Chapter 2

Faramir discovered when he was thirteen why his Father was downcast. It was his mother. She died a long time ago. Faramir devised why his Father liked Boromir better. Mother was exhausted with raising the youngest, couldn't keep up with life, and died of exhaustion.

That was why his father hated him. Everyone knew that Boromir was most alike Denethor and Faramir took after the mother. Faramir reminded Denethor of Mother, and he hated it, especially since a son was not like him.

Faramir remembered that he loved dinner with his father and brother as a child. He could see them both for the longest amount of time, at least in a child's perspective. Now, he hated the nighttime meal.

Denethor sat at the head. Boromir sat to Father's right and Faramir to the left. Servants glided around the table, serving the steward's family meat, vegetables, and wine. The uncanny thing about tonight's dinner was Denethor's face. He was smiling. He was beaming. His eyes shone.

They shone full of pride.

"Boromir," Denethor narrated, "the eldest son of Denethor, ready and willing to swear himself in tomorrow as a soldier of Gondor."

Boromir couldn't hide the grin. Faramir smiled at him from across the roasted, sauced pig in the center.

Faramir bravely asked, "Can I watch it tomorrow?"

Denethor glared at him. "It is a private ceremony for the steward, officials of the army, and the soldier only. Children are not allowed."

Faramir frowned.

The conversation after that was about Boromir, which Faramir understood completely. It was exciting, seeing his brother become a soldier. Eight years of preparing was a long time, and Boromir had earned such an honor, possibly even more than the captain currently serving, Captain Ceredon. Being only eighteen and becoming a soldier was extraordinary! Denethor had a right to be proud, and Faramir knew it.

Faramir excused himself after desert. He said he wished to work on his lessons, which was partially the truth. He needed to refresh his memory of the Eleven Stewards of Gondor, but the real reason he left the Dining Hall was to think.

He plopped down on his bed, opening the book. He dispassionately reread everything the snotty, reedy instructor assigned him to. They were just a list of names, dates, and heroic deeds. Faramir would listen when Boromir returned victorious from a battle. He would record each and every detail as vividly as he could. He would make future readers feel as if they were seeing it with their own eyes, because his brother deserved the recognition of many generations.

Just as he ended researching the tenth successor, his grandfather, a knock echoed in the room. Faramir jumped, was ready to fly to his desk. But when he realized the knock came from the side of his room, he beamed.

He gratefully closed the book, threw it on the sheets, and slid the tapestry on the wall across its hanger. He opened the small door. Boromir crawled out. They had discovered the passageway between their bedrooms as small boys. Boromir had figured it was for protecting a king's son in the Second Age.

Boromir grimaced and groaned as he inched the last of his body out of the meager opening, ignoring his brother's laughs.

"Either that opening is getting smaller or I've gotten bigger." Boromir said, standing up.

Faramir laughed. "I won't guess."

Boromir ruffled his brother's hair, cursing himself later when he realized it made Faramir feel like a child. "How are you doing? You left dinner hastily."

"I needed to memorize the order of Stewards. I can't remember the order from the first to the seventh."

Boromir smiled, took the book from the bed, sat at the desk, and showed Faramir the list. "I had the same problem, believe it or not. I came up with an alliteration to help me. It comes with a little song."

"Oh no," Faramir moaned.

Boromir laughed. "No, just listen." He started singing, patting the desk to the beat. The annoying yet clever rhyme scheme sent Faramir laughing. He wouldn't forget that order even if he aged a hundred and twenty.

When their brotherly laughs died down, Boromir embraced his brother. "I'm sorry about dinner tonight. Father is just very excited about tomorrow."

"I can see that," Faramir sulked. "Tomorrow, there'll be no more building forts, slaying dragons, saving maidens in distress…"

"No, not just any maidens; they were very cute maidens." Boromir laughed.

"Oh yes," Faramir acknowledged, "with flowing locks of golden hair, sapphire eyes*!" Faramir immediately soured. "There won't be fun anymore!"

"I'll still come see you. Remember, that cubby is our little secret."

"Neither of us will be able to fit through it much longer."

"Well, it's about time we grew up anyway. We'll still have fun, just not the type of fun we used to have. We'll have fun teaching you about archery and weapons and all the stuff I know."

"I don't need to learn soldier criteria. I'm not eighteen yet," Faramir protested.

Boromir thoughtfully looked at his younger brother. "Well, eighteen will come sooner than you think." He turned back to the book. "Alright, let's get you started. Who was the eighth Steward?"

Faramir growled, "I don't know!" He ran to his bed and plopped on it. It wasn't often that he pouted, but sometimes it was the only way to get a point across to his brother.

"Faramir?" Boromir walked sat near the foot of the bed.

"I don't know what battle our great-something father won."

"Well, here," Boromir held the open book in front of Faramir's nose. "Read the fifteenth paragraph."

Faramir sulked more, but he did as his brother wanted.

He slowly read aloud. "The great Steward of Gondor led the mil-it-arry to vis-vis…"

Boromir hesitated. "Faramir, that first word is military. The second word is victory."

"I know," Faramir snapped. He continued, "When the…military re-re-turn-ed."

"The "ed" isn't pronounced," Boromir said gently, "it sounds like a normal d."

"Re-Returned! When the military returned from war, there was a great…cel-eb-ra-tion!"

"Good."

Faramir closed the book. "I don't feel like studying now. I'm going to the archery range."

"Faramir, wait!" Boromir grasped his brother's hand. "Answer me one question. Do you read as well as other children?"

Faramir didn't respond. He just stared at the door.

Boromir sadly guessed as he stood, "You don't read as well as other children. You have trouble with big words."

Faramir shook his hand free of Boromir's grasp. "Two years ago, Father wanted me to read aloud to him, to see how well I was doing in my lessons. I stumbled over every other word. Father called in the instructor and the instructor finally admitted that I had trouble reading. It's just…all the letters look the same."

"Why wasn't I told about this?"

"When it happened, you were on that two month tour of Osgiliath. I didn't tell you because I thought it wouldn't be important."

"Still, I could've helped you to learn to read."

Faramir turned to Boromir and scoffed. "That's why you're his favorite! You do everything right! I don't! You could wield a sword by the time you were ten! I'm still learning how to knock an arrow! When I become a soldier, I'll be the worst one ever!"

"Faramir, that's not true and you know it!"

Faramir didn't know whether Boromir's reprimand was about Father or his unguaranteed career, but he continued anyway. "But you both are exactly alike! I'll never be like you and Father knows it! You're both proud, loyal, diligent, you both love Gondor! I love Gondor too, and I would fight for it, I really would, but I'm not a leader. That's why Father doesn't like me."

"He loves you!" Boromir protested. "He just shows his love in different ways."

Faramir glanced at the ground, unconvinced.

Boromir inhaled and stood upright. "Tell you what, after my Induction tomorrow, I'll spend the evening with you and we'll go riding."

"Riding?" Faramir exclaimed. "On horses?"

"No, on goats." Boromir's sarcasm made Faramir finally smile.

"Well…"

"If you don't want to ride," Boromir negotiated, "then we'll do whatever you want."

Faramir glanced up with a hopeful gleam in his eye. "Archery?"

Boromir smiled. "Done."

Faramir hugged him. "Thank you, brother."

Boromir nodded, smiling, his hands around the child's head. "Now, get some sleep. If you're going to watch my Induction tomorrow, you can't yawn."

"What?"

"I finally convinced Father. You can watch!"

Boromir received yet another hug.

*Reference to Eowyn. I thought it would be cute if Faramir's vision of a cute maiden was his future wife.