Notes: I am updating whenever I can! But I have a lot of stuff going on
right now, and sometimes it is very difficult.
*Still pondering idea of Aragorn cameo....
*Denethor is not shown as evil in this story, because I don't see him as being evil (especially while Faramir is younger). I think in the book LOTR he resents the fact that his younger son would rather look to Gandalf (Mithrandir) for advice instead of himself, and he is stricken with grief enough that he sometimes takes it out on Faramir. But, I agree with Gandalf in ROTK: Denethor does love Faramir, and he "will remember it ere the end."
Now, back to our story....
___________________________________________________________
Boromir was standing at the top of the white tower, attempting to peer through the suffocating darkness, when he suddenly saw a small orange light moving towards the first gate. He could not see the figure that carried it, but he realized one of the men sent out to find Faramir had either accomplished the goal, or else..... He shut any other possible thoughts out of his mind. Of course they must have found him. They must.
The boy knew it might be awhile before the figure finally emerged through the seventh and final city gate, leading to the tower, but he hurtled towards the stairs leading to the ground. Boromir felt that he had to greet his brother when he arrived, to apologize. As he half-leapt down the steps, he began running possible apologies through his mind.
"Faramir," he began, muttering outloud to himself, "I'm very sorry I hit you. I shouldn't have done that...." Boromir cut himself off, realizing how true his words really were. What purpose did he have striking out at his brother, or anyone else for that matter, without reason? A few tears formed in his eyes, and he rubbed them quickly away, continuing his descent.
********
Denethor was shocked by the words his son had muttered. He had never seen brothers get along as well as Boromir and Faramir, yet Faramir claimed Boromir did not love him? The Steward's gray eyes narrowed slightly as he glanced at his younger son, then hardened.
In his relief of finding his son, he had not paid much attention to the cut across his face. Now, the words of Boromir went through his mind: "I struck him." Denethor stopped momentarily to get a better look at Faramir's face.
His youngest son had a deep gash that ran down his cheek. Dried blood was caked on the side of his face, and the cut still bled a little. Denethor realized this must have been the work of Boromir, but he could not imagine his elder son striking out against his brother in such a way. No wonder Faramir seemed so ill at ease. The Steward decided to deal with the wound back at the tower, for Faramir was shaking slightly, and needed to be taken somewhere warmer.
Denethor turned towards the city gate, carrying Faramir in his arms, and slowly walked back to the city. He never made a response to his younger son's previous statement about Boromir, for he knew not how to answer.
Upon reaching the gate, the Steward had the guards light one of the great beacons, allowing the bright orange light to summoned his men back to Minas Tirith. He instructed the guards to inform the searchers that Faramir had been found, and then took his son back to the white tower at the tip of the city.
********
Boromir was standing quietly next to the seventh gate when Denethor emerged, carrying Faramir. He wanted to run forward, to be certain that his brother truly was all right, but the steely glance he received from the Steward rooted him to the spot. He could only watch as Denethor walked quickly past, his voice unable to emerge.
Suddenly, his feet began to move again, almost automatically. Boromir dragged himself after his father and brother, slipping into the great hall a little ways behind them. He saw Denethor carry Faramir into the room the boys shared, and followed him until he stood directly outside the door. The boy could not bring himself to go any further.
Inside the room, Denethor set his younger son on his bed, and spoke to him, a soft tone in his normally firm voice. "You are alright now, Faramir," the Steward said quietly. He removed Faramir's cloak, and wrapped him in a blanket. "Doubtless your slight.....adventure was a bit unnerving, but now you are back in your own home."
Faramir still shook slightly, though he was no longer cold. The previous anger of his brother still hung heavily on his mind.
Denethor noticed this immediately, yet he was unsure if mentioning Boromir would ease Faramir's mind, or simply serve to heighten his unhappiness. He decided to remain silent about the matter, at least for now, and turned his thoughts towards treating the psychical wound present on his son's face. The Steward walked over to the doorway, and, at the moment ignoring Boromir, he called for a healer to bring him some herbs, warm water, and clothes. Then, upon receiving these items, he returned to where Faramir was sitting upon his bed.
"Now we are going to take care of the scratch on your face," murmured Denethor, taking one of the herbs and mixing it in some water. He soaked a small piece of cloth in the mixture. "This will only sting a little bit." The Steward gently touched the cloth to the cut.
Faramir squirmed as the herb mixture entered the gash across his face. The painful sting seemed to spread throughout his body, and he suddenly cried out.
Denethor grabbed his son's shoulder firmly, though not roughly, in an effort to make him hold still. "I am sorry if it hurts, Faramir, but it has to be cleaned. You don't want it to be infected."
Faramir still squirmed slightly, but, realizing the truth in Denethor's words, did not cry out again. Within a few moments, the dried blood had been removed from his face, and the gash no longer felt quite so painful.
The Steward studied the cut for a moment, silently. It would heal eventually, he realized, probably without infection. However, it angered him when he saw that the size and depth of the wound. It had not been dealt simply by a fist, like the occasional, usually harmless blows exchanged by a couple of boys during a small skirmish. It had been cruelly dispensed by a much heavier object. Denethor found it difficult to disguise his fury at the idea of Boromir, whom he normally thought quite highly of, sinking to the disgusting level of hitting a completely innocent person.
Suddenly, he realized that Faramir was staring at him wide eyed. "Are you angry with me, Daddy?" he inquired, nervously, detecting the turmoil in the Steward's thoughts.
Denethor silently admonished himself for frightening his son. "Of course not," he murmured, attempting to keep his voice calm and comforting. He carefully returned to his task of caring for Faramir, and slowly bandaged his face. Then, he tucked Faramir into his bed, telling him that he needed to rest a little, and quietly left the room, shutting the door behind him.
Only now did the Steward turn his gaze upon Boromir, who still stood next to the door, rooted in place. Denethor's icy glare seemed to pierce the boy's heart, and he shivered involuntarily despite himself.
"I must go speak with King Theoden, my guest." Denethor began. "But I shall be back momentarily. You will go to the vacant room adjacent to the kitchen, and wait for me there. Understand?" His voice was harsh.
Boromir nodded mutely, as Denethor strode past him.
********
No more than ten minutes passed before the Steward entered the vacant room he had described. Boromir, who had temporarily sat upon a chair inside, sprang to his feet as his father entered. Faramir's bow, which he had unconsciously been holding, suddenly clattered to the stone floor, but the boy could not bring himself to pick it up.
Denethor closed the strong wooden door behind him before turning towards his son. "I want to know everything that happened today outside," he demanded in a hard voice. "Begin at the point where you left the great gate bordering on the plains."
Boromir opened his mouth to speak, but for a moment, he said nothing. Then, he slowly, haltingly began to describe the days events. It wasn't that difficult simply speaking about the hunt the brothers had engaged in before lunch. However, when he got to the part about the fine buck they'd spotted in the golden grass, he stopped, unable to continue.
The Steward spoke. "So, you saw a buck," he prompted. "That is not too unusual. Yet, I can see you desire to avoid speaking of the events after that. This wish shall not be granted, and you are to continue!"
The elder son looked at the ground. He described the scene in which he and Faramir had been arguing about the bow, growing red with shame. However, he attempted to leave out the part in which he had struck Faramir with the hilt of his sword, saying instead that his younger brother had simply run away.
Denethor's eyes narrowed, and his voice grew angry. "So, you say you simply took your brother's bow, which in itself is a disgusting deed. Yet, upon greeting me earlier, you stated that you had hit Faramir. Or do you now deny it? Will you say that a wayward blade of grass gave your brother the wound he now bears? Speak truthfully, for you know men of Gondor are not easily mislead!"
"I....I...I.....I grew angry, Father, and I....hit him," Boromir mumbled, almost inaudibly, staring at the floor.
"With what means? Surely your fist would leave a bruise, but not a deep gash."
"I....I....I grabbed my sword, and struck him with the hilt."
Denethor's suspicion had been confirmed, and though his anger grew with the words, he replied with a dangerously calm voice. "It is as I believed. And now I have for you one last question; one that you are to think about as you spend the next month confined to the tower. Why would the future steward EVER purposely injure an innocent person? Surely you do not view yourself to be akin to the cruel men of Harad, yet you act exactly like one. Normally, you are an admirable son, one that any father might dream about, but at this moment I am ashamed to claim any tie to you." He paused, then continued. "You will stay in this room for the night, with only the clothes you now wear for bedding, for indeed you nearly allowed Faramir that exact fate today! Do not leave ere I give you permission."
With that, Denethor picked up the bow that lay upon the stone floor, and relieved Boromir of his sword. Then, he left the room, closing the door firmly behind him. His elder son was left alone in the room.
********
The night passed slowly for both brothers, for Faramir had nightmares of an evil figure, disguised as his brother, chasing him throughout an endless field of grass. In another room, Boromir lay upon the uncomfortable stone floor, seeing haunting visions of unhappiness on the face of his younger brother. He thought he might never be able to sleep again.
Eventually, an orange dawn broke over the city of Minas Tirith. Boromir stood at a small window, yawning and staring outside. The stunning view came close to matching that from the tip of the tower, yet it did nothing to ease the boy's mirthless heart. He mourned his actions from the previous day, and felt torment in his heart, for he had not yet had any chance to apologize.
Suddenly, the door swung open, and Boromir started. He expected to see the angry face of his father again, but it was only a servant bearing fresh clothes who greeted him. "The Lord Denethor expects you now at the breakfast table," he stated calmly. "You are to put on these clean garments," he gestured to the clothes, "and join him." With that, the servant smoothly lay down the outfit, and swiftly exited.
Boromir quickly dressed. He did not see his cloak among the items, and realized that it probably still lay somewhere in the Pelennor. "And it did not even serve any useful purpose," he sighed.
Soon, he straighten himself up, and leaving the small room behind, he walked to the kitchen.
********
A cold feeling filled Boromir when he saw those seated at the table. In fine chairs carefully set before plates laden with foods, Denethor and the King of Rohan were seated. Nearby, sat Faramir, but it was not the Faramir whom Boromir knew so well.
The bandage across one side of his face was certainly not normal, and, in his head, Boromir cursed himself silently for his actions. However, after taking a second glance at his younger brother, he realized why he looked so different.
Faramir's normally bright, thoughtful eyes now appeared dull and grim. His face was paler than usual, and he seemed to be mechanically eating the food set forth in front of him. When Boromir sat down in his usual seat nearby, he saw Faramir flinch.
"He's afraid of me now," Boromir thought to himself, shocked. "And all over a stupid bow! What have I done?"
*Still pondering idea of Aragorn cameo....
*Denethor is not shown as evil in this story, because I don't see him as being evil (especially while Faramir is younger). I think in the book LOTR he resents the fact that his younger son would rather look to Gandalf (Mithrandir) for advice instead of himself, and he is stricken with grief enough that he sometimes takes it out on Faramir. But, I agree with Gandalf in ROTK: Denethor does love Faramir, and he "will remember it ere the end."
Now, back to our story....
___________________________________________________________
Boromir was standing at the top of the white tower, attempting to peer through the suffocating darkness, when he suddenly saw a small orange light moving towards the first gate. He could not see the figure that carried it, but he realized one of the men sent out to find Faramir had either accomplished the goal, or else..... He shut any other possible thoughts out of his mind. Of course they must have found him. They must.
The boy knew it might be awhile before the figure finally emerged through the seventh and final city gate, leading to the tower, but he hurtled towards the stairs leading to the ground. Boromir felt that he had to greet his brother when he arrived, to apologize. As he half-leapt down the steps, he began running possible apologies through his mind.
"Faramir," he began, muttering outloud to himself, "I'm very sorry I hit you. I shouldn't have done that...." Boromir cut himself off, realizing how true his words really were. What purpose did he have striking out at his brother, or anyone else for that matter, without reason? A few tears formed in his eyes, and he rubbed them quickly away, continuing his descent.
********
Denethor was shocked by the words his son had muttered. He had never seen brothers get along as well as Boromir and Faramir, yet Faramir claimed Boromir did not love him? The Steward's gray eyes narrowed slightly as he glanced at his younger son, then hardened.
In his relief of finding his son, he had not paid much attention to the cut across his face. Now, the words of Boromir went through his mind: "I struck him." Denethor stopped momentarily to get a better look at Faramir's face.
His youngest son had a deep gash that ran down his cheek. Dried blood was caked on the side of his face, and the cut still bled a little. Denethor realized this must have been the work of Boromir, but he could not imagine his elder son striking out against his brother in such a way. No wonder Faramir seemed so ill at ease. The Steward decided to deal with the wound back at the tower, for Faramir was shaking slightly, and needed to be taken somewhere warmer.
Denethor turned towards the city gate, carrying Faramir in his arms, and slowly walked back to the city. He never made a response to his younger son's previous statement about Boromir, for he knew not how to answer.
Upon reaching the gate, the Steward had the guards light one of the great beacons, allowing the bright orange light to summoned his men back to Minas Tirith. He instructed the guards to inform the searchers that Faramir had been found, and then took his son back to the white tower at the tip of the city.
********
Boromir was standing quietly next to the seventh gate when Denethor emerged, carrying Faramir. He wanted to run forward, to be certain that his brother truly was all right, but the steely glance he received from the Steward rooted him to the spot. He could only watch as Denethor walked quickly past, his voice unable to emerge.
Suddenly, his feet began to move again, almost automatically. Boromir dragged himself after his father and brother, slipping into the great hall a little ways behind them. He saw Denethor carry Faramir into the room the boys shared, and followed him until he stood directly outside the door. The boy could not bring himself to go any further.
Inside the room, Denethor set his younger son on his bed, and spoke to him, a soft tone in his normally firm voice. "You are alright now, Faramir," the Steward said quietly. He removed Faramir's cloak, and wrapped him in a blanket. "Doubtless your slight.....adventure was a bit unnerving, but now you are back in your own home."
Faramir still shook slightly, though he was no longer cold. The previous anger of his brother still hung heavily on his mind.
Denethor noticed this immediately, yet he was unsure if mentioning Boromir would ease Faramir's mind, or simply serve to heighten his unhappiness. He decided to remain silent about the matter, at least for now, and turned his thoughts towards treating the psychical wound present on his son's face. The Steward walked over to the doorway, and, at the moment ignoring Boromir, he called for a healer to bring him some herbs, warm water, and clothes. Then, upon receiving these items, he returned to where Faramir was sitting upon his bed.
"Now we are going to take care of the scratch on your face," murmured Denethor, taking one of the herbs and mixing it in some water. He soaked a small piece of cloth in the mixture. "This will only sting a little bit." The Steward gently touched the cloth to the cut.
Faramir squirmed as the herb mixture entered the gash across his face. The painful sting seemed to spread throughout his body, and he suddenly cried out.
Denethor grabbed his son's shoulder firmly, though not roughly, in an effort to make him hold still. "I am sorry if it hurts, Faramir, but it has to be cleaned. You don't want it to be infected."
Faramir still squirmed slightly, but, realizing the truth in Denethor's words, did not cry out again. Within a few moments, the dried blood had been removed from his face, and the gash no longer felt quite so painful.
The Steward studied the cut for a moment, silently. It would heal eventually, he realized, probably without infection. However, it angered him when he saw that the size and depth of the wound. It had not been dealt simply by a fist, like the occasional, usually harmless blows exchanged by a couple of boys during a small skirmish. It had been cruelly dispensed by a much heavier object. Denethor found it difficult to disguise his fury at the idea of Boromir, whom he normally thought quite highly of, sinking to the disgusting level of hitting a completely innocent person.
Suddenly, he realized that Faramir was staring at him wide eyed. "Are you angry with me, Daddy?" he inquired, nervously, detecting the turmoil in the Steward's thoughts.
Denethor silently admonished himself for frightening his son. "Of course not," he murmured, attempting to keep his voice calm and comforting. He carefully returned to his task of caring for Faramir, and slowly bandaged his face. Then, he tucked Faramir into his bed, telling him that he needed to rest a little, and quietly left the room, shutting the door behind him.
Only now did the Steward turn his gaze upon Boromir, who still stood next to the door, rooted in place. Denethor's icy glare seemed to pierce the boy's heart, and he shivered involuntarily despite himself.
"I must go speak with King Theoden, my guest." Denethor began. "But I shall be back momentarily. You will go to the vacant room adjacent to the kitchen, and wait for me there. Understand?" His voice was harsh.
Boromir nodded mutely, as Denethor strode past him.
********
No more than ten minutes passed before the Steward entered the vacant room he had described. Boromir, who had temporarily sat upon a chair inside, sprang to his feet as his father entered. Faramir's bow, which he had unconsciously been holding, suddenly clattered to the stone floor, but the boy could not bring himself to pick it up.
Denethor closed the strong wooden door behind him before turning towards his son. "I want to know everything that happened today outside," he demanded in a hard voice. "Begin at the point where you left the great gate bordering on the plains."
Boromir opened his mouth to speak, but for a moment, he said nothing. Then, he slowly, haltingly began to describe the days events. It wasn't that difficult simply speaking about the hunt the brothers had engaged in before lunch. However, when he got to the part about the fine buck they'd spotted in the golden grass, he stopped, unable to continue.
The Steward spoke. "So, you saw a buck," he prompted. "That is not too unusual. Yet, I can see you desire to avoid speaking of the events after that. This wish shall not be granted, and you are to continue!"
The elder son looked at the ground. He described the scene in which he and Faramir had been arguing about the bow, growing red with shame. However, he attempted to leave out the part in which he had struck Faramir with the hilt of his sword, saying instead that his younger brother had simply run away.
Denethor's eyes narrowed, and his voice grew angry. "So, you say you simply took your brother's bow, which in itself is a disgusting deed. Yet, upon greeting me earlier, you stated that you had hit Faramir. Or do you now deny it? Will you say that a wayward blade of grass gave your brother the wound he now bears? Speak truthfully, for you know men of Gondor are not easily mislead!"
"I....I...I.....I grew angry, Father, and I....hit him," Boromir mumbled, almost inaudibly, staring at the floor.
"With what means? Surely your fist would leave a bruise, but not a deep gash."
"I....I....I grabbed my sword, and struck him with the hilt."
Denethor's suspicion had been confirmed, and though his anger grew with the words, he replied with a dangerously calm voice. "It is as I believed. And now I have for you one last question; one that you are to think about as you spend the next month confined to the tower. Why would the future steward EVER purposely injure an innocent person? Surely you do not view yourself to be akin to the cruel men of Harad, yet you act exactly like one. Normally, you are an admirable son, one that any father might dream about, but at this moment I am ashamed to claim any tie to you." He paused, then continued. "You will stay in this room for the night, with only the clothes you now wear for bedding, for indeed you nearly allowed Faramir that exact fate today! Do not leave ere I give you permission."
With that, Denethor picked up the bow that lay upon the stone floor, and relieved Boromir of his sword. Then, he left the room, closing the door firmly behind him. His elder son was left alone in the room.
********
The night passed slowly for both brothers, for Faramir had nightmares of an evil figure, disguised as his brother, chasing him throughout an endless field of grass. In another room, Boromir lay upon the uncomfortable stone floor, seeing haunting visions of unhappiness on the face of his younger brother. He thought he might never be able to sleep again.
Eventually, an orange dawn broke over the city of Minas Tirith. Boromir stood at a small window, yawning and staring outside. The stunning view came close to matching that from the tip of the tower, yet it did nothing to ease the boy's mirthless heart. He mourned his actions from the previous day, and felt torment in his heart, for he had not yet had any chance to apologize.
Suddenly, the door swung open, and Boromir started. He expected to see the angry face of his father again, but it was only a servant bearing fresh clothes who greeted him. "The Lord Denethor expects you now at the breakfast table," he stated calmly. "You are to put on these clean garments," he gestured to the clothes, "and join him." With that, the servant smoothly lay down the outfit, and swiftly exited.
Boromir quickly dressed. He did not see his cloak among the items, and realized that it probably still lay somewhere in the Pelennor. "And it did not even serve any useful purpose," he sighed.
Soon, he straighten himself up, and leaving the small room behind, he walked to the kitchen.
********
A cold feeling filled Boromir when he saw those seated at the table. In fine chairs carefully set before plates laden with foods, Denethor and the King of Rohan were seated. Nearby, sat Faramir, but it was not the Faramir whom Boromir knew so well.
The bandage across one side of his face was certainly not normal, and, in his head, Boromir cursed himself silently for his actions. However, after taking a second glance at his younger brother, he realized why he looked so different.
Faramir's normally bright, thoughtful eyes now appeared dull and grim. His face was paler than usual, and he seemed to be mechanically eating the food set forth in front of him. When Boromir sat down in his usual seat nearby, he saw Faramir flinch.
"He's afraid of me now," Boromir thought to himself, shocked. "And all over a stupid bow! What have I done?"
