Author's Note: If someone would be kind enough to help me with italics, it
would be much appreciated :-) I try to make an HTML document, but FF.net
refuses to accept my code for some reason.
As always, do not read through this chapter if sibcest squicks you. Please keep flames to yourself, as they are neither constructive nor nice. Reviews with constructive criticism, however, are very much welcome.
Please drop my co-author a line at jholsh1@towson.edu
~*~*~*~
The first hints of light shyly peeked over the horizon as the sun slowly began its ascent into the sky. Minas Tirith was bathed in a soft pink light as its citizens awoke to the dazzling sunrise. Standing in the stone courtyard of the Citadel and looking down at the residents as they bustled about, Faramir smiled softly to himself. Every once in a while, he enjoyed waking long before anyone else and from the seventh level of the city watching the sunrise climb over the horizon, turning the ugly mountains to the east beautiful for just a breath of a minute.
Once the sun had risen and the six o'clock chime had been sounded, he abandoned the post he had taken and made his way back into the heart of the city. Gaily, he fetched his bow and quiver from his room before ambling down the hall to his brother's room. Pushing the door open, he slipped into the room quietly and went over to Boromir's bedside, a gentle look of fondness and love on his face which quickly turned into one of mischief as he prodded Boromir with the tip of his bow.
Boromir batted his hand blindly at the thing that was poking him in the side. "Asfagah.. mmm, Faramir..." he groaned sleepily and contentedly as he rolled over.
"Wake up, sleepy! It's time for you to see that your little brother is now the superior archer in Minas Tirith." Faramir crawled onto the edge of the bed and nudged his brother lightly. "Up!"
"Bwuh?" Boromir mumbled tiredly. "Faramir, what on earth is the time?" He tried to sit up but Faramir was effectively trapping him under the blankets with his weight.
"Just a bit past six in the morning." He discarded his bow and quiver before straddling Boromir's lower body and resting his forearms on his brother's shoulders. "It's time for you to get up."
Boromir twisted erotically underneath of Faramir, lightly pushing his hips upward. He brought his hands around so that they each rested on Faramir's thighs. Low in his throat, he purred "Aww, must I get up? I'm so happy right where I am..."
Faramir brushed his lips against Boromir's lightly, flushing at the heat from his brother's movements. "Yes, you must. You've slept too late as it is."
Boromir swiped his tongue over Faramir's lips, leaving them shiny with his saliva. "Oh... well if you insist..." He clasped Faramir's thighs and dug his fingers into them, causing Faramir to flinch and keel over sideways, crashing onto the floor with Boromir following suit.
Faramir hit the floor with a surprised grunt. "Boromir!" He tried to scramble up from the ground, but Boromir jumped on top of him before he could even get to his knees. "This isn't what I meant!" he said, laughing as the realized exactly their positioning on the floor.
"Then what did you mean, little brother?" Boromir inquired innocently as he fumbled with Faramir's collar, seeking the warm flesh concealed underneath his tunic.
"I meant that you should come and test your archery skills against mine. Though..." He felt himself growing warm as Boromir's fingers nimbly undid his clothing, "I suppose that could wait for just a bit."
"Archery?! Why didn't you say so!" Boromir immediately got to his feet, leaving Faramir slightly hot and bothered. He quickly traversed the room and slipped off his clothes, not caring about Faramir seeing him undressed. He shot an impish glance over his shoulder, "You know how much I love beating you at target practice," Boromir lilted huskily as he slipped on a fresh tunic and pair of leggings before finishing off the ensemble with his favorite belt cinched about his narrow waist.
Faramir watched Boromir dress, a comical look of surprise on his face. He figured that Boromir would have at least done *something* with him. He certainly wasn't expecting him to jump off of him so abruptly. "Archery...Right..." He stood up from the floor and collected his bow and quiver.
Boromir grinned, walking over to where Faramir stood and he leaned in close so that their noses almost touched. It seemed to Faramir that he was about to kiss him, deeply at that, but instead he poked Faramir in the stomach and traipsed off, shouting "Come along, slow poke! The day is young!"
Faramir stared after Boromir for a few moments, his lips wetted and slightly parted in expectation of the kiss. Shaking his head with a chuckle, he took off after Boromir. "You are nothing but a tease, Boromir!" he shouted merrily.
Soon Faramir overtook Boromir, passing him with a cocky salute as his swift limbs carried him ever downwards through the winding ways of the city. Boromir let him beat him to the gate, trudging up feeling only slightly winded but in good spirits. He had to stop briefly at the armory for a bow and quiverful of arrows, delaying their departure by a few minutes.
He emerged out from the armory, supplies slung over his broad shoulder, and walked over to Faramir who was hopping side to side on his feet with muted impatience. Boromir gave Faramir an amused look as if to say "what on earth has gotten into you?" before motioning to the guards to open up the gate. "Hope you're ready to get beaten today, Faramir," he quipped sunnily.
"I hope you are ready to eat your words and realize that you are wrong!" he chirped back. His impatience quickly grew as Boromir delayed their departure with good natured taunts and jokes, and soon he grabbed his brother's arm roughly. Yanking him along the circumference of the city, Faramir ran to the small target area, set off a short distance behind Minas Tirith. Resting his bow on the soft earth, he leaned onto it slightly, regarding Boromir with cool nonchalance. "Well, let's see if your year away has improved your aim any."
Boromir stuck his tongue out indignantly as he reached for an arrow. "Yes, we'll just see," he teased. He stretched his arms, loosening the limbs still clung to by the last fingers of sleep and stiffness. Out of the corner of his eye he followed Faramir's line of sight as his brother ogled his muscled body with what he thought was admiration and the faintest hint of desire glimmering in his cerulean depths. He notched an arrow into his bowstring, "Watch this!" He let the arrow fly, singing as it sprung from the stretched cord and hit his mark dead on.
Faramir sighed heavily. "Oh...That was very good," he said, feigning great disappointment. "How am I ever going to be able to beat that, big brother?"
"There's nobility to be found in trying, Faramir. Go ahead!" He beamed, overjoyed that he was home more now than ever, and thrilled that Faramir seemed to be falling back into his sweet and innocent old self, though he was still undeniably changed: more mature and aware of his emotions. Boromir felt like embracing him, but settled to purse his lips into a bemused smile as Faramir prepared to shoot.
He sighed again, doing his best to look dejected, as though his brother had already won before he even had the chance to let loose his arrow. Grabbing an arrow from his quiver, one he had made himself with its own distinctive markings, he notched it onto the tight bow string. Pulling it back, he paused for a minute to contemplate his target intensely, imagining exactly where the arrow was going to land. He let go, and the arrow whistled as it cut a path through the air. It landed in the precise middle of his own target with a satisfying thunk.
"Oh, look," Faramir said sweetly, turning to give his brother a smug look, "I do believe I was closer to the center than you. It must have been luck."
Boromir grimaced, not faking his displeasure at all. "Lucky shot," he spat vituperatively as he jabbed Faramir in the side with the tip of his bow.
"You're right, it was. I think you're my luck, Boromir. I was not able to shoot nearly as well when you were gone. Let me try again." He notched another arrow and launched it at the target in a similar manner as the first time. It landed again in the center of target, right next to the first. "Really, I'm never this good," he said with false modesty, doing his best not to smile.
If at all possible, Boromir frowned even more intensely, his face contorted into a rather fierce-looking scowl, although he really didn't mind too much that Faramir was gloating. //He really is a wonderful archer, though,// he admitted silently. "I know, I'm so inspirational," Boromir said, words dripping with sarcasm. He snatched another arrow and cocked his bow, shutting one eye as he focused on the target before him. He let the arrow go, and it landed several inches from the centre. "Damn!" he snapped under his breath.
Faramir's eyes twinkled as he watched his brother slowly become more frustrated as each following arrow landed further off of its intended mark. "You should calm down and concentrate. You'll never hit anything by flinging your arrows around like that." Faramir had returned to leaning on his bow, watching his brother's athletic build as his muscles worked the wooden weapon. He had not fired any arrows since his first two, opting instead to chide his brother.
Boromir flung his bow down in frustration, the weapon skidding across the ground until it stopped at the wall with a hollow clacking noise. He turned around and walked in circles with his hands balled up into fists and a peevish expression marring his fair face. Faramir was trying valiantly to keep from laughing, and Boromir could see his brother's shoulders shaking from holding his giggles inside.
"Is there something wrong, Boromir?" he asked gently, knowing full well that his brother hated being bested in anything. "If you would like, I could give you a few pointers. It might improve your aim. Or perhaps it is the bow you have...I know I don't like using the generic bows from the armory."
"Yes, the bow!" Boromir exclaimed. He went over and nudged the rejected weapon with his boot disdainfully. "It's the bow," he muttered, teeth clenched and cheeks flushed red out of humiliation for being out-done by Faramir.
"Let me see if I can get it to function properly." Faramir went to retrieve the discarded bow. Running his hand over the wood, he pretended to examine it closely for any faults that may have distorted Boromir's aim. Grabbing an arrow from the also discarded quiver, Faramir set himself up in front of Boromir's target. He notched an arrow and released it easily, the arrow sailing through the air and splitting Boromir's first arrow in two.
"I don't see anything wrong with the bow, Boromir."
"Give me that," Boromir said petulantly, grabbing the bow from Faramir's strong fingers. He scrutinized the hand grip questioningly, his brow furrowed in a very thoughtful and concerned expression. "No, no, look. The handle is cracked. It's not me, it's the wood, it's warped to uselessness." He slid the bow swiftly behind his back so that Faramir wouldn't look again and discover he was fibbing. //How on EARTH did he do that??// Boromir wondered, gaping at the twain arrow splayed on his target.
Faramir retrieved his own bow and studied the craftmanship carefully. "I will have to make you your own, then." He proffered his bow, smiling. "I made this one myself, and it serves me well. Would you like to try it?"
Boromir smiled, corners of his mouth upturned merrily. "Nay, it is yours, I am afraid that my lack of ability at archery would curse your weapon," he said as he raised a hand in polite refusal.
Faramir's posture straightened, his height seeming to grow several inches out of pride. "Do you admit that I may actually be better at something than you, Boromir?"
"Pardon? I said no such thing!" Boromir scoffed. He let his eyes wander up to the rapidly brightening sky, and he inhaled the scent of fresh dew on the grass deeply. "Lovely morning, isn't it?" he intonated coolly, veering the conversation his own way. He began to whistle a tune to himself as he watched a pair of hawks circle the mountaintop.
"It is lovely because you are out here with me." Faramir looked up at Boromir and gave him a loving smile. "It seems like every sunrise has been brighter, more resplendent." He took a deep breath, enjoying the crisp morning air. "Would you like to go raid the buttery? I'm sure you're absolutely *famished* after all of this hard work."
Boromir raised one eyebrow partially. "You're hungry?" Boromir found it hard to believe; Faramir had definitely let himself get frighteningly thin, and he found it quite surprising that he would suddenly suggest engaging in an activity involving food. //Another concern to address somehow,// Boromir noted as he looked casually over his brother's muscular yet fleshless arms and legs.
"On your behalf, brother, on your behalf. I have already taken breakfast today." Faramir walked over to the target and removed his unique arrows, stashing them back in his quiver. "You, however, have a look on your face as though you have not been fed in a week's time. It is quite pitiful, actually." He bravely took Boromir's hand, lacing his fingers through his brother's, and started leading him back around the city.
//That's it,// Boromir thought. //I have to say something, even if it means risking his affection.// Squeezing gently on Faramir's hand clasped with his own, he asked "Faramir, why are you so thin?"
"I'm not," Faramir said quickly. He tugged on Boromir's arm insistently. "Come, you must be famished after all of that superior archery," he cajoled, doing his best to draw Boromir's attention away from his bony frame.
Boromir wrenched his arm from Faramir's grasp. "Famished? What about you? I see the way your bones stick out, Faramir, and it seriously grieves me," he said, stopping and looking Faramir in the eye exasperatedly.
Faramir looked down, rebuked. His brother's harsh action almost threatening to destroy the good humor he had managed to glean in the weeks after Boromir's return. To explain exactly why his body was in the state it was would require speaking of things that he would rather keep hidden, from Boromir most of all. "I am perfectly fine, Boromir!" he said, speaking at last, "I have been growing, as you can tell. I'm sure you remember the way you look when you were my age. All legs and arms; you looked awkward!"
"My intuition tells me that there is something more to be said here, Faramir," Boromir said, voice flat and commanding, similar in edge to their father's. Immediately he regretted the gruff tone he used. He reached out and touched Faramir's elbow in a small endeavor to bring him nearer, "Faramir, just talk to me, let me in," he wheedled placidly.
Faramir jerked his elbow away sharply. "There is nothing to tell. Why should I have to bow to you as well as to him?" he spat as though he was too disgusted to even acknowledge that Boromir had reminded him more of his father in that one sentence than he ever had before. "There is nothing to tell," he said one more time before storming off.
Boromir didn't even try to stop him as he walked away in a huff. Frustrated and completely bereft of a clue as to what he should do now, Boromir struck the wall in an outburst of rage. Once Faramir had passed out of his vision, Boromir returned to the gate and rampaged up to the seventh tier where he would try and seek someplace to hash out his thoughts, and hopefully relax before encountering Faramir again.
***
Still fuming, Boromir found himself heading toward the tiny garden that he and Faramir frequented. "What am I supposed to do? He clearly wants to tell me but he just won't. What's the matter with him? Oh, help," he griped aloud, lost in thought as he approached the flowering nook.
Boromir was jerked out of his pensive state by footsteps treading on the grass of the garden but did not turn to see who approached. He hoped in his heart that it would be Faramir coming to confess everything, to finally let him it, but it registered that the footsteps were too heavy. He looked up and his heart sank as he saw his father and the expression on his face, the look of pride as he gazed down at his first son, pride mixed with the high expectations that he held Boromir to.
As he walked toward Boromir, Denethor's long, fur trimmed cloak disturbed the delicate flowers that Faramir had so carefully planted. "Why have you hidden yourself here, Boromir? I have been searching for you all morning!"
Boromir whirled around, rudely snapped from his contemplation. "Oh, father. I was with Faramir, we were practicing our archery. What is it that you wanted to speak with me about?" he said as politely as possible without revealing the contempt he felt surging up inside of him like a geyser. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the heavy train of Denethor's robe mow down the fragile flowers, snapping a bundle of creamy white petals from the blooming orchids.
"Important matters, Boromir. Important matters that I wish to speak to you about." Denethor's mouth twitched as it balanced somewhere between a sneer of contempt at the mention of Faramir, and a gaze of fatherly love as he looked down at his favorite son. "I wish that you would stay close to the Citadel in case I have need for you. Faramir can occupy himself in some other manner."
"But Father, he pines for attention, and I wish to spend as much of my time with him as I can!" Boromir protested, voice rash and almost belligerent. Seeing the chill glare in his father's eyes caused him to avert his gaze to the ground and mutter "I apologize for speaking so."
"As you can see he has already affected your behavior which used to be of propriety." His eyes grew hard as he imagined what effects Faramir would continue to have on his cherished first-born. "I do not want to speak of Faramir; Faramir does not concern me. We have business to attend to that is far more important than one of such weak character."
"Yes, father," Boromir said, subdued. Denethor moved a step closer and ushered Boromir out of the garden, hand on his back between the shoulders.
"Boromir, there is trouble afoot on the borders of Gondor. I worry because our forces are not what they once used to be. I need your help." Denethor stopped walking and turned Boromir around to face him, hands planted firmly on both of his shoulders. "I want you to take a patrol out to investigate. I trust that you will be able to quell any trouble that arises."
"But father, I've only just returned! Send one of the other captains out, I wish only now to rest!" He brought his hands up and held his head, threading his fingers through his chestnut hair as he turned to look away from his father's haggard face. They were now standing within earshot of Faramir's bedchamber, and Boromir bit his lip praying that no one could hear them speaking.
"There are no other captains that are as capable as you. Would you deny your father the chance to make sure that the borders of his domain are secured by one he knows is able beyond others?" Denethor spoke gently to Boromir, though there was an underlying harshness of demand in his voice.
Turning sharply on his heel Boromir faced Denethor again, eyes steely and flashing dangerously. "The outposts guarding our borders need but minor reinforcement; I have seen them and they are strong and honorable men there. My place is here," he said firmly. Anyone passing would have sensed the two silently battling each other in their minds, their stares were so defiant and piercing. "Please," Boromir pleaded firmly. "Allow me to remain here."
Denethor glared at Boromir for a long while, seeing if he could get his son to yield. Finally he acquiesced, seeing that Boromir was not going to back down. "You have only just arrived back here, this is true. Even the bravest warrior needs to take a bit of rest. I will not send you back on on patrol just yet. I do want you to draft your strongest men and send them out for reinforcements. That is your assignment."
"I will do that," Boromir said as a cocky smirk played on his lips. "Is there anything else you would have me do, my lord?"
"I would that you spend not so much time with Faramir. I do not want for your admirable qualities to diminish, and I fear they will in the presence of one such as him." A sneer developed once again on Denethor's wizened face. "There are some people that cannot be fixed, no matter what is done to correct them."
Boromir narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about?" he asked, bewildered.
"It is nothing for you to concern yourself with, Boromir. Just know that nothing good can come of your brother." Turning on his heel, Denethor swept off, not giving Boromir another chance to query his foreboding words.
Now more than ever Boromir wanted to press Faramir for answers to the doubts and questions filling his mind, and it just so happened that now was the time when Faramir least wished to be near him, much less speak. He watched Denethor mount the staircase and return to the throne room where he would fritter away the day, hopefully without any further need for Boromir's audience.
Boromir glanced over to Faramir's door and saw that it was opened a crack. He crept over and called out as softly as possible, "Faramir? Are you in there?"
TBC...
As always, do not read through this chapter if sibcest squicks you. Please keep flames to yourself, as they are neither constructive nor nice. Reviews with constructive criticism, however, are very much welcome.
Please drop my co-author a line at jholsh1@towson.edu
~*~*~*~
The first hints of light shyly peeked over the horizon as the sun slowly began its ascent into the sky. Minas Tirith was bathed in a soft pink light as its citizens awoke to the dazzling sunrise. Standing in the stone courtyard of the Citadel and looking down at the residents as they bustled about, Faramir smiled softly to himself. Every once in a while, he enjoyed waking long before anyone else and from the seventh level of the city watching the sunrise climb over the horizon, turning the ugly mountains to the east beautiful for just a breath of a minute.
Once the sun had risen and the six o'clock chime had been sounded, he abandoned the post he had taken and made his way back into the heart of the city. Gaily, he fetched his bow and quiver from his room before ambling down the hall to his brother's room. Pushing the door open, he slipped into the room quietly and went over to Boromir's bedside, a gentle look of fondness and love on his face which quickly turned into one of mischief as he prodded Boromir with the tip of his bow.
Boromir batted his hand blindly at the thing that was poking him in the side. "Asfagah.. mmm, Faramir..." he groaned sleepily and contentedly as he rolled over.
"Wake up, sleepy! It's time for you to see that your little brother is now the superior archer in Minas Tirith." Faramir crawled onto the edge of the bed and nudged his brother lightly. "Up!"
"Bwuh?" Boromir mumbled tiredly. "Faramir, what on earth is the time?" He tried to sit up but Faramir was effectively trapping him under the blankets with his weight.
"Just a bit past six in the morning." He discarded his bow and quiver before straddling Boromir's lower body and resting his forearms on his brother's shoulders. "It's time for you to get up."
Boromir twisted erotically underneath of Faramir, lightly pushing his hips upward. He brought his hands around so that they each rested on Faramir's thighs. Low in his throat, he purred "Aww, must I get up? I'm so happy right where I am..."
Faramir brushed his lips against Boromir's lightly, flushing at the heat from his brother's movements. "Yes, you must. You've slept too late as it is."
Boromir swiped his tongue over Faramir's lips, leaving them shiny with his saliva. "Oh... well if you insist..." He clasped Faramir's thighs and dug his fingers into them, causing Faramir to flinch and keel over sideways, crashing onto the floor with Boromir following suit.
Faramir hit the floor with a surprised grunt. "Boromir!" He tried to scramble up from the ground, but Boromir jumped on top of him before he could even get to his knees. "This isn't what I meant!" he said, laughing as the realized exactly their positioning on the floor.
"Then what did you mean, little brother?" Boromir inquired innocently as he fumbled with Faramir's collar, seeking the warm flesh concealed underneath his tunic.
"I meant that you should come and test your archery skills against mine. Though..." He felt himself growing warm as Boromir's fingers nimbly undid his clothing, "I suppose that could wait for just a bit."
"Archery?! Why didn't you say so!" Boromir immediately got to his feet, leaving Faramir slightly hot and bothered. He quickly traversed the room and slipped off his clothes, not caring about Faramir seeing him undressed. He shot an impish glance over his shoulder, "You know how much I love beating you at target practice," Boromir lilted huskily as he slipped on a fresh tunic and pair of leggings before finishing off the ensemble with his favorite belt cinched about his narrow waist.
Faramir watched Boromir dress, a comical look of surprise on his face. He figured that Boromir would have at least done *something* with him. He certainly wasn't expecting him to jump off of him so abruptly. "Archery...Right..." He stood up from the floor and collected his bow and quiver.
Boromir grinned, walking over to where Faramir stood and he leaned in close so that their noses almost touched. It seemed to Faramir that he was about to kiss him, deeply at that, but instead he poked Faramir in the stomach and traipsed off, shouting "Come along, slow poke! The day is young!"
Faramir stared after Boromir for a few moments, his lips wetted and slightly parted in expectation of the kiss. Shaking his head with a chuckle, he took off after Boromir. "You are nothing but a tease, Boromir!" he shouted merrily.
Soon Faramir overtook Boromir, passing him with a cocky salute as his swift limbs carried him ever downwards through the winding ways of the city. Boromir let him beat him to the gate, trudging up feeling only slightly winded but in good spirits. He had to stop briefly at the armory for a bow and quiverful of arrows, delaying their departure by a few minutes.
He emerged out from the armory, supplies slung over his broad shoulder, and walked over to Faramir who was hopping side to side on his feet with muted impatience. Boromir gave Faramir an amused look as if to say "what on earth has gotten into you?" before motioning to the guards to open up the gate. "Hope you're ready to get beaten today, Faramir," he quipped sunnily.
"I hope you are ready to eat your words and realize that you are wrong!" he chirped back. His impatience quickly grew as Boromir delayed their departure with good natured taunts and jokes, and soon he grabbed his brother's arm roughly. Yanking him along the circumference of the city, Faramir ran to the small target area, set off a short distance behind Minas Tirith. Resting his bow on the soft earth, he leaned onto it slightly, regarding Boromir with cool nonchalance. "Well, let's see if your year away has improved your aim any."
Boromir stuck his tongue out indignantly as he reached for an arrow. "Yes, we'll just see," he teased. He stretched his arms, loosening the limbs still clung to by the last fingers of sleep and stiffness. Out of the corner of his eye he followed Faramir's line of sight as his brother ogled his muscled body with what he thought was admiration and the faintest hint of desire glimmering in his cerulean depths. He notched an arrow into his bowstring, "Watch this!" He let the arrow fly, singing as it sprung from the stretched cord and hit his mark dead on.
Faramir sighed heavily. "Oh...That was very good," he said, feigning great disappointment. "How am I ever going to be able to beat that, big brother?"
"There's nobility to be found in trying, Faramir. Go ahead!" He beamed, overjoyed that he was home more now than ever, and thrilled that Faramir seemed to be falling back into his sweet and innocent old self, though he was still undeniably changed: more mature and aware of his emotions. Boromir felt like embracing him, but settled to purse his lips into a bemused smile as Faramir prepared to shoot.
He sighed again, doing his best to look dejected, as though his brother had already won before he even had the chance to let loose his arrow. Grabbing an arrow from his quiver, one he had made himself with its own distinctive markings, he notched it onto the tight bow string. Pulling it back, he paused for a minute to contemplate his target intensely, imagining exactly where the arrow was going to land. He let go, and the arrow whistled as it cut a path through the air. It landed in the precise middle of his own target with a satisfying thunk.
"Oh, look," Faramir said sweetly, turning to give his brother a smug look, "I do believe I was closer to the center than you. It must have been luck."
Boromir grimaced, not faking his displeasure at all. "Lucky shot," he spat vituperatively as he jabbed Faramir in the side with the tip of his bow.
"You're right, it was. I think you're my luck, Boromir. I was not able to shoot nearly as well when you were gone. Let me try again." He notched another arrow and launched it at the target in a similar manner as the first time. It landed again in the center of target, right next to the first. "Really, I'm never this good," he said with false modesty, doing his best not to smile.
If at all possible, Boromir frowned even more intensely, his face contorted into a rather fierce-looking scowl, although he really didn't mind too much that Faramir was gloating. //He really is a wonderful archer, though,// he admitted silently. "I know, I'm so inspirational," Boromir said, words dripping with sarcasm. He snatched another arrow and cocked his bow, shutting one eye as he focused on the target before him. He let the arrow go, and it landed several inches from the centre. "Damn!" he snapped under his breath.
Faramir's eyes twinkled as he watched his brother slowly become more frustrated as each following arrow landed further off of its intended mark. "You should calm down and concentrate. You'll never hit anything by flinging your arrows around like that." Faramir had returned to leaning on his bow, watching his brother's athletic build as his muscles worked the wooden weapon. He had not fired any arrows since his first two, opting instead to chide his brother.
Boromir flung his bow down in frustration, the weapon skidding across the ground until it stopped at the wall with a hollow clacking noise. He turned around and walked in circles with his hands balled up into fists and a peevish expression marring his fair face. Faramir was trying valiantly to keep from laughing, and Boromir could see his brother's shoulders shaking from holding his giggles inside.
"Is there something wrong, Boromir?" he asked gently, knowing full well that his brother hated being bested in anything. "If you would like, I could give you a few pointers. It might improve your aim. Or perhaps it is the bow you have...I know I don't like using the generic bows from the armory."
"Yes, the bow!" Boromir exclaimed. He went over and nudged the rejected weapon with his boot disdainfully. "It's the bow," he muttered, teeth clenched and cheeks flushed red out of humiliation for being out-done by Faramir.
"Let me see if I can get it to function properly." Faramir went to retrieve the discarded bow. Running his hand over the wood, he pretended to examine it closely for any faults that may have distorted Boromir's aim. Grabbing an arrow from the also discarded quiver, Faramir set himself up in front of Boromir's target. He notched an arrow and released it easily, the arrow sailing through the air and splitting Boromir's first arrow in two.
"I don't see anything wrong with the bow, Boromir."
"Give me that," Boromir said petulantly, grabbing the bow from Faramir's strong fingers. He scrutinized the hand grip questioningly, his brow furrowed in a very thoughtful and concerned expression. "No, no, look. The handle is cracked. It's not me, it's the wood, it's warped to uselessness." He slid the bow swiftly behind his back so that Faramir wouldn't look again and discover he was fibbing. //How on EARTH did he do that??// Boromir wondered, gaping at the twain arrow splayed on his target.
Faramir retrieved his own bow and studied the craftmanship carefully. "I will have to make you your own, then." He proffered his bow, smiling. "I made this one myself, and it serves me well. Would you like to try it?"
Boromir smiled, corners of his mouth upturned merrily. "Nay, it is yours, I am afraid that my lack of ability at archery would curse your weapon," he said as he raised a hand in polite refusal.
Faramir's posture straightened, his height seeming to grow several inches out of pride. "Do you admit that I may actually be better at something than you, Boromir?"
"Pardon? I said no such thing!" Boromir scoffed. He let his eyes wander up to the rapidly brightening sky, and he inhaled the scent of fresh dew on the grass deeply. "Lovely morning, isn't it?" he intonated coolly, veering the conversation his own way. He began to whistle a tune to himself as he watched a pair of hawks circle the mountaintop.
"It is lovely because you are out here with me." Faramir looked up at Boromir and gave him a loving smile. "It seems like every sunrise has been brighter, more resplendent." He took a deep breath, enjoying the crisp morning air. "Would you like to go raid the buttery? I'm sure you're absolutely *famished* after all of this hard work."
Boromir raised one eyebrow partially. "You're hungry?" Boromir found it hard to believe; Faramir had definitely let himself get frighteningly thin, and he found it quite surprising that he would suddenly suggest engaging in an activity involving food. //Another concern to address somehow,// Boromir noted as he looked casually over his brother's muscular yet fleshless arms and legs.
"On your behalf, brother, on your behalf. I have already taken breakfast today." Faramir walked over to the target and removed his unique arrows, stashing them back in his quiver. "You, however, have a look on your face as though you have not been fed in a week's time. It is quite pitiful, actually." He bravely took Boromir's hand, lacing his fingers through his brother's, and started leading him back around the city.
//That's it,// Boromir thought. //I have to say something, even if it means risking his affection.// Squeezing gently on Faramir's hand clasped with his own, he asked "Faramir, why are you so thin?"
"I'm not," Faramir said quickly. He tugged on Boromir's arm insistently. "Come, you must be famished after all of that superior archery," he cajoled, doing his best to draw Boromir's attention away from his bony frame.
Boromir wrenched his arm from Faramir's grasp. "Famished? What about you? I see the way your bones stick out, Faramir, and it seriously grieves me," he said, stopping and looking Faramir in the eye exasperatedly.
Faramir looked down, rebuked. His brother's harsh action almost threatening to destroy the good humor he had managed to glean in the weeks after Boromir's return. To explain exactly why his body was in the state it was would require speaking of things that he would rather keep hidden, from Boromir most of all. "I am perfectly fine, Boromir!" he said, speaking at last, "I have been growing, as you can tell. I'm sure you remember the way you look when you were my age. All legs and arms; you looked awkward!"
"My intuition tells me that there is something more to be said here, Faramir," Boromir said, voice flat and commanding, similar in edge to their father's. Immediately he regretted the gruff tone he used. He reached out and touched Faramir's elbow in a small endeavor to bring him nearer, "Faramir, just talk to me, let me in," he wheedled placidly.
Faramir jerked his elbow away sharply. "There is nothing to tell. Why should I have to bow to you as well as to him?" he spat as though he was too disgusted to even acknowledge that Boromir had reminded him more of his father in that one sentence than he ever had before. "There is nothing to tell," he said one more time before storming off.
Boromir didn't even try to stop him as he walked away in a huff. Frustrated and completely bereft of a clue as to what he should do now, Boromir struck the wall in an outburst of rage. Once Faramir had passed out of his vision, Boromir returned to the gate and rampaged up to the seventh tier where he would try and seek someplace to hash out his thoughts, and hopefully relax before encountering Faramir again.
***
Still fuming, Boromir found himself heading toward the tiny garden that he and Faramir frequented. "What am I supposed to do? He clearly wants to tell me but he just won't. What's the matter with him? Oh, help," he griped aloud, lost in thought as he approached the flowering nook.
Boromir was jerked out of his pensive state by footsteps treading on the grass of the garden but did not turn to see who approached. He hoped in his heart that it would be Faramir coming to confess everything, to finally let him it, but it registered that the footsteps were too heavy. He looked up and his heart sank as he saw his father and the expression on his face, the look of pride as he gazed down at his first son, pride mixed with the high expectations that he held Boromir to.
As he walked toward Boromir, Denethor's long, fur trimmed cloak disturbed the delicate flowers that Faramir had so carefully planted. "Why have you hidden yourself here, Boromir? I have been searching for you all morning!"
Boromir whirled around, rudely snapped from his contemplation. "Oh, father. I was with Faramir, we were practicing our archery. What is it that you wanted to speak with me about?" he said as politely as possible without revealing the contempt he felt surging up inside of him like a geyser. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the heavy train of Denethor's robe mow down the fragile flowers, snapping a bundle of creamy white petals from the blooming orchids.
"Important matters, Boromir. Important matters that I wish to speak to you about." Denethor's mouth twitched as it balanced somewhere between a sneer of contempt at the mention of Faramir, and a gaze of fatherly love as he looked down at his favorite son. "I wish that you would stay close to the Citadel in case I have need for you. Faramir can occupy himself in some other manner."
"But Father, he pines for attention, and I wish to spend as much of my time with him as I can!" Boromir protested, voice rash and almost belligerent. Seeing the chill glare in his father's eyes caused him to avert his gaze to the ground and mutter "I apologize for speaking so."
"As you can see he has already affected your behavior which used to be of propriety." His eyes grew hard as he imagined what effects Faramir would continue to have on his cherished first-born. "I do not want to speak of Faramir; Faramir does not concern me. We have business to attend to that is far more important than one of such weak character."
"Yes, father," Boromir said, subdued. Denethor moved a step closer and ushered Boromir out of the garden, hand on his back between the shoulders.
"Boromir, there is trouble afoot on the borders of Gondor. I worry because our forces are not what they once used to be. I need your help." Denethor stopped walking and turned Boromir around to face him, hands planted firmly on both of his shoulders. "I want you to take a patrol out to investigate. I trust that you will be able to quell any trouble that arises."
"But father, I've only just returned! Send one of the other captains out, I wish only now to rest!" He brought his hands up and held his head, threading his fingers through his chestnut hair as he turned to look away from his father's haggard face. They were now standing within earshot of Faramir's bedchamber, and Boromir bit his lip praying that no one could hear them speaking.
"There are no other captains that are as capable as you. Would you deny your father the chance to make sure that the borders of his domain are secured by one he knows is able beyond others?" Denethor spoke gently to Boromir, though there was an underlying harshness of demand in his voice.
Turning sharply on his heel Boromir faced Denethor again, eyes steely and flashing dangerously. "The outposts guarding our borders need but minor reinforcement; I have seen them and they are strong and honorable men there. My place is here," he said firmly. Anyone passing would have sensed the two silently battling each other in their minds, their stares were so defiant and piercing. "Please," Boromir pleaded firmly. "Allow me to remain here."
Denethor glared at Boromir for a long while, seeing if he could get his son to yield. Finally he acquiesced, seeing that Boromir was not going to back down. "You have only just arrived back here, this is true. Even the bravest warrior needs to take a bit of rest. I will not send you back on on patrol just yet. I do want you to draft your strongest men and send them out for reinforcements. That is your assignment."
"I will do that," Boromir said as a cocky smirk played on his lips. "Is there anything else you would have me do, my lord?"
"I would that you spend not so much time with Faramir. I do not want for your admirable qualities to diminish, and I fear they will in the presence of one such as him." A sneer developed once again on Denethor's wizened face. "There are some people that cannot be fixed, no matter what is done to correct them."
Boromir narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about?" he asked, bewildered.
"It is nothing for you to concern yourself with, Boromir. Just know that nothing good can come of your brother." Turning on his heel, Denethor swept off, not giving Boromir another chance to query his foreboding words.
Now more than ever Boromir wanted to press Faramir for answers to the doubts and questions filling his mind, and it just so happened that now was the time when Faramir least wished to be near him, much less speak. He watched Denethor mount the staircase and return to the throne room where he would fritter away the day, hopefully without any further need for Boromir's audience.
Boromir glanced over to Faramir's door and saw that it was opened a crack. He crept over and called out as softly as possible, "Faramir? Are you in there?"
TBC...
