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A/N: This short story is set in the year 2988 TA. I am basing this story and it's characters personalities on the books by JRR Tolkien, but their appearances are different from how he described. I kept Faramir as a redhead, just how he was in "The Two Towers", because I love the hair colour, and it also makes him cuter in my head. It's just a simple tale of brotherly love, and the relationship between the two siblings. Boromir is ten years old, and his younger brother is five.
Disclaimer: I am not in any way associated with Tolkien, or Lord of The Rings. I don't own any of the characters (but we can all dream!) and the only thing belonging to me is the dialogue and the minor character Dorwien.
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- Wings -
Two young boys tripped gaily along a path in a leafy area of Gondor. It was a sunny, pleasant day, but the youngsters were not outside because of their own free will. They had been sent out by their father, Denethor II, who had told them to make haste, as everyone was busy and no one wanted two irksome fools making mischief.
Harsh words, perhaps, but syllables that the boys, Boromir and Faramir, were well used to. Their father was an important man, the Steward of Gondor, a place that held many responsibilities. So, armed with a picnic basket filled with treats for the whole day, they set out.
"Hurry along, Faramir, I'm carrying this heavy basket and I'm still ahead of you", said Boromir, who was tall for his age. He stopped and thumped the basket down onto the paved ground. "What are you doing?" Boromir looked at his younger brother, who was kneeling down on the path examining something in the grassy verge next to it. Faramir was redheaded, but was placid and easygoing, deceiving the myth that red hair brought scarlet tempers.
"It's a birds nest, look," Faramir whispered, his bright eyes shining as he gently plucked up the straw nest. Boromir walked over and bent down beside him, the picnic basket forgotten. "There's a bird in it, she must be hurt."
Faramir's forehead wrinkled up in surprise, and Boromir stuck a friendly arm round his shoulder. "It's ok, we'll take the nest back to the palace, we'll bring it to the Houses of Healing!" The elder brother smiled, trying to make Faramir laugh, but not succeeding.
The youngest child looked stricken, as if he himself had made the bird weak. "It must have fallen from the tree," he said, looking up. "Poor thing." Faramir clucked his tongue in a motherly sort of way, and Boromir let out a snort, amused at his brother's sentiments.
Boromir ran back a few paces and sat down by the basket. "Faramir, bring the bird over here, we can give it some food. And we too can eat, for I am hungry after carrying the basket all this way. It'll also make the walk home quicker if there is less food in it." He opened it up and saw a loaf of bread, and he ripped a small part off for the bird. He was not particularly interested in whether the bird lived or died, it was probably in pain and would be glad of death. Munching on some yellow cheese, he watched Faramir carefully hold the nest in his two hands and shift slowly over to him, with shoulders hunched. Boromir scraped a generous amount of elderberry jam onto a slab of crusty white bread and when Faramir sat down, cautiously, he gave him it.
They sat in silence for a while, enjoying the peace and the warm sun on their skin. The bird in the nest chirped at odd moments, but its blue wing was bent at a strange angle. Faramir had jam on his chin; he could never keep tidy whilst eating, much to the dismay of Denethor. Boromir always quailed when he heard his father lecture his little brother, after all, he was only small. His mama was far kinder, he reflected. When he and Faramir got into trouble, his mother reprimanded them kindly, and it always ended in an embrace.
"Boromir, what's wrong with mama?" Faramir spoke up, breaking the eldest's train of thought.
Boromir was startled, and said quickly, "What do you mean?" He didn't know if Faramir had heard something he hadn't, perhaps from a servant, or if he was being extremely perceptive.
"She isn't well, I can feel it. And last night she was crying when I came into her room and said goodnight to her."
Boromir sat; his eyebrows crossed and thought of what to say. "Mama isn't well, it's nothing bad, she will be ok soon, Faramir."
The bird let out a cheep, and Faramir's attention was diverted. "Oh look, she's talking Boromir, come on, let's get her to the Houses of Healing, like you said! I'll carry her in my arms, and you take the basket." He stood up gingerly with the nest in his hands while Boromir packed up the remainder of the picnic.
The truth was, Boromir didn't know what was wrong with his mama. She had taken to her chambers early of late, and didn't rise till the sun was high in the sky. He was confused, and nobody was telling him anything. The night before, he had gone to his mother's room as always, after Faramir, but she was sleeping, with hair identical to Faramir's neatly parted on each side of the bed. Not wanting to wake her, he kissed her on her pale forehead. Boromir was sure she wasn't seriously ill, but still, the secrecy around her condition unnerved him.
Faramir had instructed Boromir that he wanted to go straight to the Houses of Healing, so they walked in that direction, and entered quietly. No one was about, save a woman named Dorwien, garbed in the typical fashion of the people who worked in the Houses of Healing. She was sitting, her head in her hands, on a crisp white bed. Boromir dropped his basket and coughed, startling Dorwien. She gasped, and they saw her eyes were bloodshot. Faramir walked forward towards her and placed the nest down on the bed, and hugged the woman. Boromir was surprised at this act, but not shocked. Faramir had always been more in tune with other people's feelings than he was.
"Children..." Dorwien started, a tear slipping down her worn cheek, as she placed her own hands on Faramir's back.
But they didn't hear the rest, because the door to the Houses of Healing opened and in hobbled their father, Lord Denethor. Only it didn't look like him - his face was crumpled up and he cried out - "Boromir! Faramir! My sons, your mother, Finduilas, has departed!" He rushed over to Boromir and hugged him tight, while Boromir sobbed into his father's chest. Faramir understood, and began crying, the wails echoing around the room, doubling their intensity because of the high roof. A man, dressed in dark colours, with sympathy on his brow, entered the room, and touched Denethor on the shoulder. Denethor broke the hug between him and his eldest son and left the room that was filled with grief.
The room was still, with Dorwien, Boromir and Faramir together. Boromir, his nose running and his voice murky, asked the nurse what happened. She replied, with a heavy heart, "She was ill, a wasting disease, almost...I don't know if I should tell you...I think your father should..."
But it was enough for the two young boys, and Faramir flung himself into his brother's arms. "Boromir, why?"
Boromir stayed silent, and looked over at the bird in the nest. It hadn't chirped since they entered the Houses of Healing. He knew it was dead.
Burying his face into his brother's soft strawberry blond hair, he wondered what he should do. His heart ached for his mother, but he knew Faramir's had broken, as they had always been close. Faramir sniffled into his chest, and buried deeper. Boromir promised to himself he would be the brave brother that Faramir thought him to be - and would protect the youngest to the end.
* * *
Please review - I really appreciate it! Whippersnapper_@hotmail.com
A/N: This short story is set in the year 2988 TA. I am basing this story and it's characters personalities on the books by JRR Tolkien, but their appearances are different from how he described. I kept Faramir as a redhead, just how he was in "The Two Towers", because I love the hair colour, and it also makes him cuter in my head. It's just a simple tale of brotherly love, and the relationship between the two siblings. Boromir is ten years old, and his younger brother is five.
Disclaimer: I am not in any way associated with Tolkien, or Lord of The Rings. I don't own any of the characters (but we can all dream!) and the only thing belonging to me is the dialogue and the minor character Dorwien.
* * *
- Wings -
Two young boys tripped gaily along a path in a leafy area of Gondor. It was a sunny, pleasant day, but the youngsters were not outside because of their own free will. They had been sent out by their father, Denethor II, who had told them to make haste, as everyone was busy and no one wanted two irksome fools making mischief.
Harsh words, perhaps, but syllables that the boys, Boromir and Faramir, were well used to. Their father was an important man, the Steward of Gondor, a place that held many responsibilities. So, armed with a picnic basket filled with treats for the whole day, they set out.
"Hurry along, Faramir, I'm carrying this heavy basket and I'm still ahead of you", said Boromir, who was tall for his age. He stopped and thumped the basket down onto the paved ground. "What are you doing?" Boromir looked at his younger brother, who was kneeling down on the path examining something in the grassy verge next to it. Faramir was redheaded, but was placid and easygoing, deceiving the myth that red hair brought scarlet tempers.
"It's a birds nest, look," Faramir whispered, his bright eyes shining as he gently plucked up the straw nest. Boromir walked over and bent down beside him, the picnic basket forgotten. "There's a bird in it, she must be hurt."
Faramir's forehead wrinkled up in surprise, and Boromir stuck a friendly arm round his shoulder. "It's ok, we'll take the nest back to the palace, we'll bring it to the Houses of Healing!" The elder brother smiled, trying to make Faramir laugh, but not succeeding.
The youngest child looked stricken, as if he himself had made the bird weak. "It must have fallen from the tree," he said, looking up. "Poor thing." Faramir clucked his tongue in a motherly sort of way, and Boromir let out a snort, amused at his brother's sentiments.
Boromir ran back a few paces and sat down by the basket. "Faramir, bring the bird over here, we can give it some food. And we too can eat, for I am hungry after carrying the basket all this way. It'll also make the walk home quicker if there is less food in it." He opened it up and saw a loaf of bread, and he ripped a small part off for the bird. He was not particularly interested in whether the bird lived or died, it was probably in pain and would be glad of death. Munching on some yellow cheese, he watched Faramir carefully hold the nest in his two hands and shift slowly over to him, with shoulders hunched. Boromir scraped a generous amount of elderberry jam onto a slab of crusty white bread and when Faramir sat down, cautiously, he gave him it.
They sat in silence for a while, enjoying the peace and the warm sun on their skin. The bird in the nest chirped at odd moments, but its blue wing was bent at a strange angle. Faramir had jam on his chin; he could never keep tidy whilst eating, much to the dismay of Denethor. Boromir always quailed when he heard his father lecture his little brother, after all, he was only small. His mama was far kinder, he reflected. When he and Faramir got into trouble, his mother reprimanded them kindly, and it always ended in an embrace.
"Boromir, what's wrong with mama?" Faramir spoke up, breaking the eldest's train of thought.
Boromir was startled, and said quickly, "What do you mean?" He didn't know if Faramir had heard something he hadn't, perhaps from a servant, or if he was being extremely perceptive.
"She isn't well, I can feel it. And last night she was crying when I came into her room and said goodnight to her."
Boromir sat; his eyebrows crossed and thought of what to say. "Mama isn't well, it's nothing bad, she will be ok soon, Faramir."
The bird let out a cheep, and Faramir's attention was diverted. "Oh look, she's talking Boromir, come on, let's get her to the Houses of Healing, like you said! I'll carry her in my arms, and you take the basket." He stood up gingerly with the nest in his hands while Boromir packed up the remainder of the picnic.
The truth was, Boromir didn't know what was wrong with his mama. She had taken to her chambers early of late, and didn't rise till the sun was high in the sky. He was confused, and nobody was telling him anything. The night before, he had gone to his mother's room as always, after Faramir, but she was sleeping, with hair identical to Faramir's neatly parted on each side of the bed. Not wanting to wake her, he kissed her on her pale forehead. Boromir was sure she wasn't seriously ill, but still, the secrecy around her condition unnerved him.
Faramir had instructed Boromir that he wanted to go straight to the Houses of Healing, so they walked in that direction, and entered quietly. No one was about, save a woman named Dorwien, garbed in the typical fashion of the people who worked in the Houses of Healing. She was sitting, her head in her hands, on a crisp white bed. Boromir dropped his basket and coughed, startling Dorwien. She gasped, and they saw her eyes were bloodshot. Faramir walked forward towards her and placed the nest down on the bed, and hugged the woman. Boromir was surprised at this act, but not shocked. Faramir had always been more in tune with other people's feelings than he was.
"Children..." Dorwien started, a tear slipping down her worn cheek, as she placed her own hands on Faramir's back.
But they didn't hear the rest, because the door to the Houses of Healing opened and in hobbled their father, Lord Denethor. Only it didn't look like him - his face was crumpled up and he cried out - "Boromir! Faramir! My sons, your mother, Finduilas, has departed!" He rushed over to Boromir and hugged him tight, while Boromir sobbed into his father's chest. Faramir understood, and began crying, the wails echoing around the room, doubling their intensity because of the high roof. A man, dressed in dark colours, with sympathy on his brow, entered the room, and touched Denethor on the shoulder. Denethor broke the hug between him and his eldest son and left the room that was filled with grief.
The room was still, with Dorwien, Boromir and Faramir together. Boromir, his nose running and his voice murky, asked the nurse what happened. She replied, with a heavy heart, "She was ill, a wasting disease, almost...I don't know if I should tell you...I think your father should..."
But it was enough for the two young boys, and Faramir flung himself into his brother's arms. "Boromir, why?"
Boromir stayed silent, and looked over at the bird in the nest. It hadn't chirped since they entered the Houses of Healing. He knew it was dead.
Burying his face into his brother's soft strawberry blond hair, he wondered what he should do. His heart ached for his mother, but he knew Faramir's had broken, as they had always been close. Faramir sniffled into his chest, and buried deeper. Boromir promised to himself he would be the brave brother that Faramir thought him to be - and would protect the youngest to the end.
* * *
Please review - I really appreciate it! Whippersnapper_@hotmail.com