Foster Father of The Heart - part 7
by Larrkin

Bless my big brother. Trying so hard to distract me from brooding, even going so far as to suggest the notion of me being spanked by either Halbarad or Garrick, then trying to make me squirm by talking about how interesting it would be to see that and how he wouldn't mind it at all! Heartless man, my brother. Ah, how I loved him!

I longed to tell Boromir that he needn't try so hard to save me from suffering my own dark thoughts. Having practiced the finest of strategies all my life I was now well accomplished in contending with hurts. I banished them to an inner bog so black and deep that they disappeared, no longer haunting my every waking moment. I knew those hurts were there, but they served no purpose save to cause me harm, so they were best left buried.

That's where the hurtful breach between Damrod and I now remained. If I started to dwell upon that hurt I might give the dark enough power to pull me down into that bog, as it had when I thought I had lost Boromir – both times I thought I had lost him. I was determined to never again visit that place.

So I didn't think about that breach. It didn't affect me. It was no longer . . . real. And as for Damrod and I . . . well . . . all was as it should be. It was. We were . . . . We were fine. Just fine.

That was why when Boromir suggested our adventure today I was able to give that unresolved breach no more than a cursory mental glance to make sure it was still buried in that dark bog. It was, and I wanted to do what I wanted to do, breach and consequences be cursed! As I told Boromir, I knew certain doom awaited us if we chose to go adventuring, and I'd chosen it anyway.

So now I wished that I could save him this effort he felt he needed to make to distract me, tell my fretful, protective big brother, "Peace, Boromir. I have this well in hand."

But, how could I tell him how unnecessary his efforts were? It would serve no purpose for me to point out that I knew what he was trying to do, and it would embarrass Boromir to learn that I saw through him and that he was being so obvious. I could never do such a cold, ungrateful thing. My brother had ever put my needs first, even now, during what was surely a most anxious moment for him. Damrod was about to spank him for the first time since he was twenty-one years old – and in front of me. For mercy's sake, Boromir had enough to fret about! Humiliated in front of his little brother – oh!

I ached for him. And I longed to help him. And the only help I could give my brother was to offer him the comforting sense that he was helping me, successfully diverting me from my dark foreboding. So I would do all I could to give him that comfort, accepting his aid whether or not I needed it. And I wasn't totally humoring him; Boromir was helping me, filling this strained period of waiting with our fond back and forth banter. It had always served to ease our tension. That, coupled with his subtle touches of solace, truly were helping.

That solace began right after the battle when Damrod finished glaring at us. With all the charm of the dead orc at his feet, my lieutenant snarled, "Gentlemen, come with me." Then he turned and stalked off, Boromir and I dutifully following.

At once Boromir had begun his reassuring, nudging me and flashing me a wink and one of his 'be-brave-little-brother' grins. I reassured him right back, flashing him a return wink and one of my 'don't-worry-about-me-big-brother' grins, and off we trudged after our horribly, calmly livid lieutenant. I vow I felt every eye following us. I knew how this must look, and didn't want to see these men watching our exit, but some perverse need made it impossible for me to keep from glancing back. So I did, and I was glad I did, because, in truth, the men weren't watching us at all. They were too absorbed in their own duties to care about my brother and me – all save one.

The moment I turned back, Valerian lifted his head and shot me a startled look. Innocent that he is, the lad would never have imagined what Damrod was about to do to Boromir and me. Bram knew, though. Dropping a glance to Val, he followed the boy's gaze to me, then he muttered something to him that snapped the lad's attention back to his duties.

I was strangely shaken. I knew that when Valerian asked Bram where we were going – and of course Val would ask – Bram would not tell him that Lieutenant Damrod was taking Captain Faramir and the Steward of Gondor off to spank them. Still –

"Don't look back, little brother," Boromir had whispered beside me. I turned to him. Amazing that Boromir always said I had sad eyes. He didn't look in the glass much, my big brother. At that moment his gaze was drenched in such guilty melancholy it near broke my heart.

So I gave him another 'don't-worry-about-me-big-brother' grin, as the first one had clearly failed to work, and I followed it up by telling him something that I hoped would cheer him, something to help him see that I truly was managing all this with mature grace and my typical exceeding good will:

"See?" I murmured in a sly tone. "Told you I could fight. Fragile indeed! I expect an apology at your earliest possible convenience, Master Steward sir."

Boromir stared at me for a moment, then he burst out laughing. Silently of course. Rather amazing to witness, as he looked ready to rupture something in the effort to keep from attracting Damrod's attention. It was wicked of me to do that to my own brother at a moment when he dared not be heard enjoying himself. But his silent laugh had reached Boromir's eyes, making them crinkle wonderfully at the corners, and, in that moment I saw that my brother's fears for me were at last calmed.

"Faramir," Damrod had said without turning around.

I flinched and answered him as my brother and I had ever answered our lieutenant when we were in disgrace: "Yes, sir?"

"Not another word."

"Yes, sir."

"I antagonized him, sir," Boromir fibbed in an admirable show of brotherly unity and self-sacrifice. Ever the hero.

"Boromir."

"Aye, sir?"

"Another lie like that shall find you visiting my bar of soap."

We'd exchanged a look of dread. It must've been near to twenty – twenty-five years since Damrod last soaped out Boromir's mouth, but our lieutenant was horridly thorough at it. The memory of it was evidently still vivid for my brother, who paled at once.

"Pardon, sir," Boromir had said in haste.

Damrod had never demanded, nor had he ever needed to demand that "sir."

He led us out of the sewers, through Osgiliath and straight to our horses, then we rode in silence – and at an intolerably moderate pace – back to Minas Tirith where Damrod marched us directly up to Boromir's chamber and left us with specific orders: We were to bathe, change, eat and wait for him to return. The first two tasks completed I then won a glorious battle with Boromir over the third – my untouched dinner:

"MY untouched dinner?" I'd exclaimed, yanking the cover from his still-full tray. He didn't bother to look.

"I wasn't hungry."

"Nor was I. You cannot demand that I eat when you – "

"I can afford to leave mine untouched, little urchin. I'm in perfect health. You, however, are still healing and – "

"Oh, no. No more 'you're still fragile' talk."

"I wasn't going to – "

"Good. Because when it comes to choking down food at this moment, I shall repeat your words to me from earlier today – you first, big brother."

"This is a little different – "

And we had been off once more on our distracting squabbles. Yes, those untouched trays had provided us with as nice a bit of diversion, as had Boromir's clever, 'I don't mind imagining you over Halbarad's knee, little urchin' device.

Now, however, during this lull, I watched my brother searching his mind for something to distract me, the poor man gripping the arms of his chair to keep from jumping up and pacing. I was at the point of blurting out, "For the love of all that's sacred, brother of mine, feel free to pace!"

Then, suddenly – !

I jumped up. "Boromir!" He nearly exploded from his chair. Awful thing to do to a man strung tight as my bowstring. "Sorry," I said with a wild chuckle. "But I just got a brilliant idea! It's perfect!"

He shifted himself around, resettling his dignity, and casting me a highly dubious look. "There are no garden walls to climb outside my window, Faramir."

I rushed to the desk in the far corner, too excited to scowl, saying, "Come! Hurry! We should start making notes now! Share ideas! Start preparing! There's no time to waste!"

"Share wha – prepare for wha – ?"

I grabbed up such an enormous armful of parchment that I had to fight to keep it in my arms. It shifted and slipped, but I won the battle of balance, then I peeked around the wildly overflowing papers for writing materials, muttering, "Ink, ink, ink . . . and quills, and . . . . Ah! I'm so stupid! Why didn't I think of this sooner?"

"Think of wha – ?"

"The time we've wasted! We could've been doing this all along!"

"Doing wha – ?"

"Even if we don't know the exact topic, we could have guessed, readied some basic replies, helped each other – oh, where are the cursed quills?"

"Faramir."

Boromir's surprisingly deep and gentle tone jarred me. I turned to him, struggling with the slipping, shifting papers in my arms and the inkwell in my hand. He was softly laughing, studying me with sympathetic affection.

"The treatise, yes?" he said, getting up and strolling across the room to me. "You're thinking we can share ideas, maybe even begin preparing the treatise Damrod's probably going to make us write as he has in the past. Ten pages apiece, yes? With a title like, 'Reasons Why Climbing the Tower of Ecthelion Is a Dangerous Enterprise, and Why I Shall Never Again Attempt Such an Asinine Deed,' or, in your case . . . what was your treatise entitled, little brother?"

"'Reasons Why Climbing Vines Up High Garden Walls Is a Dangerous Enterprise and Why I Shall Never Again Attempt Such an Asinine Deed,'" I muttered, wincing. "Ten pages."

"Which he made us read aloud to him – "

"– and then throw in the fire." I sniffed a rueful little laugh. "And then . . . ."

"Spanked."

"Extremely."

Boromir slowly shook his head, giving me his 'isn't my brother adorable' grin and saying, "Ah, little urchin. 'Tis indeed a fine idea to work out our pages now. Your typical brilliance. Nicely devious. I wish I'd thought of it myself. But – "

"You know he'll make us do it," I said. "I can hear him now: 'Each of you will write me a ten page treatise entitled, 'Reasons Why Exploring Potentially Orc-Infested Sewers Is a Dangerous Enterprise, and Why I Shall Never Again Attempt Such an Asinine Deed.'"

Boromir burst into such a roar of laughter it made me laugh, too. It was a while before he could speak. "Aye!" he exclaimed, chuckling and wiping his eyes. "You have it! That sounds just like him!"

"And you agree. We're going to be reading essays to him tomorrow."

"In all likelihood, aye. But, sweetling, if Damrod does make us write one of his essays I doubt he'll give us the same topic. He knows my clever little brother would devise some way for us to share the work and lighten our load."

I thought this over, then: "I suppose you're right."

"Suppose?"

"You're right."

"Mmm." Boromir grinned softly at me, then ruffled my hair. "I suppose I am."

Now wholly deflated, I scowled and grumbled, "That man really is a most detestable lieutenant."

"Oh, indeed, he is that." We exchanged a look of mutual fondness for the detestable lieutenant we both loved, then Boromir's gaze fell to the papers in my arms. "Faith, little urchin!" he exclaimed with a smirk as though suddenly noticing my predicament, "hand me some of those."

He reached out to help, but I'd grabbed up such an enormous stack of papers and they were still so wretchedly slippery that they were hard to move without dropping everything. We stood there, huffing, fighting the cumbersome mass.

"Faramir, by all that is blessed . . . !" Boromir muttered under his breath, wrestling the load, "What were you thinking?"

"No idea," I honestly replied. "But I say we let loose the lot and then pick it all up."

"'We?'" Boromir snorted. "Ha! What do you mean 'we,' sir?"

And we both started chuckling then at how ridiculously we were bungling such a silly task, and in those brief moments of our struggles the door opened and there stood our detestable lieutenant, his big, solid frame filling the entranceway.

We froze, instantly sobering, arms full of parchment, staring at him. Damrod took one look at us, closed the door, then said, "Surely you do not suppose that I would assign both of you the same essay."

End part 7
Foster Father of the Heart to be continued