"The sea air seems to have suited you," he said approvingly. "How are things in Dol Amroth?"
"A good deal warmer than here," Boromir replied with a grin. "I've brought you a letter from Grandfather."
"Good, good. You can give it to me after we dine."
Faramir came hurrying down the stairs then, fastening the clasps on his surcoat as he ran. "You're late," observed Denethor.
"I'm sorry, Father."
"I hope you made good use of your training session today?" Denethor fixed Faramir with his eyes, and Boromir had a feeling that more was being said than the words conveyed.
"Yes, Father."
Denethor nodded. "Good. That's what I like to hear."
Boromir's return seemed to have put Denethor into a good humour. Throughout dinner he was unusually animated, pressing Boromir for news of his stay in Dol Amroth and laughing heartily at the stories he told. Faramir listened more quietly, putting in a question here and there. The shutters, drawn against the cold night, rattled occasionally in the wind.
After dinner Boromir followed Denethor into his study to discuss the proposals for dealing with the Corsairs which Adrahil had laid out in his letter. When he emerged over an hour later, Faramir was nowhere to be found. He was not in his chamber, nor in Boromir's, nor in the sitting-room where they often played chess in the evenings when both were at home. Finally Boromir stopped a servant in the hall to ask his brother's whereabouts.
"He'll be in the garden, I expect," the man replied, nodding toward the doors leading out the back of the house.
"In this weather?" Boromir asked, startled.
"I don't know, my lord. I didn't see him leave. But he's been going out there most evenings lately, to practice."
Boromir thanked the servant and, feeling more mystified than ever, opened the door into the long, narrow garden which ran across the back of the Steward's residence. The wind sliced through his clothes, causing him to fold his arms for warmth as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. His breath emerged in white clouds which were quickly borne away on the wind.
The snow lay ankle-deep on the ground now, and was still falling from the sky. A set of tracks, blurred by wind and fresh snow, led away from the door. Boromir followed them. Sure enough, a figure near the far garden wall soon became visible through the swirling flakes ahead.
Faramir had put on a quilted jacket and gloves before coming outside, and Boromir heartily wished now that he had stopped to do the same. A quiver was slung across Faramir's back; he was in the act of drawing his longbow, aiming down the garden. His jaw was set in an expression of determination, and his hair whipped out behind him in the wind. He had not yet noticed his brother's approach. Boromir knew better than to startle him while his bow was drawn, but quickly called out after he loosed the arrow. Faramir started and turned his head.
"What are you doing out here?" Boromir asked.
"Isn't it obvious?" Faramir indicated his bow. "I'm practicing."
"Surely there are better conditions for practice than this!"
"Aren't you the one who likes to remind me that the enemy will not wait for fine weather?" Faramir shrugged, nocked another arrow, aimed, and shot. Boromir could just make out a shape at the far end of the garden, which he supposed must be the target.
"If this is because I teased you earlier--"
"It isn't." Faramir's voice was even, but his expression was closed off, as if to signify that he did not wish to discuss the matter.
No, the servant had said Faramir came out here regularly. He had not been in the habit of doing so before Boromir's trip to Dol Amroth. What could have happened in the intervening month?
Another blast of cold wind blew snow into their eyes. Boromir hugged himself tighter, but could not keep his teeth from chattering.
"How long are you planning to stay out here?"
"Until I've finished the quiver."
Four more arrows, then. Boromir watched as his brother loaded, drew, and released four times in a sequence of smooth, precise motions. Though he could use a bow himself when the need arose, Boromir had no particular taste for the weapon. Faramir, on the other hand, had an instinctive feel for it. His skill was already impressive, and steadily growing. Boromir thought he could see improvement even in the time since he had gone away.
When the quiver was spent, Faramir lowered his bow and the brothers made their way to retrieve the arrows from the target. Boromir noticed two previous sets of tracks in the snow, showing that this was not the first time Faramir had made this journey tonight.
Arrows clustered thickly in the straw-padded target, perhaps twenty in all. Most of them, Boromir saw with no little surprise, were quite close to the center. Only two had gone wide, one a hand's breadth from the central group, the other stuck precariously in the target's upper edge.
Boromir whistled softly. "I take back what I said this afternoon. Your aim is excellent."
Faramir gave a noncommital grunt as he pulled the errant shaft from the edge of the target. "Another inch and I'd have lost that one in the snow," he muttered with a scowl.
"I'm amazed you can hit the target at all in this weather."
"It isn't really that hard," Faramir said dismissively as he pulled another arrow. "The target's not moving, and I know where it is."
"But think, if this had been a battle, you would have at least wounded an enemy with any of those shots," Boromir pointed out encouragingly.
"That's not good enough!" Faramir snapped. He removed another arrow with an angry jerk. Boromir was silent for a moment.
"Little brother, I think you have something to tell me."
Faramir turned to look at him defiantly, but, meeting only honest concern in Boromir's eyes, he slumped abruptly in defeat. He dropped his gaze and nodded.
Boromir clapped him on the shoulder with a reassuring smile. "Come, I'm nearly frozen. Finish collecting your arrows, and then let us go inside and you can tell me everything."
TO BE CONTINUED (Part 2 of 3)
Rosie26, Dimfuin, Susan W, lotrroxmysox, Scary Vampiress: Thank you so much for your reviews!