Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places
thereof
*****
/"Faramir?"
The boy moved quickly, gently stashing something in a queer box and shoving the box beneath his bed, all frantic yet certain movements. "Come in!" he called then, and Boromir entered, his face unreadably red. "My brother, what is it?" asked the younger boy, shutting the door behind Boromir.
"I--May I?" With Faramir's permission, Boromir half-sat, half-fell onto his little brother's bed. "Remember the scroll Father lent to me, which you borrow for a night? Yes? Well, Father seems to think it has been destroyed, and he blames me! I know not what I have done, Brother!" Though his tone held no accusation, Faramir felt guilty.
Faramir sank beside Boromir on the bed. "Oh, Brother. . ." he muttered, knowing, "I am so sorry."
"What?" Boromir asked in surprise. He gaze his fifteen-year-old brother a surprised look. Faramir had such a neat, tidy manner. . .how could he destroy anything?
"You remember the day I went to hunt a rabbit?"
"With your bare hands, yes. She got away from you, no harm or shame there."
Faramir's face twisted in a negative reply. "I could n't do it, Boromir. Please do not be angry. . .I am sorry." Blushing, he drew the box from beneath his bed and, unlatching the lid, removed a short plank of wood to reveal the rabbit, pink nose sniffing. She regarded Boromir with distrust.
"Oh, Brother. . ." Boromir smiled in a hopeless sort of way. He was touched by his brother's compassion and how dear his soul, domesticating the creature he set out to kill. Anyone but Faramir and Boromir would have scoffed, but with his brother Boromir asked, "May I pet her?"
"Go ahead," Faramir replied, nodding eagerly. "She loves attention. Se--I named her Courtesy."
"It certainly fits," Boromir commented, running one callused finger along the rabbit's back then proffering the digit to the creature. She sniffed and nibbled at him, and Boromir laughed. "She is sweet, Faramir. Well, this certainly explains many things! Only you, my brother, only you."
Faramir frowned. "Do you disapprove?"
Boromir looked at his brother and knew then that if he, Boromir, said to set the little rabbit free Faramir would do it, if he said to snap her neck Faramir would do it, and he, Faramir, would curse himself, not his brother, for the act. "No," Boromir answered. "Although I do not fully I understand, I approve."/
Seeing the others rise, Faramir realized he, too, might leave the room without repercussions: the moment he had been waiting for. Looking about, he saw that most of the others were speaking in small groups as they made their way to the door; Noblemen, thought the young steward, a group he never truly felt himself a part of.
The two Faramir had noticed earlier, whom he had been unable to identify, had approached King Elessar and thrown their arms around him in a double hug which looked as though it might strangle the king--'If he does not die of happiness,' the steward amended his thoughts, noticing the euphoric King. He thought of Boromir then, of his brother returning home. . .
/Faramir heard the hoofbeats in the courtyard but thought nothing of them, intent on the chessboard set before him. His father sat opposite him, watching, just waiting to judge ever move he made. There was one move, but the rook would be in immediate danger. . ..though, if his father fell into his trap, Faramir would gain a knight, the sneakiest player on the board. . .Deciding at last to risk it, he moved the rook to take his father's.
Denethor fixed his son with a disapproving glare, and Faramir startled. Surely the risk was worth the greater glory? "You would take my rook at the risk of losing your own?" asked the Steward in an angry voice. "Fool!" Faramir knew better than to protest. If his father had not seen the risk-- he did not! Denethor snatched up the rook like a greedy child, and moments later lost his knight to a pawn of Faramir's.
Looking to his father for praise, a timid smile on his face, Faramir was shocked to see anger. "No son destroys his father," Denethor hissed, and Faramir winced, expecting to be smacked or cuffed, but Denethor only waved his hand. "Out of my sight," he commanded.
"I'm sorry, Father," Faramir said quietly.
"Away!" Denethor shouted, and the boy scrambled to his feet. Tears prickled in Faramir's eyes, but he turned to the door and dared not allow his father to see.
But his tears turned to those of joy as the door opened at the moment Faramir's hand lit on the handle. "Faramir!" Boromir lifted the smaller boy into the air, then settled his brother on the ground once more and hugged him tightly. "Oh, it is so good to see you again, little brother!"
"And you, Boromir," Faramir replied, smiling. Long had Boromir been gone, and news of an attack on his party reached Minas Tirith before the party itself.
"Have you a report, my son?" asked Denethor.
"Father." Boromir condescendingly gave his brother a pat on the shoulder and loped across the room to embrace his father. Denethor smiled. Faramir turned away once more, feeling bitterly rejected. "Father, there is much to be said."
"Of course," Denethor replied. "Faramir, leave us."
"Yes, milord," Faramir muttered, hanging his head further. Perhaps Boromir saw his brother's plight, for he said, "Nay, Father, let Faramir stay! He has a quick mind for such matters, and 'twould be a shame to waste it."
"My son!" Denethor protested somewhat. "Faramir has a mind of mud and disloyalty."
Boromir did not protest because he was in no mood for an argument. Instead he tried another approach. "Come, Father, if not for his mind then for me. I have not seen my brother in months. Let him stay, he will keep his thoughts to himself."
Faramir stood in the doorway hearing this exchange, blinking back bitter tears.
"Let him stay then," Denethor consented.
"Brother, will you stay?" Boromir called. "For me, will you stay?"
Rubbing the sorrow from his face, Faramir forced a smile. "Of course, Brother. Of course I will stay for you." Faramir sat beside his brother, facing his father. As Denethor shuffled through a sheaf of paper, Boromir whispered, "Be alert, Brother, you are more than he will acknowledge."/
"Lord Faramir! Faramir, Prince of Ithilien, Steward of Gondor, wait a moment!"
Hearing his unaccustomed full title, Faramir halted. Surely he misjudged the voice, sure it could not be--
"You left so quickly I had not a moment to speak with you," King Elessar said, coming up beside his Steward.
"My apologies," Faramir replied absently. 'Those who rebel gain only new tyrants. Now I am lectured not by my father but a complete stranger. Woe to life.'
"Let's walk," the King said, noting the awkwardness of two men standing in a corridor discussing. He stepped forward and Faramir followed, so he continued on. "May I be so bold as to call you Faramir?"
"As you wish, my liege," Faramir replied. He was not one to contradict.
"Will you call me Elessar?"
This caught the steward's attention, and he looked up at the King in shock. He, the King, smiled. "There you are, then," he said. Off Faramir's bemused look, he answered, "You hide yourself always behind a sheaf of hair; it seems I must shock you to have a look at you."
"So please you, I have other duties to attend to," Faramir replied, knowing he was being somewhat rude but not caring.
"Forgive me, it seems I have offended you. I only wanted to talk with you." Awkwardly, Faramir listened, not sure if he ought to reply. At last King Elessar continued, "So, does it oft rain in Gondor? And are there snows in winter?"
"Please, sir, do not tease me," Faramir muttered, his eyes on the ground once more.
"My apologies again."
"And you tease me again!" Faramir was beginning to feel rather distressed. Why did this King apologize? It was not his place, it was far, far below his place! "Please!"
"Faramir, I do not mean to tease you nor to offend you. I came only to ask your more punctual appearance at court, and, since you so often take your meals in you rooms, to ask that you might join me at supper tonight." Elessar waited for a moment, watched Faramir shift uncomfortably, then before the Steward managed a word Elessar continued, "It would not be in the great hall or any large gathering, only myself and some close companions. If you would but come, Faramir, it would mean very much to me."
"I. . .oh, here, we are at the library, well, my work is here, I shall take my leave of you, farewell--" he turned to interrupt his nervous babble and was surprised to feel a hand on his arms. Elessar realized his mistake and drew back, but said, "Your word, Steward Faramir."
Seeing no way out of this engagement, Faramir gave his word, then slipped quickly into the library. Elessar stood in the corridor for a moment, wondering. This was not the Faramir he met in the war! Who was this shy, nervous boy? Where was Faramir?
*****
To be continued
I haven't the time to do individual responses right now, but thank you to all of my reviewers! By the by, does anyone know Faramir's eye color?
*****
/"Faramir?"
The boy moved quickly, gently stashing something in a queer box and shoving the box beneath his bed, all frantic yet certain movements. "Come in!" he called then, and Boromir entered, his face unreadably red. "My brother, what is it?" asked the younger boy, shutting the door behind Boromir.
"I--May I?" With Faramir's permission, Boromir half-sat, half-fell onto his little brother's bed. "Remember the scroll Father lent to me, which you borrow for a night? Yes? Well, Father seems to think it has been destroyed, and he blames me! I know not what I have done, Brother!" Though his tone held no accusation, Faramir felt guilty.
Faramir sank beside Boromir on the bed. "Oh, Brother. . ." he muttered, knowing, "I am so sorry."
"What?" Boromir asked in surprise. He gaze his fifteen-year-old brother a surprised look. Faramir had such a neat, tidy manner. . .how could he destroy anything?
"You remember the day I went to hunt a rabbit?"
"With your bare hands, yes. She got away from you, no harm or shame there."
Faramir's face twisted in a negative reply. "I could n't do it, Boromir. Please do not be angry. . .I am sorry." Blushing, he drew the box from beneath his bed and, unlatching the lid, removed a short plank of wood to reveal the rabbit, pink nose sniffing. She regarded Boromir with distrust.
"Oh, Brother. . ." Boromir smiled in a hopeless sort of way. He was touched by his brother's compassion and how dear his soul, domesticating the creature he set out to kill. Anyone but Faramir and Boromir would have scoffed, but with his brother Boromir asked, "May I pet her?"
"Go ahead," Faramir replied, nodding eagerly. "She loves attention. Se--I named her Courtesy."
"It certainly fits," Boromir commented, running one callused finger along the rabbit's back then proffering the digit to the creature. She sniffed and nibbled at him, and Boromir laughed. "She is sweet, Faramir. Well, this certainly explains many things! Only you, my brother, only you."
Faramir frowned. "Do you disapprove?"
Boromir looked at his brother and knew then that if he, Boromir, said to set the little rabbit free Faramir would do it, if he said to snap her neck Faramir would do it, and he, Faramir, would curse himself, not his brother, for the act. "No," Boromir answered. "Although I do not fully I understand, I approve."/
Seeing the others rise, Faramir realized he, too, might leave the room without repercussions: the moment he had been waiting for. Looking about, he saw that most of the others were speaking in small groups as they made their way to the door; Noblemen, thought the young steward, a group he never truly felt himself a part of.
The two Faramir had noticed earlier, whom he had been unable to identify, had approached King Elessar and thrown their arms around him in a double hug which looked as though it might strangle the king--'If he does not die of happiness,' the steward amended his thoughts, noticing the euphoric King. He thought of Boromir then, of his brother returning home. . .
/Faramir heard the hoofbeats in the courtyard but thought nothing of them, intent on the chessboard set before him. His father sat opposite him, watching, just waiting to judge ever move he made. There was one move, but the rook would be in immediate danger. . ..though, if his father fell into his trap, Faramir would gain a knight, the sneakiest player on the board. . .Deciding at last to risk it, he moved the rook to take his father's.
Denethor fixed his son with a disapproving glare, and Faramir startled. Surely the risk was worth the greater glory? "You would take my rook at the risk of losing your own?" asked the Steward in an angry voice. "Fool!" Faramir knew better than to protest. If his father had not seen the risk-- he did not! Denethor snatched up the rook like a greedy child, and moments later lost his knight to a pawn of Faramir's.
Looking to his father for praise, a timid smile on his face, Faramir was shocked to see anger. "No son destroys his father," Denethor hissed, and Faramir winced, expecting to be smacked or cuffed, but Denethor only waved his hand. "Out of my sight," he commanded.
"I'm sorry, Father," Faramir said quietly.
"Away!" Denethor shouted, and the boy scrambled to his feet. Tears prickled in Faramir's eyes, but he turned to the door and dared not allow his father to see.
But his tears turned to those of joy as the door opened at the moment Faramir's hand lit on the handle. "Faramir!" Boromir lifted the smaller boy into the air, then settled his brother on the ground once more and hugged him tightly. "Oh, it is so good to see you again, little brother!"
"And you, Boromir," Faramir replied, smiling. Long had Boromir been gone, and news of an attack on his party reached Minas Tirith before the party itself.
"Have you a report, my son?" asked Denethor.
"Father." Boromir condescendingly gave his brother a pat on the shoulder and loped across the room to embrace his father. Denethor smiled. Faramir turned away once more, feeling bitterly rejected. "Father, there is much to be said."
"Of course," Denethor replied. "Faramir, leave us."
"Yes, milord," Faramir muttered, hanging his head further. Perhaps Boromir saw his brother's plight, for he said, "Nay, Father, let Faramir stay! He has a quick mind for such matters, and 'twould be a shame to waste it."
"My son!" Denethor protested somewhat. "Faramir has a mind of mud and disloyalty."
Boromir did not protest because he was in no mood for an argument. Instead he tried another approach. "Come, Father, if not for his mind then for me. I have not seen my brother in months. Let him stay, he will keep his thoughts to himself."
Faramir stood in the doorway hearing this exchange, blinking back bitter tears.
"Let him stay then," Denethor consented.
"Brother, will you stay?" Boromir called. "For me, will you stay?"
Rubbing the sorrow from his face, Faramir forced a smile. "Of course, Brother. Of course I will stay for you." Faramir sat beside his brother, facing his father. As Denethor shuffled through a sheaf of paper, Boromir whispered, "Be alert, Brother, you are more than he will acknowledge."/
"Lord Faramir! Faramir, Prince of Ithilien, Steward of Gondor, wait a moment!"
Hearing his unaccustomed full title, Faramir halted. Surely he misjudged the voice, sure it could not be--
"You left so quickly I had not a moment to speak with you," King Elessar said, coming up beside his Steward.
"My apologies," Faramir replied absently. 'Those who rebel gain only new tyrants. Now I am lectured not by my father but a complete stranger. Woe to life.'
"Let's walk," the King said, noting the awkwardness of two men standing in a corridor discussing. He stepped forward and Faramir followed, so he continued on. "May I be so bold as to call you Faramir?"
"As you wish, my liege," Faramir replied. He was not one to contradict.
"Will you call me Elessar?"
This caught the steward's attention, and he looked up at the King in shock. He, the King, smiled. "There you are, then," he said. Off Faramir's bemused look, he answered, "You hide yourself always behind a sheaf of hair; it seems I must shock you to have a look at you."
"So please you, I have other duties to attend to," Faramir replied, knowing he was being somewhat rude but not caring.
"Forgive me, it seems I have offended you. I only wanted to talk with you." Awkwardly, Faramir listened, not sure if he ought to reply. At last King Elessar continued, "So, does it oft rain in Gondor? And are there snows in winter?"
"Please, sir, do not tease me," Faramir muttered, his eyes on the ground once more.
"My apologies again."
"And you tease me again!" Faramir was beginning to feel rather distressed. Why did this King apologize? It was not his place, it was far, far below his place! "Please!"
"Faramir, I do not mean to tease you nor to offend you. I came only to ask your more punctual appearance at court, and, since you so often take your meals in you rooms, to ask that you might join me at supper tonight." Elessar waited for a moment, watched Faramir shift uncomfortably, then before the Steward managed a word Elessar continued, "It would not be in the great hall or any large gathering, only myself and some close companions. If you would but come, Faramir, it would mean very much to me."
"I. . .oh, here, we are at the library, well, my work is here, I shall take my leave of you, farewell--" he turned to interrupt his nervous babble and was surprised to feel a hand on his arms. Elessar realized his mistake and drew back, but said, "Your word, Steward Faramir."
Seeing no way out of this engagement, Faramir gave his word, then slipped quickly into the library. Elessar stood in the corridor for a moment, wondering. This was not the Faramir he met in the war! Who was this shy, nervous boy? Where was Faramir?
*****
To be continued
I haven't the time to do individual responses right now, but thank you to all of my reviewers! By the by, does anyone know Faramir's eye color?
