to herself, sighing as she tossed another useless letter into the fire to her right. She glanced down at the next letter in her hand and was surprised at what she saw. "Now just what is this?" she murmured. Unsure, she paused. "Hmm," she observed oh so intellectually, and set aside her confusion and ripped open the letter. She pulled from the envelope a piece of paper. She read it in stunned silence. Then she moved her eyes over the words again, not actually comprehending. Once more, Ienmir read the contents of the letter. A gasp made itself known in the relative silence of the room. The fire crackled greedily, waiting for another paper snack. Or something like that.
Truly disbelieving what her eyes were taking in, she read it yet again. "What?!" she shrieked, only a little belatedly. She looked into the envelope once more, thinking that this had to be a joke. Her husband or one of her children was being silly again or something. She reached inside the envelope once more and shook it upside down, the remaining contents falling into her palm. She read one side quickly, "If you want to keep an idiot busy for hours, turn this card over." She raised an eyebrow, but turned the card over in wordless befuddlement. She read the other side. She raised her other eyebrow. Wondering if she'd missed something she turned the card around once more. And then again. And again. And again. She narrowed her eyes and stopped turning the card back and forth.
With smoldering expression and silent fury she made her way to her desk to compose a letter of her own.
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It was still relatively early in the evening, just after supper had been finished, when yet another letter arrived for the Steward. Denethor, Finduilas, and their sons were all gathered on the porch looking over the gardens of the house. The letter carrier announced, "From the Lady Ienmir, my lord." Denethor looked hard at Boromir who merely shrugged innocently. He'd been practicing.
Denethor glanced to the messenger, thanked and dismissed him, before turning back around to share a look with his wife who merely raised both eyebrows, silently urging him to open the letter.
He opened it purposefully, watching Boromir carefully, who merely sat demurely, still playing calmly with his brother on the floor, wooden armies spread about before each of them. Getting no reaction from either son, he softened his expression and prepared himself for a letter praising Boromir's newfound lengthy attention span. He smiled and the thought. For about two seconds, then wisdom got the better of him and he frowned again.
He unfolded the letter, unaware that Finduilas had been watching his 'facial dance', both in puzzlement and amusement. Silently he read through it. Still studying her husband's face, Finduilas immediately gathered that he was not similarly amused, though slightly surprised.
She bit her lip, slightly worried, wondering what it could possibly be now. Wordlessly, he refolded the letter. Reached into the envelope again, and pulled out another piece of folded parchment and what appeared to be a tiny card, reading them each respectively, anger only growing in his expression. He didn't move for a full half minute before refolding and replacing the contents of the envelope in their original container.
"Boromir, please go to your room," Denethor said calmly. Boromir looked up, slightly puzzled, yet wisely complied in silence and quickly retired to his room.
"Faramir, come with me," Denethor continued. Finduilas eyed her husband, more than a little baffled. Faramir wordlessly stood and came to stand beside his father. "Finduilas," Denethor said, "Stay close by." She smiled softly and nodded, wondering why he'd not yet handed her the letter, but not questioning her husband's actions. He knew what he was doing. Well, most of the time he does anyway she thought to herself, smiling in her head.
Faramir trailed after his father in silence as they made their way a little way down the hall to where two guards stood at attention. Denethor nodded to each as they opened the doors, the servants waiting within to light the candles in the dark room. He motioned for his son to take a seat before his desk and sent the servants off, shutting the doors behind them, before seating himself.
He leaned forward onto the desk, propping both elbows on top of its surface, steepling his fingers. Faramir squirmed in his seat a little, his tiny body all but swallowed in the relatively huge chair.
"Faramir," he began in measured tones," I want to know what exactly what was running through your head when you wrote this," he gestured toward the letter he'd placed between them on the desk.
Faramir furrowed his brow in confusion. "But, Daddy, I, I didn't write that!"
"Really?" Denethor asked. "It is signed by you and bears your name on the envelope."
"But, I—I—"
Denethor cut him off by raising a hand. "Do you have any idea how hurtful and unbelievably disrespectful of you this is? Behavior such as this is simply unacceptable. Has not Lady Ienmir taught you much? Have you no respect for your elders? I am certainly very angry with you for this. But mostly, Faramir, I am utterly disappointed."
Faramir's face began to crumple at this news. Taking in his son's wounded face, Denethor almost regretted the words. But he knew that this type of behavior certainly could not be allowed to go unpunished. Faramir sniffed dejectedly.
"I want you to stay here for a moment. Don't move" Denethor stated flatly.
He moved from his chair and opened the doors. "Finduilas," he called out, "A word, if you will?"
He turned around before he saw her coming, and gratefully heard her light footsteps behind him as he returned to his chair. She stepped without a word into the study and took a seat beside her son. Denethor pushed both letters and card towards her.
The picked up Lady Ienmir's letter first, reading it carefully, before picking up the second letter and card. Silence stretched as she read their contents. She paused reading and looked up at Faramir for a moment, eyes twinkling and a small smile formed on her lips. It quickly was replaced however by a calm, expressionless mask soon after Denethor looked at her askance. She finished reading and met her husband's gaze.
"He's a little young for writing, isn't he?" She asked softly.
Denethor's expression immediately turned thoughtful. He opened his mouth to speak and then paused, mouth still open as he pondered. He shut his mouth after a few moments. "Well," he said, starting again, "I suppose you could be right. I hadn't…thought of that." He looked at Faramir, pondering her words then looked back to Finduilas who smiled, eyebrows raised both expressively and pointedly. Denethor sighed.
"Faramir," he began softly, "Come here." Faramir slipped out of the chair and made his way over to his father. Denethor lifted him onto his lap. "You didn't write it, did you?"
"No, Daddy, I can't write," he said.
Denethor closed his eyes for a brief second and cleared his throat. "So I've gathered. I'm sorry for not letting you speak earlier."
"You're not mad at me?" he inquired lightly.
Denethor smiled. "No, not at all." He hugged Faramir before looking him in the eyes once more. "Forgive me?" He queried.
Faramir smiled broadly. "Of course I do!" He exclaimed. Denethor couldn't help but return his smile. He glanced over at Finduilas who was smiling as well.
"And the culprit?" Denethor asked in mock ignorance.
"I have a theory," Finduilas replied dryly.
Denethor nodded knowingly. "Bor—" he began to yell before glancing over at Finduilas. She firmly shook her head and gestured in Faramir's direction. "Right," said Denethor.
"Faramir, why don't you go find your brother and ask him to come here?" Denethor inquired.
Faramir shrugged, "Sure." He slid off his father's lap and made for the door. He turned back for a moment and asked, "When I tell him to come here, do you want me to come back, too?"
"No, you can go ahead and continue your game on the porch if you like," Denethor said. Faramir looked distinctly cheery at the prospect of not having to share. He quickly padded down the hall to go find his brother.
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It didn't take long to locate Boromir: He'd followed directions for once and was sitting on his bed, galloping some figurines across his sheets. Boromir looked up as his younger brother entered the room.
Faramir looked at him in the most serious expression he could muster. "Father and Mother would like to see you now, Bormir."
"It's Bor-o-mir, 'Farmir'" Boromir said, grinning at him. This was a long standing joke between them both. Faramir smiled and giggled.
Boromir gazed at Faramir absently, feeling a little guilty for signing the letter in Faramir's name. He almost felt sorry for what he'd done. But, as Boromir had figured from the start, it appeared that his parent's had gone easy on his little brother—Faramir looked rather happy actually. Boromir had the feeling that his brother could probably get out of anything when it came to his parent's and that silly little grin of his. Yep, just as he'd thought.
He moved off the bed and walked toward the doorway, ruffling Faramir's hair as he went past, and made his way down the hall. He got halfway to the sitting room before remembering, Faramir hadn't said where exactly they both were. He padded a little further past his father's office to the library before---
"In your father's office!" he heard his mother call out. Boromir stopped in his tracks and turned around, slightly creeped out. How did his mother do that? It was like she had another sense or something. It was almost impossible to get anything past her in the end--by either of his parents for that matter. He quickly pushed the thought from his mind, refusing to dwell on it.
The door to the office was slightly ajar as he pushed it open and walked fearlessly inside. He turned to shut the door and then plopped himself without pretense into one of the chairs before his father's desk. Silence for a beat. "So…uh…what's going on?" He asked innocently.
"Boromir, we just received a rather interesting letter containing some very appalling news, not to mention evidence," Finduilas said. "So far, the perpetrator of these crimes has gone unpunished."
"But only so far," Denethor added, "Only until the…proper consequences can be decided upon."
"We were wondering if you might be able to provide us with some advice as to how we should punish the culprit." Finduilas said.
Denethor turned to his wife. "We do?" he asked. He usually launched into the lecture at this point in time. Finduilas nodded pointedly. Right, Denethor thought.
"Well…" Boromir began, thinking with a smile, loving the idea of planning a punishment that would not be his own. "I suppose the culprit should probably be confined to the citadel for a few weeks, 2 extra hours of studying a week maybe. No friends or toys for a few weeks either, and no special events, like parties or tournaments and stuff for…uh…a little while at least. That should do it, I think."
Finduilas nodded. "That's quite a punishment."
"One more thing to ask of you, Boromir," Denethor began, seeing now where this was ultimately headed. "What exactly did the culprit do to deserve this punishment?"
Something in the way his father asked the question made him freeze. Then he tried to answer the question and found himself face to face with an inevitable fact: If he was truly innocent, he wouldn't know what the 'culprit' had done. Oops.
"Uh…"he stammered, "I was just thinking of a…you know…a sort of general…kind of…punishment…thing."
"So I see," Denethor said.
"Would you like to know what our culprit did so that you could perhaps make adjustments to your verdict?" Finduilas inquired. An innocent person would say yes, so Boromir knew he had to so that he might keep up the pretense at least a little longer, but every fiber of his being was screaming at him to say no.
"Uh…sure," Boromir stated weakly.
"Our culprit," said Denethor, "Is not a framed four-year-old who can hardly write his name let alone an entire letter. Ours is the mind behind the words 'Dear ugly Lady Ienmir, Your brain's smaller than a fork, Oh, I forgot: You do not have one, but you do look like an orc.' Our culprit seems to have no qualms about implicating innocent others in his schemes and allowing them to face the punishment for actions they did not commit."
"Our culprit," his mother continued, "Is the brain behind this lovely "idiot" card, the one who seems to have no problem insulting and disrespecting his elders and writing horrible things, and yet struggles with finding the strength to even write a paragraph on something worthwhile."
"To directly quote our culprit 'You ball of orc's heads, you': Boromir, is this the kind of language one should be using?" Denethor asked.
He gulped and smiled weakly. "No," he ventured softly.
"Bingo," stated Finduilas, forcing a smile.
"Well, any guesses as to who our culprit really is?" Denethor asked blithely.
"Answer carefully," Finduilas added forcefully, stone-faced.
"Uh…me?" Boromir speculated.
"Right again," Finduilas supplied.
Reviewer Response Section (as it has now been dubbed)
Noldo—Thanks for the suggestion of lengthening the chapters. You're certainly right about them being too short; we were waiting for someone to bring it up though. My sister drafted this in a wide-ruled notebook, so the chapters looked rather long until we typed them up. Glad to see you like this story! Knowing how stupendously funny your stories are makes your praise all the more valuable. Thanks! : D
Erestor—I, too, find the idea that Boromir sees things so differently rather amusing. I'm glad you loved the title and the intro paragraph, as both were a spur of the moment thing while we were typing this up. And I can just see you writing that on a napkin. Very you : D. Rather brilliant thing to do actually. I won't be surprised if I find myself writing something similar on a napkin next time we go out to eat…
Thanks a million for reading! Next chapter will be up after Sunday, as I will be playing babysitter this weekend and my sister hates typing.
God bless,
Dene4 and Sara