Disclaimer: Yes they're mine, all mine. My precious! (wakes up from dream) Or not. (wistful sigh) As much as I am saddened to admit, anything you recognise in this tale (characters/places/etc) are the brain child of the wonderful Professor Tolkien. I promise not to cause to much damage, and I will put them back once I've finished with them.

A/N;

 This is a continuation of Looking through your eyes and Don't Promise. It can be read on its own or along with the other two stories.

 It is AU. The age gap between Faramir and Boromir is 15 years.

 The time line is a little off (about 12 years) The events of LOTR still happen when they are supposed to but Boromir is 31 rather than 42. Faramir is 16.

 I must point out that the character descriptions are the ones that coincide with the MOVIE because this is how I picture the characters

Denethor had gradually sank into depression in the days following Anborn's delivery of Boromir's cloven horn, until eventually not even Faramir was able to coax anything out of him. The Steward's mood was not improved by the arrival of Mithrandir seven days later. He was accompanied by a strange creature who was about 3' 8", had muddy brown skin and dark brown, almost black, hair. His feet bore no shoes and he was clothed in an odd assortment of clothing, all of which was travel stained.

"News is brought to me that you bring one who saw my son die. Is this he?" demanded Denethor in such a callus manner that Faramir, who was standing at a nearby table pouring over varying maps, flinched.

"It is," replied Mithrandir. "One of the twain. Yet this is not the halfling of whom the omens spoke."

"But a halfling still," muttered Faramir, not removing his attention from the maps. The halfling beside Mithrandir glanced over at Faramir and saw that the foxy-haired youth was in some form of pain.

"You speak of Boromir's death," stated Mithrandir. "You have had news?"

"Boromir's horn was found washed up on the banks of the Great River seven days ago," replied Faramir looking up. "One of the Ithilien rangers brought it hither."

"My boy," bemoaned Mithrandir.

"Perhaps you can explain what happened!" exclaimed Denethor, standing sharply and glaring heatedly at the wizard, his pent up emotions of the past seven days beginning to find release. "Explain to me how my son came to be dead!"

"The mightiest man may be slain by one arrow," said the little creature at Mithrandir's side. This wasn't the wisest of things for the halfling to have done as it gained him the scrutinising gaze of both Faramir and Denethor. "Boromir was pierced by many."

"You were there?" accused Denethor. "How did you escape and he did not?"

"The last I saw and remember of Boromir was him leaning against a tree and pulled a black-feathered arrow from his side," answered the halfling, taken aback slightly by the harshness in Denethor's voice. It was nothing like Boromir's kind, soothing manner. Faramir's voice held no emotion.

"He died to save us, my kinsman and I, who had been waylaid in the woods by the Falls of Rauros. I was taken captive by the Orcs of Saruman. Though he failed and fell, I am eternally grateful for his sacrifice. In payment of this debt, I offer you my service."

Faramir had crumbled at the halfling's words. Unable to stem the tears which were now falling from his eyes, he gave a brief nod to his father and ran from the Throne Room.

He collapsed by the wall and hugging his knees, Faramir let his tears flow as his shoulders shook violently, pent up grief finally taking over.

How long he sat there he did not know but he must have fallen asleep because his next conscious thought was being shaken by someone.

"My Lord are you alright?" asked an unfamiliar voice. Faramir blinked and found himself being watched by the halfling that had arrived in the City that afternoon. The small creature was gazing at him in concern.

"I'm alright. I just miss Boromir," replied Faramir.

"I know the feeling," smiled the halfling.

"Forgive me but I'm not sure you do," smiled Faramir. "You miss Boromir, and I will not prevent you from doing such but you miss a friend and hero, I miss my brother."

"Pippin," said the halfling suddenly. Faramir blinked.

"Your pardon?"

"My name. Peregrin Took at your service. Though generally I'm called Pippin, or even Pip." Faramir smiled.

"My name's Faramir," he said and offered a hand to the young halfling.

"Did your brother ever call you Fari?" asked Pippin. Faramir closed his eyes and nodded his head slowly.

"So you're the cub that he talked about," said Pippin, settling himself beside Faramir. Faramir's eyes shot open and he stared at the halfling.

"He talked about me?"

Pippin nodded vigorously. "All the time. Whenever Merry and me were feeling depressed he would always tell some story about you. About how he gave you your name, about the varying pranks you pulled and how you always seemed to get away with them, about how you were a master at archery, all kinds of things. I think he was focussed on getting home to you more than anything else once we had set out from Rivendell."

"He called me cub?" asked Faramir gazing dazedly at Pippin. Pippin nodded.

"It was either cub or Fari. Gimli was convince you were some form of animal. He got very confused when Boromir said you talked."

Faramir grinned. "I take it Boromir didn't correct him?"

Pippin shook his head grinning widely. "It was funny to watch Gimli's reaction to the phrase 'Fari said'"

Faramir laughed, "That sound's like the Boromir I remember."

Pippin's cheerful disposition vanished. "I am sorry Faramir."

"What for?"

"It is my fault you lost your brother," replied the halfling. Faramir shook his head.

"I knew I would lose him to battle. I even saw that he would fall on your Quest…."

"And you still let him go?" interrupted Pippin in disbelief.

"The fate I saw could not have been changed," replied Faramir solemnly. "If I didn't lose him to this battle, it would have been another. It is the way of the world in which we live. At least I got a chance to say goodbye."

Faramir began to perk up a little now that Pippin was in the City. The young halfling (or hobbit as he insisted upon being called) had a ready sense of humour and his optimistic remarks always brought a smile to Faramir's face. Surprisingly, Pippin also had a few good ideas when it came to planning Gondor's defences. Even Denethor began to come out of his depressed state. Though the Steward would primarily see Pippin as the cause of Boromir's death, the fact that he brought some measure of cheer into an otherwise depressing state of affairs and made Faramir smile and seem like the innocent child he should always have been, Denethor made a valiant attempt to at least be civil to the young tower guard.

However midway through March, things took a decidedly bad turn. Minas Morgul emptied and the subsequent attack led to the fall of Osgiliath. The enemies troops began to move across the River and they began to set up forces on Pelennor Fields. Errand runners had been sent to Théoden of Rohan at the beginning of the month but their help did not seem to forth coming. The siege of Minas Tirith began on the 14th and Denethor seemed to lose hope completely.

Siege towers controlled by Mountain Trolls and housing thousands of Orcs collided with the walls while trebuchets and catapults exchanged fire. It was all hands to battle stations and thus Faramir found himself somewhere on the second level fighting with men who had been soldiers since before he was born. He tried not to think about the fact that his city was destroyed piece by piece.

"This is not happening!" he muttered wrenching his sword out of one Orcs gut and into another and heard something heavy collide with the Main Gate. "Théoden where are you?"

Finally, the battering ram broken through the Gate allowing Orcs and six trolls to charge through. A high pitched scream rent the air as Nazgûl began to attack.

"Éomer! Théoden!" yelled Faramir becoming desperate. Suddenly he was hauled off his feet and found himself sitting on Shadowfax.

"Let me go!" demanded Faramir.

"This is no place for a child," replied Mithrandir as the stallion cantered through the streets.

"Tell that to the people who live down there! Let me go!" retorted Faramir still struggling. Mithrandir however had other ideas and did not release Faramir until they reached the courtyard on the seventh level. Snarling at the Istari, Faramir began to sprint back to the fighting only to collide with Denethor's chest.

"Hope is lost," said Denethor gently. Faramir's eyes widened in horror.

"No. It can't be. You said what I see might not happen. I cannot let the City fall!"

"I am sorry Faramir. The City will burn. The West has failed."

"NO!" screamed Faramir dashing around his father and a horn blast seemed to echo his conviction. Faramir spun around and caught sight of the Rohirric host. "They're here." He inhaled sharply, suddenly realising that he had seen this before and it had not ended well.

"Mithrandir make yourself useful and get my Father to the Tower! He is not safe out here!" demanded Faramir sharply. Mithrandir's brow furrowed while Denethor blinked and then his eyes widened.

"WATCH OUT!" yelled a guard as Nazgûl flew over. Neither Lord had enough time to make it to the Citadel so Denethor threw himself at Faramir, knocking them both to the ground. Faramir gasped as the air was knocked out of his body, only to have the weight relieved by the Nazgûl's winged steed.

"FATHER!" yelled Faramir, reaching out to grab Denethor's hand but he was wrenched away to fast. He was dropped again eight metres away. "Get a healer!" yelled Faramir as he clambered to his feet and sprinted to his father's side.

"Papa, please wake up," begged the youth, shaking Denethor's shoulder.

"Fari?" whispered Denethor opening his eyes.

"Yes Papa," taking hold of Denethor's hand. "A healer is on his way."

"Too late, Fari," rasped Denethor.

"No Papa, you said I saw could be changed!"

"And they have changed... But not for me," whispered Denethor. "The King is coming…. You will help him…. Look after the City…. Farewell my precious cub…." Denethor closed his eyes again, allowing the last breath to escape his body.

"No, Papa. Papa?" Faramir swallowed back the emotions that were rising up.

Later he promised himself. You can grieve later.

Catching sight of Pippin, who was wandering around the courtyard, also having been forbidden to fight by Mithrandir (That Istari should learn to keep his nose out of other people's affairs!) he called him over.

"Guard the Steward, Pip. Do not let anything or anyone touch him until I return," ordered Faramir and before Pippin could protest, Faramir snatched up his sword again and sprinted back to the battle.

Faramir went through a drastic change over the next few days, and the once loving, sociable child began to withdraw into a shell which seemed to grow harder and thicker every time someone tried to penetrate it. He helped with the stabilising of the City as much as he could but there was nothing anyone could say or do that could bring the smile back to his lips or spark back to his eye. Even Pippin began to lose hope that the child would ever recover. It wasn't until Aragorn had hunted out the last remaining Hurin, on the evening before his coronation, that Faramir began to heal.

Faramir had been sitting in the courtyard, his back resting against the low wall that surrounded the White Tree and staring out Westward, his lips moving but no sound being emitted, when Aragorn found him. Making himself comfortable beside the fox-haired youth, Aragorn had sat in silence for a few minutes before Faramir began to feel both agitated and nervous.

"Can I help you, Sire?" he asked.

"Your people are worried about you," replied Aragorn, glancing around at him.

"Why? I am no one of great importance," said Faramir, resting his head on his knees.

"Now I think that is where you and I disagree," said Aragorn. "You must be someone of high standing for so many people to be worried about you."

"I was the Steward's son. I was the Captain-General's brother. That is the only advantage I had over anyone else in this City. Now that the King has returned, I am simply another orphan that the noblemen feel they have to look after."

"Would people from the lower levels be asking about a simple orphan?" asked Aragorn. "You are special Faramir, don't let anyone tell you different and that goes for you as well."

"If you say so my Lord," murmured Faramir, his face still resting on his knees.

"Pippin told me he talked to you about the Quest. Or at least until he was captured," Aragorn tried, hoping to get a reaction from Faramir. Faramir nodded his head.

"When I heard that Boromir had died to protect him and his cousin I didn't know how to react. But then, I always knew that I would lose Boromir to battle, he wasn't the sort of person who would sit idly by and let others do the work when he could do it himself, I just hoped that it wouldn't be this one."

"His last thoughts were of you," said Aragorn gently. "As he lay dying, he asked that when I reached Minas Tirith, that I would look after his cub. He loved you Faramir and even now he is watching you. What do you think he will be saying?"

"That I was being an idiot," replied Faramir. "Sire I appreciate the gesture but I have to accept the fact that I am no longer the person I was. I no longer have the option to see myself as a child."

"You have every option. Faramir, you are only sixteen, don't try to grow up before you have to."

"What choice do I have?" exploded Faramir standing up sharply. "My family is dead and I watched them both die!"

"Your pardon?" asked Aragorn, clearly shocked by Faramir's exclamation.

"The dream that sent Boromir away. It came to me. Six times in total before he left. The week before he left I began to dream about him dying as well. I saw him be struck by black arrows. I watched him blow his horn but no one came to help. Only more Orcs. I watched as each arrow struck him. The week before his horn appeared, I dreamt about my father's death. I watched him be struck down by a Nazgûl! I tried to save him but he still fell. I held his hand as his spirit fled. He had to be literally pulled from my arms. I grew up along time ago Sire."

"Fari wait!" called Aragorn as Faramir began to move away. Faramir stopped.

"Don't," he muttered. "Don't call me that."

"My apologies. Boromir rarely called you anything other than Fari."

"I know." Faramir turned round. "Sire, please. Just treat me as you would anyone else. I am not the only one who lost people to this war. The lower circle residents lost more."

"And they will be cared for. Faramir, I promised Boromir that I would look after you and I mean to do that. I will not force or coerce you into anything but please, let me help you."

Faramir looked up at his King at saw a pleading glint in his eyes.

"Please?"

"Can we take it one day at a time?" asked Faramir.