Faramir Fiction Archive

Brothers (G)

Written by Monica

09 May 2005 | 4731 words

Chapter 3: Dressing

Faramir sat on his small bed, his arms crossed and an angry look on his face. He so seldom caused any trouble that Boromir was having difficulty handling his suddenly stubborn little brother.

"That shirt itches," the child pouted.

Boromir sighed and put back the small tunic that he had been holding. Getting Faramir dressed in the morning had never taken more time or energy. Faramir had most definitely awoken on the wrong side of the bed this day, and Boromir was rapidly going through the wardrobe trying to find something Faramir would agree to wear. No wonder their nurse had been so agreeable to let Boromir dress his little brother while she got their breakfast. He pulled another tunic out and Faramir wrinkled his nose.

"I don't like that color."

Boromir eyed his brother, wondering what had gotten into the five-year-old. At this rate they were going to be late for breakfast. He went through the wardrobe again, and spotted some of his outgrown play clothes. Faramir was still a bit small for them, but they just might work. "How about these?" he asked.

"Yes!" Faramir beamed. He had hoped that his brother would take the hint that he wanted to dress like Boromir today. Faramir's fondest wish was to soon be big enough to handle Boromir's old play sword.

Boromir sighed in relief and went to his brother who, now willing, lifted up his arms so Boromir could slide the tunic over his little body. The top was a little big and hung below Faramir's knees, making the child giggle and twirl around. Boromir managed to corral him long enough to run a brush through the tangled curls and decided they both looked presentable enough. Faramir did look pretty cute in his old clothes, the older boy decided. He would pull some more out of his closet after breakfast and hoped it would keep Faramir happy and looking halfway decent.

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time change

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"It's too tight."

"Stop fussing with the collar, Sir, it looks fine."

"It itches."

"Well, some say that comfort occasionally has to sacrificed for style, Sir. Can't says that I agree with that myself, but you do look quite good in this tunic. Lady Éowyn won't be able to take her eyes off you."

Faramir sighed and scowled at his reflection in the mirror. Éowyn was returning to Minas Tirith for their wedding, and she and Éomer would arrive in a few hours. Faramir was going to ride out to greet the party, and protocol dictated that he dress up in fancy clothes to meet his future bride and her escort. Why formal clothes had to be so blasted uncomfortable was beyond him.

Sam clucked some more and lightly slapped one of Faramir's hands that was fussing with the embroidery on a satin sleeve. "Stop that," he scolded. "Lady Arwen spent hours on that embroidery and she will run you through if you pull out the threads."

"It scratches, and embroidery has no place on a man's clothing," Faramir protested.

The hobbit nodded his head in agreement, but his tone was still unsympathetic. "Plain clothes are best by far, I agree Sir, but this is a special occasion. And women tend to notice such details. Lady Éowyn will be quite pleased to see you all spruced up to greet her. You don't meet your future wife looking like a wild ranger from the woods."

"I am a wild ranger from the woods," Faramir objected.

"Well you can't look like one today," Sam declared. He stood on a stool and patiently straightened the high collar again. Then he took up a hairbrush and started on the wild tangles. Faramir winced, but knew better than to object. Sam had taken it upon himself to act as Faramir's valet during his wedding celebrations and the hobbit was determined that the Steward would outshine everyone present. Sam had no intentions of seeing one of his Big Folk look scruffy. When his younger brothers were babes, Sam had always been proud of them looking like nice, tidy, hobbit lads, and he would turn Faramir into a prince if it killed him.

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