Thanks for the reviews, as usual. I will be gone for about 4 days, so I
won't be able to update until I return.
-KitKat: Thanks :) I like Denethor in this too -Saera: Yep, I am definitely writing some more. -AzNnEgGrOePnOi: I'll keep going. Sorry for the wait; after next chapter, I'll try to update more quickly. -Sammy: Poor Faramir, I agree. -Agador-of-the-Woods: Poor Boromir too! Sheesh, sometimes he lets his emotions rule his thinking... -A.Katz Omnipotent King: Thanks, and please update your parody story too! I'd love to read more. -Shlee Verde: Don't worry, Boromir and Faramir can't be separated from each other FOREVER.... and thanks for your review.
Now, before Lurtz shoots me with Uruk-hai arrows (*sniff* poor Boromir *sniff*), I shall continue the story...
___________________________________________________
As the days slowly crawled by, the psychical wound on Faramir's face began to heal; however, he seemed to grow more and more unhappy. He avoided Boromir at all costs, waking up in the morning before his brother, and, for the most part, managed to stay completely out of his sight. Faramir spent some time in his usual studies, but his heart was not in any of his work, and he passed long hours wandering aimlessly around the city streets alone.
On one of his trips through Minas Tirith, perhaps a week after being lost in the Pelannor, he was spotted by Beregond. "Hey, Faramir!" the older boy shouted from full a block away. "Where have you and Boromir been lately? The sun has risen and set many times since we last talked." He quickly ran over to greet him.
Faramir met his gaze, but remained silent. Normally, he would have been pleased to see the older boy, but lately, nothing seemed capable of bringing a smile to his downcast face.
Beregond was used to Faramir's usual silence, but he noted the difference in his expression. Glancing around, the older boy immediately saw that Faramir was alone.
"Where is Boromir?" he asked, puzzled. It was rare indeed for the brothers to be separated, for even if one was ill, the other usually remained with him, and they did not wander the city streets alone.
"He's in the tower," mumbled Faramir, scowling slightly. He was reluctant to divulge any further information.
"What happened to him? How come he's not here?" Beregond saw the unhappiness clearly upon Faramir's face, but he still pressed him with questions, for his curiosity had to be satisfied. The older boy saw that something was not normal.
"He's being punished."
"Why?"
"Because he displeased Father."
Beregond became slightly annoyed. He did not find Faramir's response to be satisfactory, after all, Boromir had to have done SOMETHING to "displease" Denethor, as the younger boy put it. Beregond decided that he must somehow be missing out on an interesting story; for he'd seen both brothers get in trouble under some very entertaining circumstances in the past.
"Aw, come on," Beregond implored. "What did Boromir do? Did he take the servants' undergarments and hang them from the top of the white tower? Did he break a priceless statue practicing archery inside the hall (for he has horrible aim, does he not)? Come on, tell me, or I shall challenge you to a sword fight!" The last comment was made as a jest, partly to cheer up the obviously unhappy Faramir, and partly to urge him to complete his story. Unfortunately, Faramir grew wide-eyed when he saw Beregond unsheath his sword and point it at Faramir's face.
Beregond lowered his weapon suddenly upon seeing the fear written across the other boy's face, though he misinterpreted the reason for his reaction. "Ah, an understanding has now reached me," Beregond laughed. "You and Boromir had a mock sword fight in which you recieved that cut upon your cheek. Now you are avoiding him in your shame! Come on, don't look so down about such a trivial matter! Why not simply challenge him to an archery competition later; you know he can't hold a candle to you!"
Faramir stared at the ground, stubbornly refusing to let fall the tears that had gathered in his eyes.
His friend, however, had keen eyes, and suddenly changed the tone in his voice upon noticing the smaller boy's pained expression. He realized that something must be seriously astray for Faramir to act in such a manner. Normally Denethor's younger son looked stern and bright eyed, but now he hardly seemed to notice the many details of the world around, lost amongst the darkness of depression.
"What's the matter?" Beregond asked quietly. He searched his mind for a possible explanation, attempting to discover what distressing event could possibly be the cause, and eventually settling on a thought. "Is something wrong with Boromir?"
Faramir sighed, almost inaudibly. "No, there's nothing wrong with him. He is being punnished, like I said."
Beregond heard the sigh, realizing that he had struck a nerve somewhere in the younger boy. "Are you sure nothing is wrong?" he continued/
Faramir bit his lip slightly, wondering if he could trust the other boy enough to share his feelings. Normally he would have spoken of such things only to Boromir, but now that he seemed set against him.... And Bergond was a decent person, after all.... He was much kinder than Mergil, or most of the other boys that hung around Minas Tirith....
The younger boy thought for a moment, eventually giving in to his emotions. He found that he could no longer wade around in his own unhappiness, in his own lonliness forever.
"Boromir isn't all right," Faramir mumbled. "He has a father whom he loves, but a brother he hates."
Beregond was startled. He'd been expecting to hear the story of some horrible illness or injury, and the bluntness of Faramir's comments caught him completely off his guard. "What do you mean?" he asked, puzzled. "Surely Boromir has no such feelings towards you, nor you towards him. What would ever occur to change that?"
Faramir finally ended up telling the other boy the story of their journey into the Pelannor, the buck, and the sudden rage of Boromir. At that point, he paused, gripping his bow in one hand, and dashing away tears from his eyes with the other. Beregond whistled softly.
"So that is why you have not been around lately. I understand now. But know this, Faramir, I have spoken with your brother many a time, and Boromir would never hate you under any circumstances. He was just acting very rashly, as is his way sometimes, and allowed his pride to overrule his judgements."
"But why did he act that way?" Faramir mumbled.
Beregond sighed. "He must have been so disappointed when the buck escaped, that he struck out against the closest person at hand." The older boy paused before continuing. "But you must eventually forgive him for this fault. A fault it was, indeed, but he surely cares about you more than any other person in Middle-Earth."
Though Faramir still felt sad, he seemed to sense the wisdom in the other boy's words. His gaze left the ground, and for the first time that week his eyes appeared hopeful. "Maybe you are right..." he said, thoughtfully.
Beregond laughed, pleased with his success at cheering up the other boy, and decided to take it a little further. "Of course I'm right," he stated in a mock-serious voice, mimicking the usual stern look that he'd seen Denethor wear. "I am the Steward, and my opinions are good ones."
Faramir gave a slight grin.
"Come on!" Beregond said, seizing the opportunity to leave Faramir's misery behind. "Let's go talk to the tower guards, and see if any interesting people have come to Minas Tirith lately. You don't really want to stay around here all day, now do you? I daresay you've come quite well aquainted with that piece of the road you've been staring at for awhile." He grabbed Faramir's cloak, and pulled him in the direction of the first city gate.
********
Boromir thought he could not possibly be more bored. He was stuck in the tower, with absolutely nothing to do, for his sword had been taken away, and there were few people willing to take a few minutes of leisure to speak with the boy.
"I wish there was something to do!" he groaned in his frustration. "Certainly I could go to my room and study, but how can I expect that to entertain me? It doesn't hold my interest for more than an hour at a time under normal circumstances! Why must I stay in here?"
Suddenly, he froze, remembering. "Alas!" he cried. "I am here because of cruel actions, and I suppose I am well-deserving of such a punishment. But how am I ever to apologize to Faramir? He refuses to go near me!"
Boromir paused, recalling the pained expression that seemed to dominate Faramir's face as of late. He fell to his knees in anguish. "I can't believe I was so rash! And so harsh! I nearly killed the spirit of my brother, my best friend..." His voice trailed off slightly. "How can I possibly make him understand that it was a mistake! I never intended such a hurt upon him!"
His grey eyes moved swiftly across the room, and fell upon a heavy, decorative staff sitting next to a wooden table. A faint idea occurred in his mind.
********
Faramir and Beregond spent several hours simply chatting with a few of the tower guards. Normally, the men would never have allowed such a distraction, but a few recognized the Steward's son, and sought to please him. They also knew that the danger of any attack was almost zero, for scouts had not reported any threats for miles around. Thus, Beregond and Faramir were entertained with various stories.
One of the men, called Retegor (who spoke with Denethor occasionally) told the boys about King of Rohan, who was currently visiting the Steward. "He came upon a great white horse," the man explained, "for the Men of Rohan are often called the horse-lords. He had several fine attendents with him, and some gifts for the Steward." Beregond and Faramir were fancinated as he started speaking about Rohan, and Faramir apparently forgot his previous unhappiness as he listened.
As Retegor completed his tale, one of the scouts from Gondor suddenly rode up. Unlike the Men of Rohan, those of Gondor were not quite as well- aquainted with horses, though they were used by scouts, and many who lived outside the city. The man who approached sat upon a sturdy looking bay creature, with a somewhat worn saddle. However, it was not the horse, but the item the scout carried that caught Faramir's attention.
The scout held in one hand a cloak, smaller than that of an adult, bearing a brooch with the white tree of Gondor engraved upon it. Faramir recognized it at once. "That's Boromir's," he said, puzzled. He did not know about the cloak Boromir had left upon the Pelannor.
Retegor took the cloak and examined it. "Indeed it is from the Steward's own household, and the size seems to match." He turned to the scout. "How did you come upon it?" he asked.
"It lay upon the grass," answered the man, still upon his horse. "Though I think it must have been purposely left there, abandoned so that one might find it. I think it did not merely drop off the shoulders of a tired boy. See, the brooch is still intact, and unscathed."
Retegor nodded. "Very well," he replied. "I shall have it taken to the Steward at once." He dismissed the scout, who rode away.
Faramir found himself presented with the cloak. "It is getting late, Lord Faramir," began Retegor, "and I daresay your father will soon begin to search for you. It would be wise of you to return home. Perhaps you could take this with you?" Faramir nodded. "Very well then. I shall see you again." With that, Retegor and the other guards returned to their duties, wating for the time when they would be relieved.
The two boys walked back towards there respective homes, Faramir carefully holding the cloak. The scouts' words replayed in his mind: "... so that one might find it." An understanding seemed to dawn upon his face.
Beregond noted it immediately. "You see, it is as I have said," he stated. "Boromir must have left it upon the Pelannor, knowing you might need protection from the cold. It was only a small chance that you might find it, and in fact you did not, but he was still thinking about you. Do you not now see that he does care about you, his brother?"
Faramir nodded. "You are right," he replied, his eyes finally losing the last traces of their previously haunted look. "I guess I do forgive him..."
********
Boromir was waiting in the his room, sitting upon his bed with the staff, when Faramir entered. For a moment, the younger boy hesitated, uncertain whether he should proceed, or simply turn around. However, Boromir's words caused him to pause.
"Faramir," the older boy began, "there is something I need to tell you, to relieve myself of the horrible burden that lays across my mind."
Faramir paused, noting the staff in his brother's hands. His eyes widened, and he backed away slightly.
"Wait," pleaded Boromir, in a tone of voice that had never been there before. "Let me finish!" Faramir stopped, and he continued. "I have caused great pain to you, and to me as well, by striking out with my sword. I am sorry to have been the reason for this, and for my actions, I have paid dearly. However, I feel that things cannot be right between us, unless we share such sufferings together. Here," he said, holding out the staff, "if you might use this staff against me, to deal me the same blow that I did towards you, at least I might understand how you had to feel." His eyes were downcast as he finished.
Faramir refuse the staff offered to him. "No," he said firmly. "I would not copy your actions just so you might suffer. But, know this: you are forgiven." He sobbed slightly as he motioned towards the cloak he now wore. Boromir's cloak. "Thank you for still caring, my brother."
-KitKat: Thanks :) I like Denethor in this too -Saera: Yep, I am definitely writing some more. -AzNnEgGrOePnOi: I'll keep going. Sorry for the wait; after next chapter, I'll try to update more quickly. -Sammy: Poor Faramir, I agree. -Agador-of-the-Woods: Poor Boromir too! Sheesh, sometimes he lets his emotions rule his thinking... -A.Katz Omnipotent King: Thanks, and please update your parody story too! I'd love to read more. -Shlee Verde: Don't worry, Boromir and Faramir can't be separated from each other FOREVER.... and thanks for your review.
Now, before Lurtz shoots me with Uruk-hai arrows (*sniff* poor Boromir *sniff*), I shall continue the story...
___________________________________________________
As the days slowly crawled by, the psychical wound on Faramir's face began to heal; however, he seemed to grow more and more unhappy. He avoided Boromir at all costs, waking up in the morning before his brother, and, for the most part, managed to stay completely out of his sight. Faramir spent some time in his usual studies, but his heart was not in any of his work, and he passed long hours wandering aimlessly around the city streets alone.
On one of his trips through Minas Tirith, perhaps a week after being lost in the Pelannor, he was spotted by Beregond. "Hey, Faramir!" the older boy shouted from full a block away. "Where have you and Boromir been lately? The sun has risen and set many times since we last talked." He quickly ran over to greet him.
Faramir met his gaze, but remained silent. Normally, he would have been pleased to see the older boy, but lately, nothing seemed capable of bringing a smile to his downcast face.
Beregond was used to Faramir's usual silence, but he noted the difference in his expression. Glancing around, the older boy immediately saw that Faramir was alone.
"Where is Boromir?" he asked, puzzled. It was rare indeed for the brothers to be separated, for even if one was ill, the other usually remained with him, and they did not wander the city streets alone.
"He's in the tower," mumbled Faramir, scowling slightly. He was reluctant to divulge any further information.
"What happened to him? How come he's not here?" Beregond saw the unhappiness clearly upon Faramir's face, but he still pressed him with questions, for his curiosity had to be satisfied. The older boy saw that something was not normal.
"He's being punished."
"Why?"
"Because he displeased Father."
Beregond became slightly annoyed. He did not find Faramir's response to be satisfactory, after all, Boromir had to have done SOMETHING to "displease" Denethor, as the younger boy put it. Beregond decided that he must somehow be missing out on an interesting story; for he'd seen both brothers get in trouble under some very entertaining circumstances in the past.
"Aw, come on," Beregond implored. "What did Boromir do? Did he take the servants' undergarments and hang them from the top of the white tower? Did he break a priceless statue practicing archery inside the hall (for he has horrible aim, does he not)? Come on, tell me, or I shall challenge you to a sword fight!" The last comment was made as a jest, partly to cheer up the obviously unhappy Faramir, and partly to urge him to complete his story. Unfortunately, Faramir grew wide-eyed when he saw Beregond unsheath his sword and point it at Faramir's face.
Beregond lowered his weapon suddenly upon seeing the fear written across the other boy's face, though he misinterpreted the reason for his reaction. "Ah, an understanding has now reached me," Beregond laughed. "You and Boromir had a mock sword fight in which you recieved that cut upon your cheek. Now you are avoiding him in your shame! Come on, don't look so down about such a trivial matter! Why not simply challenge him to an archery competition later; you know he can't hold a candle to you!"
Faramir stared at the ground, stubbornly refusing to let fall the tears that had gathered in his eyes.
His friend, however, had keen eyes, and suddenly changed the tone in his voice upon noticing the smaller boy's pained expression. He realized that something must be seriously astray for Faramir to act in such a manner. Normally Denethor's younger son looked stern and bright eyed, but now he hardly seemed to notice the many details of the world around, lost amongst the darkness of depression.
"What's the matter?" Beregond asked quietly. He searched his mind for a possible explanation, attempting to discover what distressing event could possibly be the cause, and eventually settling on a thought. "Is something wrong with Boromir?"
Faramir sighed, almost inaudibly. "No, there's nothing wrong with him. He is being punnished, like I said."
Beregond heard the sigh, realizing that he had struck a nerve somewhere in the younger boy. "Are you sure nothing is wrong?" he continued/
Faramir bit his lip slightly, wondering if he could trust the other boy enough to share his feelings. Normally he would have spoken of such things only to Boromir, but now that he seemed set against him.... And Bergond was a decent person, after all.... He was much kinder than Mergil, or most of the other boys that hung around Minas Tirith....
The younger boy thought for a moment, eventually giving in to his emotions. He found that he could no longer wade around in his own unhappiness, in his own lonliness forever.
"Boromir isn't all right," Faramir mumbled. "He has a father whom he loves, but a brother he hates."
Beregond was startled. He'd been expecting to hear the story of some horrible illness or injury, and the bluntness of Faramir's comments caught him completely off his guard. "What do you mean?" he asked, puzzled. "Surely Boromir has no such feelings towards you, nor you towards him. What would ever occur to change that?"
Faramir finally ended up telling the other boy the story of their journey into the Pelannor, the buck, and the sudden rage of Boromir. At that point, he paused, gripping his bow in one hand, and dashing away tears from his eyes with the other. Beregond whistled softly.
"So that is why you have not been around lately. I understand now. But know this, Faramir, I have spoken with your brother many a time, and Boromir would never hate you under any circumstances. He was just acting very rashly, as is his way sometimes, and allowed his pride to overrule his judgements."
"But why did he act that way?" Faramir mumbled.
Beregond sighed. "He must have been so disappointed when the buck escaped, that he struck out against the closest person at hand." The older boy paused before continuing. "But you must eventually forgive him for this fault. A fault it was, indeed, but he surely cares about you more than any other person in Middle-Earth."
Though Faramir still felt sad, he seemed to sense the wisdom in the other boy's words. His gaze left the ground, and for the first time that week his eyes appeared hopeful. "Maybe you are right..." he said, thoughtfully.
Beregond laughed, pleased with his success at cheering up the other boy, and decided to take it a little further. "Of course I'm right," he stated in a mock-serious voice, mimicking the usual stern look that he'd seen Denethor wear. "I am the Steward, and my opinions are good ones."
Faramir gave a slight grin.
"Come on!" Beregond said, seizing the opportunity to leave Faramir's misery behind. "Let's go talk to the tower guards, and see if any interesting people have come to Minas Tirith lately. You don't really want to stay around here all day, now do you? I daresay you've come quite well aquainted with that piece of the road you've been staring at for awhile." He grabbed Faramir's cloak, and pulled him in the direction of the first city gate.
********
Boromir thought he could not possibly be more bored. He was stuck in the tower, with absolutely nothing to do, for his sword had been taken away, and there were few people willing to take a few minutes of leisure to speak with the boy.
"I wish there was something to do!" he groaned in his frustration. "Certainly I could go to my room and study, but how can I expect that to entertain me? It doesn't hold my interest for more than an hour at a time under normal circumstances! Why must I stay in here?"
Suddenly, he froze, remembering. "Alas!" he cried. "I am here because of cruel actions, and I suppose I am well-deserving of such a punishment. But how am I ever to apologize to Faramir? He refuses to go near me!"
Boromir paused, recalling the pained expression that seemed to dominate Faramir's face as of late. He fell to his knees in anguish. "I can't believe I was so rash! And so harsh! I nearly killed the spirit of my brother, my best friend..." His voice trailed off slightly. "How can I possibly make him understand that it was a mistake! I never intended such a hurt upon him!"
His grey eyes moved swiftly across the room, and fell upon a heavy, decorative staff sitting next to a wooden table. A faint idea occurred in his mind.
********
Faramir and Beregond spent several hours simply chatting with a few of the tower guards. Normally, the men would never have allowed such a distraction, but a few recognized the Steward's son, and sought to please him. They also knew that the danger of any attack was almost zero, for scouts had not reported any threats for miles around. Thus, Beregond and Faramir were entertained with various stories.
One of the men, called Retegor (who spoke with Denethor occasionally) told the boys about King of Rohan, who was currently visiting the Steward. "He came upon a great white horse," the man explained, "for the Men of Rohan are often called the horse-lords. He had several fine attendents with him, and some gifts for the Steward." Beregond and Faramir were fancinated as he started speaking about Rohan, and Faramir apparently forgot his previous unhappiness as he listened.
As Retegor completed his tale, one of the scouts from Gondor suddenly rode up. Unlike the Men of Rohan, those of Gondor were not quite as well- aquainted with horses, though they were used by scouts, and many who lived outside the city. The man who approached sat upon a sturdy looking bay creature, with a somewhat worn saddle. However, it was not the horse, but the item the scout carried that caught Faramir's attention.
The scout held in one hand a cloak, smaller than that of an adult, bearing a brooch with the white tree of Gondor engraved upon it. Faramir recognized it at once. "That's Boromir's," he said, puzzled. He did not know about the cloak Boromir had left upon the Pelannor.
Retegor took the cloak and examined it. "Indeed it is from the Steward's own household, and the size seems to match." He turned to the scout. "How did you come upon it?" he asked.
"It lay upon the grass," answered the man, still upon his horse. "Though I think it must have been purposely left there, abandoned so that one might find it. I think it did not merely drop off the shoulders of a tired boy. See, the brooch is still intact, and unscathed."
Retegor nodded. "Very well," he replied. "I shall have it taken to the Steward at once." He dismissed the scout, who rode away.
Faramir found himself presented with the cloak. "It is getting late, Lord Faramir," began Retegor, "and I daresay your father will soon begin to search for you. It would be wise of you to return home. Perhaps you could take this with you?" Faramir nodded. "Very well then. I shall see you again." With that, Retegor and the other guards returned to their duties, wating for the time when they would be relieved.
The two boys walked back towards there respective homes, Faramir carefully holding the cloak. The scouts' words replayed in his mind: "... so that one might find it." An understanding seemed to dawn upon his face.
Beregond noted it immediately. "You see, it is as I have said," he stated. "Boromir must have left it upon the Pelannor, knowing you might need protection from the cold. It was only a small chance that you might find it, and in fact you did not, but he was still thinking about you. Do you not now see that he does care about you, his brother?"
Faramir nodded. "You are right," he replied, his eyes finally losing the last traces of their previously haunted look. "I guess I do forgive him..."
********
Boromir was waiting in the his room, sitting upon his bed with the staff, when Faramir entered. For a moment, the younger boy hesitated, uncertain whether he should proceed, or simply turn around. However, Boromir's words caused him to pause.
"Faramir," the older boy began, "there is something I need to tell you, to relieve myself of the horrible burden that lays across my mind."
Faramir paused, noting the staff in his brother's hands. His eyes widened, and he backed away slightly.
"Wait," pleaded Boromir, in a tone of voice that had never been there before. "Let me finish!" Faramir stopped, and he continued. "I have caused great pain to you, and to me as well, by striking out with my sword. I am sorry to have been the reason for this, and for my actions, I have paid dearly. However, I feel that things cannot be right between us, unless we share such sufferings together. Here," he said, holding out the staff, "if you might use this staff against me, to deal me the same blow that I did towards you, at least I might understand how you had to feel." His eyes were downcast as he finished.
Faramir refuse the staff offered to him. "No," he said firmly. "I would not copy your actions just so you might suffer. But, know this: you are forgiven." He sobbed slightly as he motioned towards the cloak he now wore. Boromir's cloak. "Thank you for still caring, my brother."
