See disclaimer chapter 1

A/N: This is when the violence starts, so be warned. It is also longer than my other chapters.

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            "What is so interesting about that book that you won't practice your sword fighting against me?" demanded thirteen-year old Boromir. The young lord was irritated by his younger brother's refusal to fight, for there was no one else that Boromir felt comfortable asking. Eight-year old Faramir looked up from his perch on the balcony overlooking the western side of Minas Tirith.

            "I'm reading about Isildur and the Battle of the Last Alliance. You would like it, there is a lot of fighting."

            "I don't want to read about fighting, I want to do it! Please little brother!" Faramir sighed and closed his book. He couldn't say no to him. Boromir was his best friend, the one who protected him from their father's harsh words. Besides, maybe if he fought more his father would not think him so weak. Faramir knew his father looked down at the fact that he loved books more than swords and tried his hardest to be a better fighter. "Alright Boromir, I'll fight you. I don't know why, though, you always beat me."

            Boromir grinned as they walked towards the practice fields. "Perhaps today is the day you beat me little brother." He laughed as Faramir rolled his eyes at the statement. Boromir was older and stronger and practiced much more than his brother. Slinging one arm over Faramir's shoulders, the two brothers laughed together and Faramir almost forgot that it was the fifteenth of the month.

            Unfortunately Faramir was reminded of the date at dinner that night. It was a tradition of the Stewardship that the Steward would spend time with his children after dinner every two months on the ides. Faramir sat quietly as he ate with his father and brother. Boromir told their father about their practice and Faramir flinched when his brother mentioned that he had wanted to read instead. He watched as Denethor drank several glasses of wine, more than usual. Faramir sighed inwardly as he realized that tonight would be no different than the other times he had met alone with his father.

            After dinner, Denethor and Boromir retired to the Steward's study where they spent a half an hour talking, as tradition required. Faramir knew that his father actually enjoyed his time with his elder son and wished that Denethor would feel the same way about him. Yet he knew it was not so, and as he entered his father's study, all he could do was stare at the ground and hope that Denethor was not too drunk. He unconsciously rubbed his cheek while waiting for Denethor to notice him. 'Please let tonight be different.' He thought to himself. 'Please let Father be in a good mood.' Yet his prayers went unanswered as his father's piercing stare settled on him.

            Denethor stood up and walked over to his son. "Faramir, your brother told me that you didn't want to practice fighting today, preferring to read instead. Is this true."

            "Yes sir." Faramir spoke softly, not wanting to look the Steward in the eyes. His eyes always upset Denethor, for they looked so much like those of his late wife.

            "This is unacceptable! No son of mine should prefer books to fighting. What kind of warrior would you make? You are weak, Faramir, and weak is inexcusable. Until I say otherwise, you may not read unless for your studies."

            Faramir was shocked. "But Father, why can't I read? That's not fair!" He regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth, for they had roused his father's anger.

            Denethor grabbed Faramir's right arm in one hand. "Not fair? Life is not fair. If it was, your mother would still be alive and I wouldn't have such a weakling for a son!" The Steward squeezed his son's arm tighter as tears of pain threatened to fall from the boy's eyes.

            "Please, Father, stop! You're hurting me!" The reek of alcohol on Denethor's breath pervaded his senses. The Steward was drunk and not fully aware of what he was doing.

            Denethor glared at his son. "Life is pain, boy, you need to remember that!" Faramir felt sick as he heard and felt the bone in his arm snap. When he cried out in pain his father backhanded him. "Go away, I don't want to have to deal with you tonight."  

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I never like Denethor, and this made me dislike him even more. Don't worry, Faramir will get help. Oh and the ides are the middle of each month, usually the 15th. Also if you remember your Caesar, he was told to "Beware the Ides of March"