First off, I want to say thanks for all the reviews. They totally encourage me to update as often as possible. Yes, I do plan on continuing this story for awhile.

Also, I originally decided to write the story for 3 main reasons:

1. I read the Fellowship of the Ring a little while ago, and gained a lot of respect for Boromir. He is key in saving members of the fellowship several times, and his intentions are generally noble. Boromir also began to remind me of Brutus from "Julius Caesar".

2. (And Little Loki Puk totally got this too) Even though Boromir and Faramir are never seen together in the books, their relationship is key in the story. I wanted to show this.

3. Finally, I stumbled upon this site one day, and decided to write a story.


Notes: Technically, Boromir/Faramir's mother is still alive at this point, but since she is not of importance to LOTR, I have left her out. Also, I am pretty sure no age is specified for Beregond, so I am making him around the same age as Boromir.

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For many months, things passed rather uneventfully for Boromir and Faramir. The elder's period of confinement soon came and went, and both boys spent their days playing, studying, and, in Boromir's case, practicing sword fighting. Faramir occasionally woke up in the dead of night, yelling and mumbling words about an eye, but all attributed his dreams to the night terrors that seemed to strike children of his age.

Eventually, Boromir reached the age of ten. Though birthdays, even those of the Steward's sons, were usually of little importance to most residents of Gondor (they had enough things to think about already), Denethor arrived at his elder son's room early in the morning. With a slight shake, he roused Boromir, who yawned and rubbed his eyes. Faramir, who slept in a bed nearby, did not even stir.

"What are you doing up so early, father?" asked Boromir, as he blinked the sleep from his eyes. He listened for a moment to the world outside his window, and then added, "We're not under attack, are we?"

His father chuckled. "No, my son," answered Denethor. "But," he gestured towards the door, "if you follow me, I have something that may be of interest to you." He turned and slowly walked out of the room, then waited for the boy to join him.

Boromir followed his father, slightly puzzled. However, his confusion left him suddenly as he entered the hall, and his gray eyes lit up when he saw something in Denethor's hands. It was a small metal sword, with a gleaming hilt. A "real" sword, as Boromir would call it, not the little wooden thing he was forced to carry around.

Denethor chuckled again as he saw the eager look on his son's face. "Yes Boromir," he began, "this is for you. As of late, you have been very dedicated to your swordsmanship practice, and I thought it was about time you got an upgraded weapon. The blade is somewhat dull, mind you, but it is still an excellent sword for someone of your age, and the future Steward!" He carefully held the sword towards his son, hilt first, and Boromir slowly grasped it. Though the boy tried to hide his pride, it spilled across his face, and soon he was grinning widely.

It then occurred to Boromir that he'd completely abandoned a few rules of courtesy. "Thank you father!" he cried, smiling. "I will take good care of this new weapon, and prove to you that I am worthy enough to own it!" He began to bow slightly, but his father stopped him.

"I know you will make me proud, my son," commented Denethor. "And now, on this day I give you leave to wander the city as you please. It's time for the son of the Steward to explore his realm, but DO NOT go beyond the walls." This last order was a little stern, but Boromir was so pleased with his new sword that he had no desire to disobey his father and have it taken away.

"I won't, father," promised Boromir. With both words and eyes he spoke the truth, and satisfied, Denethor left him. The boy was left standing outside his room, admiring the sword he had longed to own for many months.


********

Several hours later, after the morning meal, Boromir and Faramir wandered happily around the city. Boromir used every opportunity to wave his sword and strike out at imaginary foes, though he took care not to do anything foolish. It would be horrible to slice some innocent person on his first day of owning a real weapon, and he had no desire for an angry Denethor to relieve him of his gift.

At one point during their wanderings, Boromir and Faramir were spotted by another boy. "Aye! Boromir!" shouted the boy, called Beregond, as he ran towards them. They stopped and turned around as he raced up; then the newcomer suddenly saw the object in the elder brother's hand. "Wow!" exclaimed Beregond, his eyes shining in amazement, "when did you become the owner of such a fine sword?" He absentmindedly removed his grasp from the small wooden one sheathed in his belt.

"Father gave it to me, just this morning," answered Boromir proudly. "Care to have a short duel?" Beregond sighed slightly in envy, then slowly pulled out his wooden weapon.

"All right," replied Beregond. "But I don't know if my sword can stand up to yours."

The two boys had a mock battle, as Faramir looked on. The match was fairly uneven, for it was true that the wooden weapon could do little against one of metal. Presently, both boys decided to call it a draw, though Boromir carried a look of pride and superiority on his face for a while afterwards. He was thrilled that he now possessed such a symbol of power! The other boys of his age would be fiercely jealous.

Boromir and Beregond wandered around Minas Tirith together, as Faramir tagged along behind. They took the time to show off Boromir's new sword to any young boy who would stand still long enough to look. Boromir was pleased with the various reactions. Some would stop and gape in awe; others asked for a chance to try out the weapon, simply for a moment. The Steward's son obliged, but he stood nearby whenever the sword passed out of his grasp, and the others were careful not to mar the blade in any way.

Beregond was happy to be in the company of the one boy who owned such a fine weapon, yet he felt a slight twinge of jealousy every time he felt his own wooden blade, still attached to his belt. By the time Boromir was finally satisfied that all had viewed his new sword (they had visited many parts of Minas Tirith), Beregond felt that his pride had been somewhat insulted. "I'm as good a swordsman as he, but my weapon isn't of the same quality," he thought to himself. He also felt ashamed that he'd been forced to ask Boromir for a draw in their earlier mock battle. "It's not my fault; we weren't evenly matched. But I wish Boromir didn't keep that superior look pasted on his face. You'd think he was the new King!"

A small thought occurred to Beregond around this time. The three boys were approaching a wide courtyard, just past the third city gate, and he spotted a well up ahead. Beregond realized that, although he could not best his friend in a sword fight, he might best him in something else ere the day was through. "Aye, Boromir," he began.

Boromir halted, nearly causing his younger brother to crash into him. Then he turned towards Beregond. "What?" he asked. Boromir noticed the slight competitive glint in his friend's eyes, and smirked. "Are you planning another sword fight?" he teased.

"Of course not," answered Beregond. "I don't stand a chance against such a fine sword as yours. But, perhaps it is the weapon, and not the person behind it that makes you strong."

Boromir could tell that Beregond was setting him up, but he stepped into the trap anyways, eager to hear what challenge might be presented towards him. "What do you suggest, Beregond? I'm as good at anything else as I am using my sword."

"So, you would agree to a small challenge?"

"Aye."

"Alright then, I'll climb into that well over there," Beregond pointed, "lower myself, and touch the water at the bottom with my hand. You just try to follow me afterwards."

Boromir laughed. "That's easy enough, so I accept your challenge. Lead the way!"

Beregond ran over to the well, followed by Boromir and Faramir. All three boys looked around to see if anyone was watching. There were people in the vicinity, although no one paid much attention. After all, it was not uncommon for the children in the area to be sent to the well to draw water, though, of course they were not meant to climb inside. Then, the boys gazed into the dark depths of the well.

Beregond whistled. "That's pretty far down," he admitted, his voice shaking ever so slightly.

Boromir laughed. "But if you keep your word, like any good Man of Gondor, you will perform your deed," he said, mimicking words he often heard from Denethor. Beregond looked a little indignant at the idea of not following through on his words. With a determined look on his face, he grabbed an end of a rope, attached to a bucket, and proceeded to tie it around himself. Then, he grasped the opposite end, after it made its way through a sort of pulley, and climbed on top of the well. No adults in the area appeared to notice.

Suddenly, Beregond took a deep breath, and, using a hand over hand motion, managed to lower himself down the well. Boromir peered into the black depths, but eventually lost sight of him. Faramir pulled himself onto the well, so he could see, and cupped a hand around one ear to listen.

"He went down very far," Faramir said suddenly, pointing. Boromir glanced at him, slightly surprised, for he had said very little all day. "I hear him. He says he is almost at the bottom." He listened again. "There's splashing noise. He touched the water." Both boys saw the rope stop moving.

Boromir heard it too. "I guess he'll be coming up again soon. Then it's my turn." The rope began creaking along the pulley, this time in the opposite direction.

In a few minutes, a panting Beregond emerged from the depths. Boromir helped pull him out of the well, quickly, in hopes that no adults would notice. He realized that Beregond's hands were indeed wet from the cold well water far below. The other boy saw the surprise in his face, and grinned.

"See," said Beregond, as he freed himself from the rope. "I did as I said. Now, the question is, will you?"

"Aye!" Boromir grabbed the rope from the other's hands, and tied it securely around himself. "I'm not a coward; you'll see."

"So I will," replied Beregond.

Boromir climbed on top of the well, and, grasping the rope's opposite end, prepared to lower himself. However, a small voice suddenly piped up, and a hand grabbed him. He turned, and his gaze fell upon Faramir.

"Don't go," pleaded his younger brother. "You're no coward! You don't have to prove it." His gray eyes were boring into Boromir's.

Beregond scoffed. "Come on, Faramir," he exclaimed, pulling him away. "He's not going anywhere, anyways. He doesn't have the courage to do what I did." Beregond held onto the smaller boy, but his eyes were upon Boromir.

Boromir sighed to himself, and nearly leaped into the well, for he feared his courage would fail him if he went to slowly. As he disappeared down into the black depths, Faramir used one of his small feet to aim a kick at Beregond, then wrenched himself free and ran back to the well. Beregond rubbed his shin where the blow fell, but soon went over to the other boy, and scanned the interior of the well, looking for Boromir.



********

Boromir lowered himself rather quickly down the shaft. He heard a plaintive voice call his name several times from above, but it soon faded away. The boy focused all his energy on simply going to the water level, then making it back up. He shook a little in fear, but managed not to give in to the feelings of complete terror running around his head. A little deep breathing helped.

Presently, Boromir reached the water. He carefully held himself in place by wrapping his feet around the rope, then leaned forward. "I simply have to touch the water," he murmured. "Just a little bit farther....."

When his hands touched the cool wetness at the bottom of the well, he drew back slightly. "Wow!" he exclaimed. "That's cold! I guess I forgot how cool the water is that I drink each day with my meals." He made sure his hands were thoroughly wet, so he could prove to Beregond that he had indeed climbed all the way down. Then, he began pulling himself upwards. It was much more difficult than going down, and several times he stopped to rest.

On one such occasion, Boromir relaxed for a moment, panting. He could see the light up ahead at the top, not too much farther above him. "I'm almost there," he thought. "Now I'll show Beregond..."

Suddenly, a loud snapping noise echoed up and down the well shaft. The rope tied around Boromir, which, unknowns to him had slowly been fraying, finally snapped under the boy's weight. He gave a short cry, then found himself plunging downward, straight into the cold water below.


********


Beregond and Faramir saw the rope snap. The former lunged forward to grab it as it fell, but missed. He slid along the top of the well, and would have fallen in himself had not Faramir hung onto his arm tightly. Beregond righted himself, with a look of panic spread across his face. Before he could speak, however, the other cried out.

"Boromir! Boromir!"