Note: Boromir has a wooden sword at this point, due to his age. It's
obviously not the sword he carries as an adult.
_________________________________________________
Boromir and Faramir stood frozen in place, the former with a look of complete guilt pasted across his face, as the furious Steward stormed over. Denethor was beside himself. He snatched Boromir's arm in one hand, Faramir's in the other and practically dragged them into the great hall. Here, he allowed his younger son to free himself, though he kept his iron grip on Boromir.
"Faramir," he began, making little effort to mask the fury in his voice, "you are to stay in here until I return. Do NOT go anywhere but this hall, understand?" Faramir nodded mutely, an expression akin to sheer terror on his face. He then backed away quickly from his father, and stumbled over to a corner, where he hid his face in his small hands.
Denethor watched Faramir to reassure himself that his son wouldn't leave. Then, he proceeded to drag Boromir into a small room adjacent the main hall. Boromir was very familiar with the room; he often used it as a hiding spot in his games with his younger brother. Under the circumstances, he wished he could once again utilize it as the perfect hiding place, this time from his father.
The Steward slammed the wooden door behind him upon entering the room. Only then did he loosen his grip on Boromir's arm. Still, he did not allow the boy to escape his grasp entirely; instead choosing to spin him around so he could speak to his son face to face.
"Boromir," he started, in a voice that began low and dangerous, but soon rose. "What WERE you thinking! Sneaking out of the city simply to wander around the plains? And encouraging your brother to follow? Explain yourself, NOW!" His hands were shaking in his rage.
For a moment, Boromir could not find a sufficient reply for that furious figure looming over him. Words seemed to be beyond him, forming in his head, yet remaining trapped somewhere deep in his throat. His small wooden sword, which he had managed to keep hold of until now, suddenly clattered noisily to the stone floor.
Finally, he found himself capable of speech. "I....I....well...I," he stammered, unable to meet his father's gaze as he spoke. He swallowed, took a ragged breath, and tried again. "Well....well...I....just...I don't like being stuck in the city...my whole life!" he finally blurted out.
Denethor's rage got the better of him. "So," he spat, "you thought it would be all right to simply leave the city, unescorted, telling no one, and casually stroll around wherever you pleased!"
"But father! I...I...It wasn't really like that! I never went that far from the walls, and I didn't take Faramir with me; he simply tagged along, and I couldn't get rid of him." He brought his gaze upward, and his gray eyes were filled with fear and frustration.
The Steward thought Boromir's explanation was completely inadequate; after all, he had placed himself and his brother in a potentially perilous situation, while breaking a tremendous number of the rules he had laid down long ago for the boys' protection. "I have this to say, Boromir. I am extraordinarily disappointed in your behavior today. Your actions were not appropriate for the lowliest of lowly Men, much less a future Steward of Gondor! For this, you are forbidden from passing the last gate until the passing of a month!"
The boy was shocked. "But father, the last gate? You...you mean the one right on the borders of the courtyard outside?"
"The very one."
"For a whole month?"
"Yes Boromir, one month."
"But...but...but..but that's not fair!!!" Boromir, emancipated from his father's grip, turned and bolted out the door, attempting to mask the few tears that formed in his eyes.
********
Denethor managed to banish some of his former fury before calling his younger son to the small room to join him. Faramir timidly approached his father, his terror clearly written across his fair face. He stared straight at the floor as Denethor spoke, shivering slightly when he heard the anger still left in the Steward's voice.
"Faramir."
Faramir heard his name spoken, but he kept his gaze upon his feet. Vaguely he registered in his young mind that Boromir had left his prized wooden sword on the floor. He might want it back
"Faramir, look at me."
The command from his father caused the boy to shake more perceptibly. He had no desire to view the incensed face of the Steward.
In his mind, Denethor sighed. He found it difficult to be angry at Faramir. The boy was so young, after all, and though even he knew it was wrong to venture outside the city walls, the desire to tag along with his older brother was often very difficult to overcome. More of the Steward's anger left, and he slowly placed his hand under the boy's chin, raising his face so he could look into his eyes.
"Faramir, you know it is against the rules to go past the main gate."
Faramir nodded vigorously, but remained silent. Denethor sighed again. He remembered Boromir at the age of four; the boy used to chatter non-stop, asking questions, demanding answers. Faramir, however, spoke hardly a word in front of the Steward. Denethor simply couldn't understand it; he knew the boy was intelligent, for in his soft gray eyes flickered fires of understanding, yet he seemed almost mute towards all but Boromir. The Steward waited for a second, as if holding on to a shred of hope that his younger son might say something, yet he soon gave up and continued.
"You cannot go walking around outside the city walls. It's dangerous. No matter what Boromir does, you need to remember that, Faramir." Denethor paused for a moment, then continued. "If you see your brother leaving the main gate, you need to tell someone, not follow him, understand?"
The small boy nodded his head slowly. His eyes were still filled with fear, but he seemed to relax slightly, and did not visibly shake anymore.
Denethor pondered a punishment for the boy for a moment, but believed simply by looking at his son's face that Faramir's fright would keep him from performing any foolish escape stunts, at least in the near future. It also occurred to him that, with Boromir confined to the area around the courtyard, his younger brother would probably remain close nearby, and thus stay out of harm's way. The Steward straightened himself, and motioned towards the door.
"You may go now. Take your brother's sword with you."
Faramir snatched the small wooden sword from the hard floor, pushed open the door as quickly as possible for one his age, and ran away as quickly as his short legs would carry him.
********
Boromir climbed step after step, ascending ever higher above the city of Minas Tirith. The punishment of his father still burned in his memory, and he attempted in vain to escape the frustration that flowed through his veins. He could not leave the last gate; for if he did, he would receive a penalty far worse than that which now lay upon him. Yet, Boromir felt a great desire to escape, to be free from the confines of the city walls where he had spent all but a few hours of his existence. Thus, his destination lay at the very peak of the most majestic place within his designated boundary; the great Tower of Ecthelion.
At very last, he reached the top of the glittering pinnacle. The silver and white stone shone around him, and the tranquillity at the tower's peak seemed comforting to the boy. He lay down for a moment, catching his breath after the somewhat strenuous climb, and wiped his arm across his face. His eyes were slightly red, though no traces of tears could be found anymore.
Eventually, Boromir stood up, and slowly walked towards the tower's edge. Here, he glanced down upon the white city of Minas Tirith, and the lands of Gondor beyond.
The boy was in complete awe. There was a spectacular view from the tower. Here, one felt as though they were a part of the sky, close to the sun's comforting warmth. Boromir's unhappiness slowly drained away. His eyes were shining as he gazed down upon the land. For a brief moment, he imagined what he must look like; a lone figure, on top of a glittering tower of light, like a King gazing down upon his glorious country.
For nearly an hour, Boromir simply stood atop the tower, taking in the sights below, and allowing all worries to leave his mind. Here, he did not have to think about his brother Faramir, the wrath of his father Denethor, the misery of his punishment, the confines of the city. Here at last, for a brief while, he felt completely at ease.
Only when the sun began to set did Boromir slowly venture back down the tower steps, back to the world, to face the reality that awaited him.
Boromir and Faramir stood frozen in place, the former with a look of complete guilt pasted across his face, as the furious Steward stormed over. Denethor was beside himself. He snatched Boromir's arm in one hand, Faramir's in the other and practically dragged them into the great hall. Here, he allowed his younger son to free himself, though he kept his iron grip on Boromir.
"Faramir," he began, making little effort to mask the fury in his voice, "you are to stay in here until I return. Do NOT go anywhere but this hall, understand?" Faramir nodded mutely, an expression akin to sheer terror on his face. He then backed away quickly from his father, and stumbled over to a corner, where he hid his face in his small hands.
Denethor watched Faramir to reassure himself that his son wouldn't leave. Then, he proceeded to drag Boromir into a small room adjacent the main hall. Boromir was very familiar with the room; he often used it as a hiding spot in his games with his younger brother. Under the circumstances, he wished he could once again utilize it as the perfect hiding place, this time from his father.
The Steward slammed the wooden door behind him upon entering the room. Only then did he loosen his grip on Boromir's arm. Still, he did not allow the boy to escape his grasp entirely; instead choosing to spin him around so he could speak to his son face to face.
"Boromir," he started, in a voice that began low and dangerous, but soon rose. "What WERE you thinking! Sneaking out of the city simply to wander around the plains? And encouraging your brother to follow? Explain yourself, NOW!" His hands were shaking in his rage.
For a moment, Boromir could not find a sufficient reply for that furious figure looming over him. Words seemed to be beyond him, forming in his head, yet remaining trapped somewhere deep in his throat. His small wooden sword, which he had managed to keep hold of until now, suddenly clattered noisily to the stone floor.
Finally, he found himself capable of speech. "I....I....well...I," he stammered, unable to meet his father's gaze as he spoke. He swallowed, took a ragged breath, and tried again. "Well....well...I....just...I don't like being stuck in the city...my whole life!" he finally blurted out.
Denethor's rage got the better of him. "So," he spat, "you thought it would be all right to simply leave the city, unescorted, telling no one, and casually stroll around wherever you pleased!"
"But father! I...I...It wasn't really like that! I never went that far from the walls, and I didn't take Faramir with me; he simply tagged along, and I couldn't get rid of him." He brought his gaze upward, and his gray eyes were filled with fear and frustration.
The Steward thought Boromir's explanation was completely inadequate; after all, he had placed himself and his brother in a potentially perilous situation, while breaking a tremendous number of the rules he had laid down long ago for the boys' protection. "I have this to say, Boromir. I am extraordinarily disappointed in your behavior today. Your actions were not appropriate for the lowliest of lowly Men, much less a future Steward of Gondor! For this, you are forbidden from passing the last gate until the passing of a month!"
The boy was shocked. "But father, the last gate? You...you mean the one right on the borders of the courtyard outside?"
"The very one."
"For a whole month?"
"Yes Boromir, one month."
"But...but...but..but that's not fair!!!" Boromir, emancipated from his father's grip, turned and bolted out the door, attempting to mask the few tears that formed in his eyes.
********
Denethor managed to banish some of his former fury before calling his younger son to the small room to join him. Faramir timidly approached his father, his terror clearly written across his fair face. He stared straight at the floor as Denethor spoke, shivering slightly when he heard the anger still left in the Steward's voice.
"Faramir."
Faramir heard his name spoken, but he kept his gaze upon his feet. Vaguely he registered in his young mind that Boromir had left his prized wooden sword on the floor. He might want it back
"Faramir, look at me."
The command from his father caused the boy to shake more perceptibly. He had no desire to view the incensed face of the Steward.
In his mind, Denethor sighed. He found it difficult to be angry at Faramir. The boy was so young, after all, and though even he knew it was wrong to venture outside the city walls, the desire to tag along with his older brother was often very difficult to overcome. More of the Steward's anger left, and he slowly placed his hand under the boy's chin, raising his face so he could look into his eyes.
"Faramir, you know it is against the rules to go past the main gate."
Faramir nodded vigorously, but remained silent. Denethor sighed again. He remembered Boromir at the age of four; the boy used to chatter non-stop, asking questions, demanding answers. Faramir, however, spoke hardly a word in front of the Steward. Denethor simply couldn't understand it; he knew the boy was intelligent, for in his soft gray eyes flickered fires of understanding, yet he seemed almost mute towards all but Boromir. The Steward waited for a second, as if holding on to a shred of hope that his younger son might say something, yet he soon gave up and continued.
"You cannot go walking around outside the city walls. It's dangerous. No matter what Boromir does, you need to remember that, Faramir." Denethor paused for a moment, then continued. "If you see your brother leaving the main gate, you need to tell someone, not follow him, understand?"
The small boy nodded his head slowly. His eyes were still filled with fear, but he seemed to relax slightly, and did not visibly shake anymore.
Denethor pondered a punishment for the boy for a moment, but believed simply by looking at his son's face that Faramir's fright would keep him from performing any foolish escape stunts, at least in the near future. It also occurred to him that, with Boromir confined to the area around the courtyard, his younger brother would probably remain close nearby, and thus stay out of harm's way. The Steward straightened himself, and motioned towards the door.
"You may go now. Take your brother's sword with you."
Faramir snatched the small wooden sword from the hard floor, pushed open the door as quickly as possible for one his age, and ran away as quickly as his short legs would carry him.
********
Boromir climbed step after step, ascending ever higher above the city of Minas Tirith. The punishment of his father still burned in his memory, and he attempted in vain to escape the frustration that flowed through his veins. He could not leave the last gate; for if he did, he would receive a penalty far worse than that which now lay upon him. Yet, Boromir felt a great desire to escape, to be free from the confines of the city walls where he had spent all but a few hours of his existence. Thus, his destination lay at the very peak of the most majestic place within his designated boundary; the great Tower of Ecthelion.
At very last, he reached the top of the glittering pinnacle. The silver and white stone shone around him, and the tranquillity at the tower's peak seemed comforting to the boy. He lay down for a moment, catching his breath after the somewhat strenuous climb, and wiped his arm across his face. His eyes were slightly red, though no traces of tears could be found anymore.
Eventually, Boromir stood up, and slowly walked towards the tower's edge. Here, he glanced down upon the white city of Minas Tirith, and the lands of Gondor beyond.
The boy was in complete awe. There was a spectacular view from the tower. Here, one felt as though they were a part of the sky, close to the sun's comforting warmth. Boromir's unhappiness slowly drained away. His eyes were shining as he gazed down upon the land. For a brief moment, he imagined what he must look like; a lone figure, on top of a glittering tower of light, like a King gazing down upon his glorious country.
For nearly an hour, Boromir simply stood atop the tower, taking in the sights below, and allowing all worries to leave his mind. Here, he did not have to think about his brother Faramir, the wrath of his father Denethor, the misery of his punishment, the confines of the city. Here at last, for a brief while, he felt completely at ease.
Only when the sun began to set did Boromir slowly venture back down the tower steps, back to the world, to face the reality that awaited him.
