Farmir hated how the chainmail felt against his clothes, pinching it and rubbing against his skin. Hastily, he threw his wooden sword up in an attempt at parrying Boromir's stroke. But his brother simply knocked his sword aside, placing the tip of his own at the younger's throat.
"Yours again." Sighed Farmir, bending down to pick up his sparring weapon.
"What's wrong little brother?" Asked Boromir when he heard the sound of defeat in Farmir's voice. It didn't fit there. "You haven't been the same since the fall of Osgiliath."
"It's nothing." Farmir shook his head, positioning himself in a ready stance, sword raised. "Come in, ill get you this time." Boromir sighed, then attacked. Farmir held his ground for a few moments, but it was soon apparent who the master swordsman was. This time, Farmir ended up on the ground, his sword lying useless beside him.
Reaching down, Boromir hauled his younger brother to his feet. Farmir turned to leave, not even bothering to pick up his weapon. But Boromir didn't let him go, holding him by the arm.
"Farmir," He said, in that strangely serious voice for one of his age. "I know you. Something is wrong. IS it really something that you can not tell your brother?"
"It's nothing!" Snapped Farmir, wrenching his arm free and stomping over to where the white tree stood. He sat down, pressing his back to the pale wood and closed his eyes, burying his face in his hands. Silently, the youngest son of Gondor sat there, until he heard the sound of another sitting beside him.
Boromir didn't bother asking for an explanation. He knew to Farmir to well. If it was really something he wanted to share, he would eventually talk about it, but he was willing to wait. The two sat in silence, looking out over the white city. The tower guard stood about them, not to close, but close enough that Farmir could see the eyes of one of them. Finally, the younger boy sighed.
"Boromir," He began. "Have you ever wondered, what it would be like if we weren't the Steward's sons?" Boromir shrugged.
"No, not really." He replied. "Have you?" Farmir nodded.
"Yes, I have..." Murmured Farmir softly. "And I don't think I would choose this life over it." Boromir looked at his brother in alarm.
"What are you talking about?" He exclaimed.
"We don't have any freedom in what we want to be!' Farmir said, grumbling and picking at the fraying edge of his sleeve.
"This is about the rangers again, isn't it?" Boromir demanded. Farmir didn't reply. "It its. When are you going to accept that you aren't going to be one?"
"Never." Snapped Farmir, getting to his feet. "And I will be one someday, watch me, ill be a captain of the Rangers!" Then he stormed off, pushing aside one of the tower guard as he stormed out of the courtyard.
"Farmir, wait!" Called Boromir, getting to his feet. He and his brother very rarely fought, and it was usually about trivial things, but he didn't understand what had gotten Farmir so riled up this time. He ran after his brother who had now run into the room their father worked in. Boromir entered through the doorway just as Farmir skidded to a stop. Denethor looked up at Farmir, a scolding on the tip of his tongue when Farmir blurted,
"Im going to be a ranger of ithilein father." He said. His words were coming in a rushed pace, as if he was afraid that his courage might falter and he wouldn't be able to finish. "And you won't keep me from it."