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Screams echoed from the suite belonging to the Steward and his wife. Lady Finduilas, wife to Denethor Lord Steward of Gondor, was in labour with the couple’s second child. Outside the door waited her husband, her brother Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth and her oldest child, Denethor’s eight year old son and heir Boromir.
The young Hurin had been overjoyed to hear that he would be gaining a younger sibling and had insisted on being present at the birth despite the multitude of warnings that it would be unpleasant to experience. Even now, he was still excitedly planning what he and his new brother, for he was convinced the babe would be a boy, could get up to.
Finally, as dawn broke after a gruelling eighteen hours in labour the three men waiting outside heard the lusty wails of a newborn. Within minutes the door had opened to reveal one of Finduilas’ maids who gave a curtsey to both Denethor and Imrahil. Before either man could say anything Boromir had jumped up and darted through the open door to his mothers side. By the time that Denethor made it into the bedchamber Boromir was seated next to his mother with his new sibling already in his arms. Smiling at the sight, Denethor made his way to the side of the bed and kissed his wife before pulling back the blanket shielding the newborns face.
“A son my lord. Another son.” Finduilas murmured.
If anything, Denethor’s smile grew wider. “Another son? Finduilas, you do me a great honour. What should you like to call him?”
Finduilas looked at her two sons, tucked against her side and smiled. “I already have one jewel and I now have a second. We’ll call him Faramir.”
At that precise moment Faramir opened his eyes and bright sapphire orbs locked onto Boromir’s green eyes and the elder Hurin brother fell in love.
Two days later Faramir was presented to the people of Gondor in a naming ceremony that was lavish as people expected from the Hurin family. Two weeks later Finduilas was dead and Denethor never recovered from her loss.
Finduilas, the sister of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, had never been a strong woman and had suffered a decline in her health since her marriage to Denethor. That is not to say that the Steward mistreated her, it was simply that she did not cope well at being enclosed within the walls of Minas Tirith. It was rumoured that the people of Dol Amroth had a small portion of elven blood running through their veins and as such, like the elves, suffered from the sea-longing. As the elven traits in their blood were so minimal their longing could be assuaged simply by living in close proximity to the sea rather than leaving for Valinor. The years spent in Minas Tirith and the stress of two pregnancies, even eight years apart, had taken their toll on her health. Barely a day after Faramir’s naming ceremony she was confined to her bed with a fever. Two weeks later she was dead, leaving Denethor a widower and the Hurin brothers without a mother.
When Boromir was born, whilst they had the help of several nurse maids, Denethor and Finduilas had delighted in looking after their son themselves, unlike most noble families. For Faramir however, things were going to be very different.
As soon as Finduilas died, sole care of Faramir was passed into the hands of the nurse maids. Denethor wanted nothing to do with his youngest child. As far as the Steward was concerned it was Faramir who had killed his beloved wife. There was no rationale behind the belief. It was simply all-encompassing grief that manifested itself in anger towards the ginger-haired baby. Logically, Denethor knew that the two-week-old Faramir had nothing to do with Finduilas’ death; a baby couldn’t cause a fever but logic had no effect on his grief-stricken mind. He wanted nothing to do with Faramir. This decision was to affect their relationship for ever more.
Four years later….
Now four years old Faramir was universally adored both by the people living in the Citadel and those in Minas Tirith itself. However, the one person who adored him more than anyone was his older brother. Boromir had fallen in love with his baby brother the first time he set eyes on him four years ago and had been fighting his battles ever since. The two had bonded immediately and Faramir’s first word had been “Bori”, unable to pronounce his brothers name in full.
Two years ago, there had been a huge confrontation between Boromir and the head nurse maid. This woman had originally hailed from Dol Amroth where she had been Finduilas’ nurse maid and later her ladies maid. When Finduilas married Denethor she continued to work as a ladies maid before becoming nurse maid to Boromir and Faramir.
The confrontation occurred when Boromir, then age 10, walked in on Maorwen slapping a two year old Faramir and blaming him for the death of his mother, her mistress. She was unable to see past her grief, like Denethor. Boromir had made the decision then and there that he would be the primary caregiver for his brother. He had help from the Citadel staff but with his father incapacitated as far as Faramir was concerned, it was Boromir who made all of the decisions.
It was Boromir who, after he had completed his own lessons with various tutors taught Faramir to read, write and talk. As a result Faramir was completely and utterly devoted to his older brother. Anything that Boromir asked him or wanted him to do Faramir would do it. The older Hurin was the only one who could calm Faramir down, for the child had a fiery temper to match his distinctly red hair. Boromir was also the only person who could and would comfort Faramir when he was upset; the Citadel staff were too wary of Denethor’s wrath. It was whilst comforting Faramir that Boromir hit upon the pet name that would stick to Faramir forever.
Shortly after the confrontation with Maorwen, Boromir had prematurely installed Faramir into the suite of rooms that were always intended for him when he was old enough to leave the nursery. The rooms adjoined Boromir’s with a connecting door which both brothers liked. It had meant that Boromir was always on hand should Faramir need him. And when the first thunderstorm of the summer came Boromir was definitely needed.
The summer had been incredibly hot and dry. So dry that they hadn’t had rain for months let alone a thunderstorm. Faramir had been too small to remember the last one it was so long ago. The weather was so hot and humid that when the rains came accompanied by thunder and lightning everyone was overjoyed….everyone but Faramir.
The four year old hated the way that the rain lashed against the windows and that the windows sprang open under the onslaught of the wind; his curtains rippling in the gale. He hated the sound of the thunder and the flashes of lightning even more. He whimpered as he huddled under his blankets, wanting Boromir more than anything but too terrified to move from his bed. Finally, after a huge clap of thunder accompanied by lots of lightning he was too terrified to remain in his room and the dash to Boromir’s rooms was a much less daunting prospect.
Gathering his courage, and his blankets, he waited until the next clap of thunder had died away and then, with his room lit up as a result of the lightning he jumped off the bed and flew across to the door that connected his rooms to Boromir’s. Thankfully, the handle was on Boromir’s side so all he had to do was push, the door emitting a huge creak. Boromir, who had been sleeping through the thunderstorm, woke up at the creak having conditioned himself to wake up at the sound knowing that it would be Faramir.
“Fara? Is that you? What’s the matter?”
Faramir couldn’t speak. He just sobbed wordlessly and flung himself towards the haven of his brother’s arms, climbing the blankets like a monkey in his desperation to reach Boromir. The older boy scooted over in the bed and helped Faramir to climb onto the bed. As soon as he was on the bed, he crawled into Boromir’s lap, getting as close to the older boy as he could. Boromir thought that if it was physically possible Faramir would actually become part of him. He felt Faramir’s face bury against the crook of his neck, dripping hot tears onto his skin and nightshirt. Boromir looked confused and tried to pry Faramir away from him but the younger boy clung like a limpet and Boromir soon gave up. Finally, the sobs died away and Faramir shifted in Boromir’s arms, still sniffling quietly but refusing to move away from his older brother.
“Fara? Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” All of a sudden, he thought of something. “Is it the storm?”
Faramir nodded his head. “Don’t like it. Sounds scary and scary flashing lights.”
Boromir smiled slightly and pressed a kiss to the top of the ginger curls. “There’s nothing to be scared of. It’s all completely natural.” Denethor’s heir slowly explained about storms as Faramir settled down further.
When there was no sign of Faramir going to sleep, Boromir started to tell him stories about Thorongil, the fearless warrior who had served their grandfather Ecthelion. All the time that he was talking he was keeping up a soothing stroking pattern on his baby brother’s hair. Faramir nuzzled closer into Boromir’s neck and started making a soft purring noise, before drifting off to sleep, feeling completely safe and protected in his brother’s arms.
“Just like a little kitten.” Boromir noticed with a grin and a barely suppressed snort of laughter. He smiled softly and clutched Faramir that little bit closer as he shifted into a more comfortable position and kissed the top of his hair. “You just sleep Puss. I’ll always be here to protect you.”
Twenty-four years later....
Faramir winced as he slowly and carefully peeled his shirt away from his back. He knew that it had been a mistake to sneak Mithrandir into his father’s, and thus, the Stewards private archives but other than his brother, the wizard had been one of the only friends that he had as a child. As a result, he was always willing to help the Maia in any way that he could. Upon his latest fly-by-night visit to Minas Tirith, Mithrandir had needed to access some of the old documents from Faramir’s grandfather Ecthelion’s time as steward and even before then. He had no idea how Denethor had discovered what they had done, but regardless of how he had made the discovery, Faramir was now bearing the brunt of his fury.
Faramir, second son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor and Finduilas of Dol Amroth, his deceased wife, was now twenty-eight years old and Captain of the Ithilien Rangers. His older brother and heir to the Steward, Boromir, was thirty-six and currently held the position of Captain-General of Gondor. Both brothers had been summoned back to Minas Tirith after their father had received news of a Council in the Elven haven of Rivendell. As soon as he had received word of this council, Denethor had immediately summoned Boromir home and had reluctantly, upon the strongly worded advice of his council, also sent for Faramir. Faramir wasn’t sure how, but he had arrived back in Minas Tirith before Boromir at the same time as Mithrandir and with any luck, he would be able to hide the results of that mistake before Boromir returned.
His much adored big brother had no idea just how bad the relationship was between Denethor and his youngest son. He knew that Denethor couldn’t stand the sight of Faramir but then he didn’t think that there was a single person in the city who wasn’t privy to that piece of knowledge. Denethor had washed his hands of Faramir as soon as his mother died a mere two weeks after his birth. Boromir had been father, mother and brother all rolled into one for Faramir. He had raised Faramir, taught him the alphabet, comforted him after nightmares, taught him swordplay and everything that was required for a son of the nobility. They had a bond closer than most siblings and whilst Boromir adored his baby brother, to Faramir Boromir was the most important person in the whole world. However, as much as Boromir loved Faramir and for all that he was foremost in the Captain-General’s heart, there was no denying the elder’s love for his father. It was this love for both Denethor and Faramir that had him torn in two. It was for this reason that Faramir had never revealed that Denethor’s hatred for his youngest son had moved well beyond cold disdain and cruel barbs to physical abuse.
It took him a while but he finally managed to prise his shirt away from the bloody mess that was currently his back. He couldn’t remember when his father’s physical abuse had changed from the odd slap or vivid bruises from being held and shaken so hard to actually being whipped but it had been long enough ago that it barely phased him now. He could withstand the pain and whilst he wasn’t happy about it, he had long ago accepted that his father hated him due to his mother’s death. Gritting his teeth he used warm water and numerous clean rags to remove the blood before smoothing a healing paste courtesy of Ioreth over the welts that were still bleeding sluggishly. With the paste covering most of his back he took longer strips of bandages and wrapped them around his chest, ensuring that the paste was kept on and that any further blood wouldn’t come through onto his clothes where it could be seen by others. He had no desire for Boromir to find out and create any tension in his relationship with Denethor.
He had just managed to put on a fresh tunic and dispose of the bloody rags that were all that remained of his shirt and the rags that he had used to clean his back, when he heard Boromir’s voice in the study portion of his chambers. He breathed a sigh of relief that he had managed to keep the abuse hidden and then excitement at the fact that his brother was here. Due to their duties, they hadn’t been able to see each other for several months and he only wished that their meeting was under better conditions. Knowing that if he kept Boromir waiting much longer he would come looking for him, Faramir exited the bath chamber and discovered that Boromir had indeed grown impatient and had progressed onto searching his chambers.
“Bori?”
He was rewarded by the sight of his brother’s face lighting up completely. His green eyes brightened and a huge grin spread across his face. “Fara! Where have you been hiding Puss? I called out but you didn’t answer.”
“I was in the bath chamber. I wasn’t sure if it was actually you or whether I was imagining things.”
As soon as he finished talking, Faramir was swept into a huge bear hug. Although the Hurin brothers looked similar facially, their physiques were complete opposites. Boromir was a huge bear of a man, tall with broad shoulders and well-muscled, perfectly suited to the huge broad-sword that he preferred. Faramir, in contrast, was much slighter and more suited to his chosen career in the Rangers fighting with bow and knives. His slighter stature made it still possible for Boromir to pick him up and swing him around like he used to when Faramir was still a child. Admittedly, it wasn’t as easy as it used to be but it was still possible.
Boromir laughed as he slung an arm around Faramir’s shoulders and directed him next door into Boromir’s larger chambers. “You made good time to get here little brother. I thought I would arrive back to the city before you for sure.”
Faramir simply shrugged. “When the message came I was actually at Henneth Annun for once and not out in the field. I thought the same as you; I was convinced that you would arrive back before me. Obviously you were the one out in the field.”
“Yes, I was out of camp, checking the forward troops at Osgiliath. By the time I got back to camp, the message had been delivered four days previously. Come, I’ve asked for our dinner to be served in my chambers. We’ll need all the peace we can get; these meetings with Father and his advisors are bound to test even your incredible patience.”
****
By the time they had reached the break for evening meal the following day both Boromir and Faramir had pounding headaches from trying to reason with their Father and keeping his advisors from being offended. Denethor seemed incapable of thinking before he opened his mouth and was thus capable of offending everyone with just a few words. He also had a tendency to refuse the suggestions and advice from even the most experienced Councillors. In the last few years, he had appeared to become even more unpredictable, lashing out with both his tongue and his fists, both methods that Faramir was very familiar.
The problematic point in this council meeting was the announced council in Rivendell. Denethor had finally been brought around to the belief that it was a genuine meeting and not a trap set by the elves. Denethor’s paranoia was something that had also increased in the last few years. It had taken them several hours to convince Denethor that the Council was not a trap and then it had taken them several more hours to convince him of the benefits of sending someone to represent Gondor at said Council. Since shortly after the break for lunch, the advisors and even Boromir, had been trying to convince Denethor that the best person to send to the Council was Faramir.
The younger brother had long attended the council meetings and had effected several changes, all of which had to be suggested to other councillors to propose as the likelihood of Denethor accepting a suggestion of Faramir’s was incredibly slim. Nevertheless, even Boromir acknowledged that, out of the two of them, Faramir was the more intelligent. He was a voracious student, even now that he was a soldier, and had rapidly excelled beyond the expectations of his tutors. Now, they proposed that Faramir should represent Gondor for the simple reason that not only was he a better diplomat at his older brother, but that he was also well-versed in the traditions and languages of the elves. The councillors and Boromir had put forward their arguments, they were now waiting on Denethor’s pronouncement. Finally, he leaned forward in his seat, his decision made.
“No, I do not think that it is the best decision to send Faramir to Rivendell. He may be able to speak Elvish but he is not the man his brother is. Boromir is my heir and the Captain-General of Gondor. He will be best-suited to representing us and ensuring Gondor is protected at this Council.”
Boromir frowned and shook his head, golden-blonde hair whipping around his face. “Father, no. I have to disagree...”
“You would disagree with me Boromir? I am the Steward, my decision is law and final. My decision is that Boromir goes to Rivendell. Gentlemen, I believe that we are finished here. Captain Faramir, I wish to speak with you.”
The Councillors took the hint and left the room, although Boromir lingered, something that his father did not like. “Boromir, you are not needed here. Go to dinner and your brother and I shall join you soon.”
Boromir frowned but followed his father’s orders, leaving the room and leaving his father and younger brother together.
“Father? What do you want of me?”
“I want you to leave for Henneth Annun immediately. Now that the council is completed there is no need for you to remain in Minas Tirith.”
Faramir bowed to hide the disappointment on his face. “Of course Father, as you wish. I will leave immediately after dinner.”
“No Captain. I want you to leave immediately.”
Faramir gulped audibly. “Of course, I will just fetch my gear and say goodbye to Boromir.”
Denethor gave a cold, malicious smile. “Your gear has been brought here already. You have no time to say your farewells to your beloved brother. Your horse has been brought around. Leave now.”
“Yes, my Lord.” The downcast figure of the Ithilien Captain left the council chamber to carry out his Lord’s wishes, no matter how reluctantly.
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