Chapter two

Faramir and Merry strolled down the long hallway toward the kitchens in silence. Faramir found Merry to be unnaturally somber and quiet, and he glanced down at Merry to find his face set in an expression that indicated he was deep in some dark thought. The sight made Faramir's brows raise.

"Merry, is something…"

"He told me, you know. Pippin doesn't know; I never let on. Boromir thought him too young to hear such things, and then when we thought he was dead, I just couldn't tell Pippin what he'd told me. He grieved so for Boromir, though you may not know it. I don't think anyone knew how deeply Pippin was hurt by watching Boromir…well, you know. I don't think anyone knew about Pippin's heart being broken but me." Merry sighed, and Faramir was struck by the sadness in Merry's demeanor. "Pippin said he didn't think anyone understood Boromir like we did. He was always fearful that if he spoke openly about it that someone might be…unkind."

"And so he kept his grief locked away and out of sight?" Faramir stopped, placing his hand on Merry's shoulder. "Unless I'm mistaken, this is most unnatural for a hobbit. It cannot have been easy on Pippin to do this, especially since he alone saw Boromir as he fell at Parth Galen. No small wonder then, that Pippin is like a little watchdog where my brother is concerned. He feels that even though Boromir is returned to us, he intends to protect him from as much hurt as he can."

Merry regarded Faramir closely, and for the first time in many years, Faramir felt as though he was being looked not at, but into. It was not uncomfortable, as it had been with Denethor. Quite to the contrary, this was a warm and affectionate probing. "I have heard," said Merry, "that you can see into the hearts of men; hobbits are not excluded in your skill in this regard, I see. I think Boromir does not want me to let on he confided in me and not Pippin. He's not sure Pippin would understand he was only shielding him from an ugly truth."

"And you intend to let Pippin think you're hearing this for the first time." It was not a question.

Merry nodded. "I think Boromir is right in this." Merry gave Faramir a sad smile. "I think, too, that Boromir needs to talk about this. His heart still wants to confuse Pippin with Firiel. I think when he tells us, or I should say, tells Pippin about all this, his heart will sort the two out at last."

They resumed their stroll towards the kitchens, and Faramir spoke again as they walked. "Boromir has never grieved for Firiel. I know him as no other can, Merry. I think that after all these years he is ready to let her go, now, and he can only truly lay her to rest when he has grieved for her. He feels that when he has spoken her tale in full to the one he sees as most like her, both she and Boromir himself can finally be at peace with it."

"Aye, I see." Merry said thoughtfully. "You really are as wise as I've heard you are, Faramir. If I ever doubted it, I no longer do."

The two companions took their meal in relative silence, then took a leisurely stroll about the city, meandering to the fountain and the White Tree. They made small talk, taking care to keep their hearts light, as though steeling themselves for the story soon to be told. After a few hours had passed, they decided to return to Boromir's room where they found the two awake and playing a favorite game, Foxes and Hares. Faramir took a plate laden with bread, cheese, hot soup and the small white cakes Boromir loved so, along with a flask of wine. They chatted idly as Boromir ate, and laughed heartily at Pippin's ability to steal one of the little cakes from under Boromir's nose.

Wordlessly, they again sat on the bed around Boromir. There was a small stretch of silence, then Boromir began.

"How do I start to tell this story? I had a swordmaster when I was fifteen years old. His name was Thalion. He was a widower, and it was his fate to have been left a daughter to raise on his own, Firiel. She had been born too early, and the birth was hard on her mother. She lingered but a few days after Firiel was born, and died with a high fever. Firiel was the smallest baby I've ever seen outside of a hobbit babe. She looked like a toy; she was so small. Everyone was certain she would die, except for Faramir and I.

I liked Thalion quite a lot, and my heart went out to him in his grief and the fear that his daughter, too, could die. It was all too soon, for me, after our mother died, and when Firiel's mother died, I immediately felt something for her baby. She would never know her mother as I had known ours, Faramir and I, and we shared a loss that no child should ever have to know. Faramir and I grew to care deeply for the little one very quickly. It became my habit to visit Thalion and Firiel as frequently as could be done. Firiel was weak and sickly, and spent as much time with the healer as she did with her father. Faramir no longer needed a nurse, and I paid our old nurse myself to take care of her so that Thalion could spend more time with my lessons. At least that is what I told Father!

By the time she had reached five years, she was already running away from her nurse to come and watch me practice with her father. It was she who first called me 'Uncle Bom," because she couldn't quite say my name, and now you know why Borry and Faro were asked to call me by that name.

She was a very pretty little thing, as small and delicate as a little bird. She had green eyes, just exactly like yours, Pippin. I've never known anyone else with eyes that exact color, with the little gold flecks, and the darker green circle all around them, and her hair, too, was just like yours. Only Faro has that look about him besides you, yourself.

Her skin was like yours, fine and fair, even her mouth was like yours. When I first met you, Pippin, I was quite stricken by the resemblance. It threw me off balance a bit. She was so like you in character, too, with a sense of mischief and a nose for trouble, and the willingness to follow that nose wherever it might lead. No, don't look at me like that, you know I speak only the truth!

Perhaps it was because she was around boys and men so much, but for whatever reason, she didn't behave much like a little girl. For one thing, she refused to dress like a little girl, even when Faramir and I indulged her in the finest dresses. Oh, she would humor us on our birthdays, but no sooner were such celebrations were over with than she would be back in breeches, much to our father's amusement and her father's disapproval. She charmed even our father, and looking back now, I see that she lightened his heart so much that I wonder how different his life might have been had he had a daughter, for she could make him laugh when no one else could.

She hated shoes as much as she hated dresses, and when the weather allowed she wore no shoes unless she was tromping about the woods or going fishing with us. She cared nothing for dolls, either, but preferred the little wooden swords, toy bows and fishing equipment we gave her.

She was fascinated with the Horn, and I somehow knew she would get herself in trouble with it. I had decided one day, when I was supposed to be with my tutor learning Quenya, that the day was too fine to spend indoors, and I slipped away to go fishing. Of course, she followed me. I tried to shoo her away, but it was so hard to refuse her anything. She followed me to the river with her little breeches rolled up to her knees, giving me a wonderful view of the scabs on her knees she had gotten from one of her many spills from climbing trees.

I decided to give her a ride on my shoulder, and had only just gotten to the riverbank when she did it. She grasped the Horn and blew it with all her might. We tried to hide, but it was useless. In no time at all the riverbank and all the pathways back to the city was lined with soldiers. I have never before or since been so embarrassed, and we both paid for that day's mischief, I can tell you.

Try as I might, I couldn't stay angry with her. She was so tiny, I suppose, from her early birth and subsequent illnesses, but she had a joy in her uncommon among our people. I suppose, looking back, this was because Faramir and I sheltered her from the gathering darkness. I wonder, now, if this was wise. Perhaps we should not have. Perhaps, if we had made her understand…"

Boromir went silent. He had grown ashen again, and Faramir insisted it was unwise to continue.

"Perhaps," he said, "we should go and let you rest."

"No!" Boromir cried, "Don't go, not just yet! It's so boring here for Pippin and I…"

He sounded so much like a small boy bedridden with a cold that Faramir could not help but relent.

"I know!" Pippin said, reaching for the journal and handing it to Faramir.

Faramir took up the reading, recounting the last days in Imladris and the first few days of the journey.

"…during the long watch Pippin and I sat through a few days ago we exchanged stories about childhood games. It seems our two races are not so different after all. We spoke of flying dreams and games common to our different races. I find his company eases my homesickness a bit and helps ease my heart when I miss the company of my brother.

His taste for practical jokes rivals Firiel's. Strider confided to me that Pippin had made a wager with Merry that he could make me laugh. Strider and I placed our own bet. I wagered a handsome amount on my ability to hold my laughter. I was badly mistaken in doing this, for I lost my wager.

I did quite well, even when Pippin put a plate full of blackberries under the posterior of Legolas as he sat down. What I would not have given for you to see it! Can you picture an elf with a purple behind? I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. This was more than Master Took could bear, and he completely lost his temper. Let me see if I can recall one of the things that he accused me of.

I think it went like this: 'You are the most humorless, reticent, obtuse, sour, bitter, miserable man it has been my misfortune to meet. Tell me, is it fashionable where you come from to be grumpy?'

Yes, that was it. Even then, I managed to not laugh. Much to my surprise, Pippin became even angrier,

and gave me quite a push. I lost my balance, falling on my back upon my shield and sliding down an incline. He then further complicated matters by losing his balance and tumbling down to land right on top of me, sending us both sliding yet further down and right into a stream.

I completely lost control at that time. I couldn't catch my breath, and Pippin mistook this for fury. He was certain I was about to break his neck, and didn't think he was going to live much longer until I managed to take in enough breath to laugh. The look of relief on his face made me laugh all the harder, and after days of holding back my humor, once I started laughing, I couldn't stop.

It felt so good that I carried him uphill on my shoulder as I used to carry Firiel. He weighs next to nothing, even soaking wet. We were both, in fact, soaking wet, but Pippin won his wager, much to Merry's misery, for Merry hates to lose a bet. As I usually do, but this time I was quite happy to have lost.

For the rest of the evening's march my feet made these awful squishing sounds in my boots as they had gotten quite wet. When we stopped to rest, I took them off to dry by a small, smokeless fire. My laughing at Pippin as well as with him must have emboldened him, for he put my boots on, wet as they were, and tried to walk about with them. He looked quite comic in them, as they reached his upper thighs. The weight of them on his small legs and feet, as well as the size, made such a humorous scene that Merry and I couldn't stop laughing long enough to fall asleep, even long after Pippin was snoring. (He falls asleep more quickly than any creature I have knowledge of) Pippin stated that he didn't see how we Men bear such things on our feet, and that no self-respecting hobbit would be "shod like a pony." As I said, he is full of spleen.

I have decided, as much as the halfling's innocence delights me, I should teach them to fight. They are not children. Specifically, they are definitely not an innocent and helpless little girl. I would not have them suffer her fate, and if they can handle a blade and learn what I may teach them for their own sake, they may not suffer such a fate. You know how I have tormented myself over this, and I'm sure you understand. I have grown quite fond of this pair of hobbits. The other two sticks to Strider like cockle-burrs, but these two, for whatever reason, have decided they quite like me, and I have grown very fond of them both.

I know I swore I would take care to not grow attached to anyone I might lose. You need not scold or remind me of this, though you are free to laugh at me for it. I think that if you ever meet them, and I hope someday you do, you will understand.

I'm not fond of them only because they lighten my heart. They are clever and brave and pure of heart, for all their mischief. Were they bigger, I could count myself fortunate to have them as brothers in arms, for they are also very loyal. If they work together, and I know they will as they do everything together, they may be able to make quite a small fighting team between them. They are quick studies, and are quite eager, and are already interested in acquiring the skill. Merry, being the more sturdy of the pair, will find this easier, but Pippin, though smaller and more delicate, has quicker reflexes and is very eager, and I feel the exercise will develop the musculature needed to wield a small blade. Too, he has a fiery spirit for a halfling, and I'm told the Tooks can be quite fierce. One, if I can take this as truth, was known as 'the Bullroarer' and supposedly knocked the head of a goblin king clean off. I know Pippin admires his ancestor as he speaks of him sometimes, and I can see he's inspired by this tale of bravery and skill in battle. It is true that they are slow in the matter of courage, but it is there, nonetheless, and their love of life and their loyalty will serve when bravery fails. Of course, they love each other dearly, as much as you and I, and as we both know, love is the greatest reason of all to fight, if not the only reason."

Faramir snapped shut the little book firmly. His audience moaned aloud in protest, but Faramir was firm: Boromir must rest a while. He insisted Pippin go to his own room to rest, as he had been sleeping mostly in a chair for some days. He needed to eat a proper meal, as well, and wanted a hot bath, so Faramir sat with Boromir for the evening.

He watched his brother as he rested, marveling once more that he had been returned to him. Boromir's sleeping face brought back to Faramir the memory of the young soldier who had guarded and guided and sheltered him during his youth, when Boromir had been all the father he'd had. A child raising a child, he mused. You tried so hard to set a good example, brother. You did well. Now, live, and be well. Be happy, for once. For once, find peace. You had so little of it as a boy, and less as a young man.