A/n: OMG, I wont even try to make excuses.*hangs head in embarrassment* I'm
sooooooooooooooooo incredibly eternally sorry! Thanks to everyone who has
reviewed!! I hope I still have readers out there.r/r!
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Chapter Four: Is That A Challenge?
Years passed. Faramir spent much of his time keeping to himself, reading when he was not working on his lessons, which he also enjoyed. His brother, Boromir, now thirteen and quite proud of it, could not understand his younger sibling's love of literature and history. Faramir had tried to enlighten him once, but his explanation had been thoroughly lost on Boromir. Neither brother had forced the subject since, deciding it was not worth the argument. Each privately decided that he was correct and that the other was too stubborn to realize it. But that did not stop Boromir from continually asking Faramir to spar with him.
"Come on, Faramir," Boromir pleaded, holding a sword enticingly in front of his younger brother's face.
Faramir sighed audibly. "You know, you might actually enjoy this book. There is much adventure and such in it. You should try reading for once."
It was Boromir's turn to sigh. "Quite the contrary, dear brother. Why read about battles and the like when instead, you can put that same intensity and excitement into life!?"
Faramir was about to contradict his elder sibling, but Boromir continued before he had the chance.
"Besides, Ii am /ithirteen. Weapons practice is much more entertaining. I would know. Don't you agree, little brother?"
iGreat, now he's going to lord it over me.bagain/b,/i Faramir thought. He was about to tell Boromir exactly what he thought of his age, his weapons practice, and his lordly attitude when who should appear but Denethor. Quickly, but not swiftly enough to be suspicious, Faramir took the proffered sword.
"Ah! Of course, brother! Let us go now to the practice field, shall we?" Faramir said, sending his brother a look which clearly said iplay along./i
Boromir was not paying much attention to the glance his sibling cast in his direction, rather focusing only on his brother's acceptance of the challenge.
"Good! I knew you would come to the right decision."
Faramir mentally rolled his eyes, but outwardly offered a small smile to his brother. Boromir grinned and the two set off toward the practice fields.
"Going to practice with the sword, I suppose?" Denethor asked, looking directly at Boromir proudly, disregarding Faramir entirely.
"Aye, father! Boromir challenged me, and I accepted." Faramir spoke up quickly, trying to sound rather excited about the matter.
Denethor whirled to face his youngest. He was angry that the little brat had the nerve to speak, and his eyes showed his displeasure.
Faramir swallowed, fighting not to take a step backward. He looked squarely at his father, which seemed to exasperate him more.
"Very well. Go on," Denethor said through clenched teeth before striding away without another thought or word.
Faramir relaxed and Boromir looked sidelong at him.
"What was that all about?" he asked in genuine confusion.
"I know not," Faramir answered, staring straight ahead. "Come. Let's not linger here. Haven't we a contest? Or do you renounce your challenge?" Faramir turned to his brother, an unusual look in his eye.
"Never will I renounce I challenge! We shall leave." Boromir looked incredulously at his brother, thinking that perchance the eight-year-old had gone mad.
Faramir smiled angelically, then hurried toward the fields, leaving a relatively bewildered Boromir in his wake.
iAye, he's gone insane. What's gotten into him?/i Boromir wondered briefly, before hurrying after his brother.
* * *
"So nice of you to wait," Boromir muttered when he reached the practice field.
Faramir smirked. "Anytime, dear brother. Anytime. Did you enjoy your run?"
"Of course! No thanks to you." Boromir scowled slightly, miffed that his brother would leave him behind like that.
"Shall we begin?" Boromir inquired, holding his sword at the ready.
"Certainly," Faramir answered, assuming the same position.
"On three then. One. two.THREE!"
On three, the two jumped forward, their swords clashing together with a clang. Boromir attained the offensive, thrusting and attacking. Faramir was forced to focus on defending himself, parrying his brother's attacks. He sidestepped, evading the shiny silver sword of his brother, looking for an opportunity to reverse the roles. However, none presented themselves, and none seemed forthcoming. Faramir was, in the back of his subconscious, growing a bit bored. He continually blocked his brother's strikes, avoiding the attacks rather skillfully for an eight-year-old. After some time, he felt his back against something. A tree.
iDarn, I did it again./i
"Do you yield?!" Boromir asked excitedly, his sword held at Faramir's throat.
"I yield." Faramir said dejectedly, looking away. Boromir sheathed his sword, but noticed the change in his brother's mood.
"Do not be so disheartened, brother. You're only eight."
Faramir made no reply.
"Come on, litter brother. You're still better than most your age."
"Thanks." Faramir muttered under his breath, almost inaudibly. Boromir's lecture was not having the desired effect.
"It matters not. I shall never be as good at swordplay as you," Faramir said, sighing softly.
"Faramir." Boromir began, but Faramir was already hurrying up the hill.
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A/n: yes? No? maybe? r/r! please?
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Chapter Four: Is That A Challenge?
Years passed. Faramir spent much of his time keeping to himself, reading when he was not working on his lessons, which he also enjoyed. His brother, Boromir, now thirteen and quite proud of it, could not understand his younger sibling's love of literature and history. Faramir had tried to enlighten him once, but his explanation had been thoroughly lost on Boromir. Neither brother had forced the subject since, deciding it was not worth the argument. Each privately decided that he was correct and that the other was too stubborn to realize it. But that did not stop Boromir from continually asking Faramir to spar with him.
"Come on, Faramir," Boromir pleaded, holding a sword enticingly in front of his younger brother's face.
Faramir sighed audibly. "You know, you might actually enjoy this book. There is much adventure and such in it. You should try reading for once."
It was Boromir's turn to sigh. "Quite the contrary, dear brother. Why read about battles and the like when instead, you can put that same intensity and excitement into life!?"
Faramir was about to contradict his elder sibling, but Boromir continued before he had the chance.
"Besides, Ii am /ithirteen. Weapons practice is much more entertaining. I would know. Don't you agree, little brother?"
iGreat, now he's going to lord it over me.bagain/b,/i Faramir thought. He was about to tell Boromir exactly what he thought of his age, his weapons practice, and his lordly attitude when who should appear but Denethor. Quickly, but not swiftly enough to be suspicious, Faramir took the proffered sword.
"Ah! Of course, brother! Let us go now to the practice field, shall we?" Faramir said, sending his brother a look which clearly said iplay along./i
Boromir was not paying much attention to the glance his sibling cast in his direction, rather focusing only on his brother's acceptance of the challenge.
"Good! I knew you would come to the right decision."
Faramir mentally rolled his eyes, but outwardly offered a small smile to his brother. Boromir grinned and the two set off toward the practice fields.
"Going to practice with the sword, I suppose?" Denethor asked, looking directly at Boromir proudly, disregarding Faramir entirely.
"Aye, father! Boromir challenged me, and I accepted." Faramir spoke up quickly, trying to sound rather excited about the matter.
Denethor whirled to face his youngest. He was angry that the little brat had the nerve to speak, and his eyes showed his displeasure.
Faramir swallowed, fighting not to take a step backward. He looked squarely at his father, which seemed to exasperate him more.
"Very well. Go on," Denethor said through clenched teeth before striding away without another thought or word.
Faramir relaxed and Boromir looked sidelong at him.
"What was that all about?" he asked in genuine confusion.
"I know not," Faramir answered, staring straight ahead. "Come. Let's not linger here. Haven't we a contest? Or do you renounce your challenge?" Faramir turned to his brother, an unusual look in his eye.
"Never will I renounce I challenge! We shall leave." Boromir looked incredulously at his brother, thinking that perchance the eight-year-old had gone mad.
Faramir smiled angelically, then hurried toward the fields, leaving a relatively bewildered Boromir in his wake.
iAye, he's gone insane. What's gotten into him?/i Boromir wondered briefly, before hurrying after his brother.
* * *
"So nice of you to wait," Boromir muttered when he reached the practice field.
Faramir smirked. "Anytime, dear brother. Anytime. Did you enjoy your run?"
"Of course! No thanks to you." Boromir scowled slightly, miffed that his brother would leave him behind like that.
"Shall we begin?" Boromir inquired, holding his sword at the ready.
"Certainly," Faramir answered, assuming the same position.
"On three then. One. two.THREE!"
On three, the two jumped forward, their swords clashing together with a clang. Boromir attained the offensive, thrusting and attacking. Faramir was forced to focus on defending himself, parrying his brother's attacks. He sidestepped, evading the shiny silver sword of his brother, looking for an opportunity to reverse the roles. However, none presented themselves, and none seemed forthcoming. Faramir was, in the back of his subconscious, growing a bit bored. He continually blocked his brother's strikes, avoiding the attacks rather skillfully for an eight-year-old. After some time, he felt his back against something. A tree.
iDarn, I did it again./i
"Do you yield?!" Boromir asked excitedly, his sword held at Faramir's throat.
"I yield." Faramir said dejectedly, looking away. Boromir sheathed his sword, but noticed the change in his brother's mood.
"Do not be so disheartened, brother. You're only eight."
Faramir made no reply.
"Come on, litter brother. You're still better than most your age."
"Thanks." Faramir muttered under his breath, almost inaudibly. Boromir's lecture was not having the desired effect.
"It matters not. I shall never be as good at swordplay as you," Faramir said, sighing softly.
"Faramir." Boromir began, but Faramir was already hurrying up the hill.
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A/n: yes? No? maybe? r/r! please?
