Author's note: I can hardly believe that we've made it to chapter ten! Thank you to everyone who has been kind enough to comment; we really appreciate your thoughts, criticisms, and compliments! Please feel free to drop my co-author a line at jholsh1@towson.edu.

As always, I give the sibcest warning. If you don't like it, don't read any farther. We don't like flames. They make us feel bad, and when we feel bad, we can't write. Sorrow.

I hope that you all enjoy chapter ten as much as we enjoyed writing it!

~*~*~*~

Fast, nimble fingers flew over a leaf of parchment, manipulating a piece of charcoal and sketching on the paper with smooth, even strokes. With careful attention to detail, a shape soon became visible, the delicate face of a young woman. Though it was only a rough sketch, her high cheekbones were still prominent as was her delicate nose and full lips. The face of Finduilas shined from the yellowed parchment, though even in the beauty of the face, the visage still seemed ghostlike, as though the spirit of the young woman was watching from her grave.

Satisfied with the drawing, Faramir set the parchment aside, taking care that it would not be blown away by the stiff winter wind. Even after Boromir's return, he sometimes felt the need to go off and be by himself, to clear his head and simply just sit and think without the harrassment of his father's advisors or combat trainers, or servants insisting that he eat. A small secluded terrace branching out from one of the wayward guest rooms had always been his favorite place to hide, though the cold air made it difficult to stay out for an extended period of time. For the past few days, the one image he had of his mother had been burned into his mind; instead of simply allowing it to linger and do nothing about it, Faramir chose to find his secret spot and sketch her face while remembering everything he could of the few years he knew the woman that had given birth to him.

Pulling his oversized sleeves back over his stiff, freezing hands, Faramir retreated into the thick blankets that he had wrapped around himself, seeking warmth. Sniffling, he rubbed at his stuffy nose with the back of his sleeve then swiped at his watering eyes. Colds had always been a bother to him, especially this winter, but he was determined to not let a slight case of the sniffles keep him from enjoying his solitude. Though it was not quite noon, Faramir felt fatigue slowly settle over him, making his eyelids heavy and his body weary. He let his head fall to his shoulder, intending on taking only a short nap before going back inside, not quite ready to relinquish the quiet stillness of the pale winter morning.

Snow had fallen again, coating the several inches that had already veiled the city and the surrounding lands with a fresh blanket of white. Boromir was delighted to find a new snowfall that morning, and he smiled broadly as he imagined the way the sunset would drench the Pelennor in icy orange tones, flecked here and there with brilliant splashes of gold and proud red. Boromir had opted to sleep for a few more hours, and it wasn't until the noon hour approached that he was out and about the city in search of a friend, or Faramir.

He stuck his nose in Faramir's room and saw that he had evidently been long gone; his cloak was missing as well as his boots, along with a thick blanket from his bed. //I presume he's gone to be alone for awhile,// Boromir thought. He tarried around the door for a short while, debating whether or not he should seek out his little brother and possibly interrupt his reverie. //Better let him be for a bit,// he decided. Purposefully, he set off for the lower circles of the city where he would look for his friends his own age, and hopefully catch up with them, chatting just like they used to before Boromir had taken his long venture to the border lands.

Boromir felt warm all over once he was safely inside the small pub tucked away in fourth circle of the city. Two guards of the Citadel were huddled around a small round table, each with a mug of warm mead, and the other tables were surrounded by tired, reddened faces of blacksmiths and furriers who were trying to avoid the chill for a short time before returning to their work. Boromir strode purposefully over to the two guards, smiling brightly. "Girion! Hirluin! How are you?" he boomed jovially as he pulled up a seat, joining his friends.

"How considerate of you to join us, Boromir," Girion said with mock petulance, as a smile spread across his handsome face. "You've only been home for four months after a year long excursion." He shot Hirluin a bemused glance.

Boromir shuffled his feet before sitting down. "You know that I must tend to family affairs, Girion." He clapped his friend stoutly on the shoulder. "Can you forgive me?" He jutted his lower lip out, eliciting a chuckle from Hirluin who generally remained reticent unless he had a skinful of alcohol in him.

Girion took a long draught of his drink and then turned his eyes back to Boromir's face. "How is the family, Boromir?" he asked, sounding concerned. //Does he know about how his brother was beaten nearly to death? Or how the Steward sent him into the wilderness on his own?// Girion wondered.

Boromir gave Girion a questioning look. "Lord Denethor and Faramir? They're fine... why wouldn't they be?" he asked in return, though in the back of his mind Faramir's retelling of the day he had gotten assaulted by those bullies after the archery contest was playing over and over again. He thought on the words anew, picking them apart in search for a hidden meaning or half-truth. He flicked his eyes over to Hirluin but saw nothing in his face but an impassive stare as he studied his reflection in his drink. Returning to face Girion, he asked, "Why do you ask that, Girion?"

Girion shifted a little from side to side, clearly becoming uncomfortable with the edge Boromir's words had; he sounded alarmed, and that most certainly meant that he was ignorant to the hardships young Faramir had endured during his prolonged absence. "I was just curious, Boromir, I meant nothing more than what I said," he replied convincingly. Hirluin shot him an incredulous look but Boromir missed it, and ordered a mug of mead for himself.

The three friends passed the better part of an hour conversing. Hirluin piped in occasionally with an exclamation of agreement or addition of an important detail Girion had omitted from his stories of how they had ransacked the wine cellars and didn't get caught or had managed to nail a washerwoman's skirts to the ground while she was asleep on the job. The trio laughed together just like in old times, and it seemed to onlookers that the city was finally back to normal with its Captain back, solidifying his friendships and bringing merriment back to them after a long year of trials and tribulations sans their most beloved leader.

Girion and Hirluin downed the remaining contents of their mugs simultaneously, smacking their lips as the refreshment perked them up just in the nick of time. Girion rose, his hand resting affectionately on Boromir's shoulder and fingertips gently massaging the well-muscled upper arm and back. "Alas, dear friend, we must return to our posts, Hirluin and I."

"Yes, get back to your duties, lazy louts," Boromir chuckled. His head was feeling light and airy as the several mugs of mead he'd imbibed warmed his heart with licks of heat that renewed themselves every time he took a draught. Girion's hand on his shoulder added to the hotness he felt; a hotness that he hadn't felt for anyone other than Faramir in his whole entire life. Girion... he thought, looking up at his friend's face fondly. //I missed you, too, while I was away...//

"At your command, at your command!" Girion laughed, hands held up in a gesture of submission. "We must away. Please do come and find as again, Captain," he said jauntily, adding a sashay to his step as he and Hirluin filed out, Hirluin in front and Girion behind. He tossed an impish glance over his shoulder before stepping out into the windy winter air, and Boromir felt the pit of his stomach churn with desire at the memories of his first time with a man - with Girion.

The pub became considerably less homely to Boromir without his friends there, and he quickly consumed the remainder of his mead before paying the shopkeep with several silver coins. He moved to the door and was immediately met with a brisk gust of wind that ruffled his hair and chased off any warmth garnered from the drink. Girion had gotten him to worrying on Faramir again, and it made his resolve resurface and urge him to go and prod his brother for answers to questions he had previously settled to leave unanswered. As he wound his way up back to where he thought he would have the best luck finding Faramir, his brain was inundated with a mixture of concern for Faramir and rekindled desire for Girion. His thoughts were interrupted, though, and a look of tender adoration highlighted his mouth and eyes when his gaze fell upon a small form huddled beneath blankets on the rampart with leaves of parchment tucked behind him.

Keeping his step as light and quiet as possible, Boromir closed the distance between himself and the spot on the wall where Faramir was dozing. He bent forward and nestled his nose into Faramir's sandy waves, rustling them ever so slightly as he breathed. As softly as possible, he whispered "You'll catch a chill out here, rosebud," before leaving an airy kiss on the top of Faramir's ear.

Faramir's eyes blinked open and slowly focused on Boromir as he awakened from his light doze, a fatigued smile promulgating itself on his face. He swiped at his reddened nose and sniffled again, shifting stiffly under his blanket. "I fell asleep?" he asked hoarsely.

"You were snoring, so yes," Boromir replied amiably as he straightened up. "I'm sorry if I interrupted a dream..."

"Seeing your face is much better than any dream I could have," Faramir said fondly, removing the blanket from around him and collecting his pieces of parchment with frozen fingers. He stood from the hard bench and stretched, his muscles stiff. "How did you--" he broke off and sneezed violently.

Boromir wiped his nose with a gloved finger. "Thank you, but I've bathed. How did I what?" he asked as he watched Faramir scoop up the sketches and scribbles that lay strewn about his perch on the rampart.

"I was going to ask how you found me here." Shivering as the cold permeated his clothing, Faramir pressed himself against Boromir, urging the older man to wrap his arms around him. "Not that I don't mind that you found my hiding place."

Boromir gladly welcomed Faramir into his arms, and felt his brother's shivers recede as he gradually warmed up against his body. "How did I find you here? Oh, well... brothers just have a sense for that sort of thing." He smiled faintly as his thumb drummed gently on Faramir's head. "Come, I'm half-frozen. Let's go in."

Faramir nodded and allowed Boromir to escort him inside, but not before he grabbed the pieces of parchment he had been drawing on. He couldn't help but chuckle as Boromir hustled him back to the comfortable warmth of his own room. Faramir settled on the floor next to the roaring fire in the stone hearth, sniffling and wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve. "Boromir," he said abruptly, "What do you remember about our mother?"

Boromir glanced backward, freezing in the midst of removing his large pelt. "Well, I remember many things about her... What is it that you want to know?" He sloughed off the heavy fur and laid it haphazardly on his mattress before moving over to Faramir and slowly sitting down next to him, keeping a fair distance from him.

"Well...What was she like? I can't really remember her..." his voice trailed off as he looked down in thought, gleaning every possible memory he could of his lost mother. "She used to sing to me, and read to me; she had a gentle voice. But aside from that, I can only remember feelings. Did she love father very much? Did she like to have fun? Did she like to play out in the snow like you and I?" Faramir looked up at Boromir, his glossy eyes revealing an almost-desperation. "So many people tell me that I'm like her, but I have no memory to compare it to. Do you think that it's true?"

Boromir smiled weakly. //He really is like mother. Fragile, delicate, but strong underneath. I can tell.// "I do think it's true, what they say." Faramir's teeth were still chattering from the chill clinging to his thin frame. Boromir grabbed a thick blanket, and, draping it about Faramir's quaking shoulders snugly, said with a soft chuckle, "She loved the snow. She was from further south where there wasn't much of it, and so when she saw it here she spent as much time as possible out enjoying it." Absently, he brought his hand up to the top of Faramir's back and lightly massaged the base of his neck with his fingertips.

"Did father ever join her?" Faramir closed his eyes and attempted to picture a completely different side to his father, scowl replaced with a smile, laughter instead of criticism coming from his mouth. "Was she ever unhappy here?" He snuggled into the blanket and closer to Boromir's touch, thanking the heavens yet again for the wonderful brother he had.

Boromir gazed into the flickering tongues of orange fire, trying to bring forward a visual memory of Finduilas. He sucked his teeth pensively before replying, and finally said "No... father never really joined her, that I can recall, but he would watch her, and us. And he would smile, sometimes. But she was unhappy, when she... " He paused, a pang of sorrow piercing his heart as he recalled the way Finduilas had fallen into despair and remained in bed, wilting and wasting away steadily. //She was so thin... just like you are, Faramir...//

"When she..." Faramir prompted, wondering what had caused the sudden look of pain to cross Boromir's face.

"Died," he managed to croak, struggling with the feelings the memories conjured up within in. He never stopped his soothing motions on Faramir's neck; in fact, he moved his hand to either of Faramir's shoulders as he tried to quell the grief he was feeling, both for their mother and for Faramir's unsaid plight. Boromir continued to stare blankly, his jaw set, into the dancing fire.

Faramir's eyes widened as Boromir's distress became more and more apparent. Though his brother never cried to alleviate his sorrow, Faramir could tell that his brother suffered more than he let on from the onslaught of memories. He shifted so that he could wrap his arms around his brother, drawing him down so that his head rested against his chest. "Shhh," he soothed, rocking back and forth as he tried to comfort the older man. Faramir felt almost detatched from the situation. He had been young still when their mother died and had hardly any recollection of her. While he had been the son to spend more time with her, Boromir had become deeply attached to their mother as well in the ten years that he spent with her.

Boromir gladly accepted Faramir's comfort, and despite his chagrin at showing his weakness so brazenly he felt oddly at ease and uninhibited with Faramir holding him. He inhaled fitfully, breathing in his brother's scent; he smelled of snow and wood smoke, making for a pleasant and relaxing aroma. Feeling a well of heat spring inside of him once again, Boromir suddenly jerked away from Faramir's hold and said weakly, "I'm sorry that I skulk so." He sniffled and exhaled loudly, clearing the mist from his eyes. "What else do you want to know about her?" he asked, turning his azure gaze back to Faramir's amber-stained face.

Faramir's green-blue eyes darkened momentarily, a look crossing over his face that was akin to a puppy who had been rudely shoved away after being given a bit of affection. Still, he dared to reach his hand out to cup Boromir's stubbled cheek. "You've told me enough," he said softly, not wanting to upset his brother further.

Boromir nodded slowly, easing into Faramir's smooth palm and brushing his lips across it. "I will tell you more of her another time, if you wish it," he said in broken, subdued tones despite the gleam of affection in his eyes as the fire played off their dark irises. He scooted nearer to Faramir so that their thighs touched and, like the child he still was deep down, he rested his head on Faramir's thin shoulder and partially closed his eyelids. "Faramir?"

Closing his eyes, Faramir laid his head down so that it rested atop his brother's sandy-brown hair. With his free hand, he stroked Boromir's shoulder gently, reassuringly, trying to stay the sorrow that had been set into motion by the remembrance of their mother. "Yes, Boromir?" his soft voice asked.

"Thank you," Boromir breathed as he settled snugly against his brother's warm, blanketed form.

Faramir's brow furrowed, though he did not relinquish his hold on his brother. "Thank you for what?" he asked, puzzlement apparent in his question.

Boromir smiled faintly. "For being tolerant of your loutish big brother and his babyish emotions," he replied with a self-deprecating chuckle. Absentmindedly, Boromir placed his hand on Faramir's knee and ran his thumb in circles around it as he spoke.

Light shivers ran through Faramir's body, spreading from Boromir's light touch to the tips of his fingers and toes. "I am not being 'tolerant', nor are your emotions babyish." He ran his peaked hand through Boromir's tresses and massaged his scalp lightly. "If I am as much like our mother as everyone says, then never leave my side and feel her through me like a flower finds its heat from the sun's light." He bestowed a light kiss on the top of Boromir's head.

Heart swelling, Boromir gently squeezed Faramir's knee and turned his head slightly to kiss his brother's bare neck. "I will not leave you, rosebud." //But you will, Boromir, sooner or later... It's inevitable...// Feeling a pang of guilt drive through his chest like a nail, Boromir quickly dismissed his last thought and simply took delight in the moment. Slowly he crumpled down into a ball on the floor, letting the heat radiating from the hearth warm him from head to toe. "Lay with me for a while, will you?" he asked Faramir in a soft voice.

Faramir nodded obligingly, sprawling himself out on the floor next to Boromir. Reaching behind him to take Boromir's arm, Faramir wrapped it around his bantam waist, snuggling into his brother's warmth as he spooned him from behind. "I would lay with you like this forever if I could," he said quietly, lacing his fingers through Boromir's. The soporific effect of the crackling fire and Boromir's familiar scent surrounding him soon sent Faramir into a comfortable slumber.

TBC...