Brothers (G) 
Written by Monica09 May 2005 | 4731 words
Pairing: Faramir and his "brothers".
Rated G for gratuitous fluff. No warnings other than gratuitous fluff.
Author Notes: This is just a series of snippets, jumping back and forth
in time. The first part of each chapter takes place during Faramir's
childhood. The second part takes place after the War of the Ring. Hopefully,
it will be clear enough. There will be seven chapters in all.
Thank you to KC for beta help, and to LadyHawksshadow and Minx for kind encouragement and advice.
Dwarvish words were found at: http://www.geocities.com/jonathanrisser/website/Non_Elvish/Dwarvish.htm
Boromir held out his hands encouragingly, his voice excited. "Come on Fara, you can do it!" The not quite six-year-old beamed in pride as the 10-month-old baby a few feet away from him gurgled. Faramir took an uncertain step, still not quite sure how this walking thing worked. Rather to his surprise, his foot supported his tiny body, and he tried another step.
"Yeah!" Boromir cheered as he swept up his baby brother in his arms. "Not even a year old and walking," he bragged to their nurse. "He will be a strong warrior." Faramir echoed his big brother with a cheer of his own, laughing delightedly. He loved nothing better than his brother and determinedly grasped a handful of hair. Boromir never fussed when he grabbed his hair, and Faramir popped the thumb of his free hand into his mouth.
Determined to let everyone know how brilliant his little brother was, Boromir headed inside and found his parents having tea in his mother's study. Mother was lying on a couch, looking better than she had been for a while and Boromir didn't remember to stay quite as he burst into the room.
"Mama, Papa, Faramir's walking!" he proudly exclaimed. His parents looked up and Mother smiled a little.
"He is already?" she asked, her soft voice sounding tired but still very interested. Boromir nodded in confirmation.
"Watch," he ordered. He sat Faramir on his feet in the middle of the room, balancing the child until he was steady. Then he backed away a few steps and held out his hands. "Come here, Fara. Show them how you can walk."
Faramir looked a bit nervously at the adults, not certain. Then he looked back at his brother and determinedly took a step toward him. Another two steps followed and he was rewarded with being picked back up.
"See?" Boromir cheered.
"That is very good," Denethor agreed, pleased at the smile on his wife's face. Boromir came over and both boys received a kiss from their mother and a pat on the head from their father. "Run along now, Boromir, your mother should rest some more."
Boromir smiled and waved goodbye as he ran out the door, his baby brother secure in his arms. Faramir waved his hands, imitating his brother as they left.
time change
"Come on, Faramir, one more step."
"This is stupid," the Steward growled. Aragorn smiled at the tone, intrigued how Faramir could sound nasty and yet respectful to the king at the same time. "I'm telling you, Sire, that I am perfectly fine." There just a hint of a sneer in the tone and Aragorn had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.
"Right," Aragorn said lightly, "and to ensure that; you are to remain off your foot for the remainder of today and all tomorrow."
Faramir sighed as he leaned against the king. "It does not hurt that bad," he said hopefully. "It is simply a twisted ankle."
"Yes, and it will heal only if you stop trying to walk on it." Aragorn guided his steward to a couch. "I do not want to see you walking on that foot for two more days. Use the crutches if you must move about." The king handed the aforementioned crutches to his patient. "Can't believe you were walking," Aragorn muttered under his breath as he left Faramir's room. "Told him to stay still; did he listen? No. Never listens to me," he continued talking to himself as he moved down the corridor.
In his bedroom, Faramir sighed and eyed the crutches with distaste. He had never had a foot or leg injury severe enough to keep him off his feet, and Faramir was finding that he hated the blasted crutches with a passion. And it was just like Aragorn to appear in the doorway as he was attempting an escape from his room. The king seemed bent on treating his steward like a small child, and it made Faramir smile a bit sadly; it was almost like having Boromir back. Visions of fire kindling filling his head as he glared one more time at the crutches, he reached for a book and settled down for the afternoon.
Boromir scowled at the book before him, trying to will the letters to make sense. His tutor had assigned a particularly hard section to read, and Boromir knew that he would be tested the next day on the information. He sighed and raised his eyes, wondering what good was it to read facts and dates. He liked reading stories of soldiers and battles, but this dull recitation of laws was boring.
"Boro?" a small voice sounded beside him. He looked down to see his four-year-old brother standing beside his desk. "What you doing?"
"Reading something stupid," Boromir answered, and Faramir giggled at the reply. He tugged on Boromir's shirt, and his big brother responded to the unspoken request by picking him up. Faramir settled on his brother's lap and contentedly watched and listened as Boromir returned to his book.
A few minutes later, Boromir frowned anew when he came to an unfamiliar word. Hesitatingly, he started to sound it out. "A-pen- dee," he tried. "No, ap-end…."
"Appendix's," Faramir piped up.
Boromir looked at the child, his eyebrows drawing together in surprise. "What, Faramir?" he asked. His little brother pointed to the word.
"That says appendix's," Faramir said confidently. "That's the stuff at the end of the book."
Eyebrows now rose as Boromir considered the child. "How do you know that?"
"Mabel is teaching me reading," Faramir said, referring to his nurse. "And mama teaches me too when she can."
Boromir looked at the book, and then back to his brother. "What else can you read?" he asked. Faramir giggled and began reading aloud to his big brother.
time change
"Kh…Khazâd ai-mênu." Faramir paused, considering the words. "The dwarfs are upon you?" he guessed.
"Yes!" Gimli slapped his back, nearly sending the young man sprawling across the desk. "I knew you were intelligent enough to read Dwarvish, lad," he boomed in a proud voice.
Faramir rubbed his bruised shoulder, smiling warily at the pleased dwarf. "Well, at least with reading I don't have to worry about the accent," he commented. Gimli had lamented that no one in Gondor spoke a word of Dwarvish without making him wince at the horrible accent. "But the characters are still hard to understand. It is quite different from most writing forms."
"Nonsense," Gimli scolded looking over Faramir's shoulder at the book. "Just requires some patience and concentration. This is a perfect book for you to practice reading; it's a nice easy children's story."
Faramir raised an eyebrow at Gimli's description. The title roughly translated as "Lust for mithril" and there was a small drawing of one dwarf bashing in the head of another dwarf with a pickaxe so he could presumably steal his pot of mithril. Not what he would call a children's story, but he wasn't about to argue with Gimli; he valued his life too much for that. Faramir conceded though, that it was unlikely that Gimli would ever cause him permanent harm. The dwarf had taken a liking to the young man and bossed him around worse than Boromir ever had. Anyone who even frowned at the new Steward received a death glare that made it clear one who valued his life would not cross the dwarf's honorary little brother.
"Now, let's continue the story," Gimili said brightly. "We're almost at the part where the mithril is found! It still brings a tear to my eyes every time I read it."
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.
time change
"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.
Boromir watched the meeting a little apprehensively. It was a vital strategy session, and he could only hope that the two participants found one another agreeable. He crossed his fingers and watched anxiously. Mabel, their nurse, had assured him that babies found each other fascinating, and Boromir could only hope that held true.
Faramir regarded the other baby warily, tiny eyebrows drawn together in thought. It was the first time he had ever seen another baby, although he had occasionally seen older boys brought to the Citidel to play with Boromir. Findulas had decided it was time for Faramir to have a playmate his own age, and one of her ladies in waiting had brought her 14-month-old daughter for the afternoon. The toddlers faced off in Boromir and Faramir's play room with one older brother and two nurses in attendance.
Some sort of agreement seemed to have been suddenly reached. Faramir smiled and offered his guest a soggy stuffed bear he had been chewing on, showing his hospitality. Rose giggled at the courtly gesture and accepted the token with a smile, batting her lashes at her host. In return, she patted Faramir's hair and Boromir swore he saw a blush on his brother's face at the young lady's flirtation.
Boromir remained for a while until he was certain that the babies were playing together peacefully. Sometimes being a big brother was hard work, and he was relieved there had not been any crying. He hated it when babies cried as it made him feel profoundly worried.
time change
Faramir cried and cried, his screams surely echoing through the halls. The adults exchanged looks of desperation, both at their wit's end. "Faramir, please stop crying," his father pleaded. "I'll do anything you want, I swear. A pony ride? A new toy? Just stop crying."
"I think he's a little young for bribery, even for a Took," the Steward of Gondor commented. He picked up his namesake and tried yet again walking around the room. "Diamond and Éowyn make it look so easy," Faramir grumbled. "They will never stop gloating if we don't make him be quiet."
"I know," Pippin sighed. He rummaged through the satchel that Diamond had left with them when she and Éowyn went out shopping. Given the choice of either accompanying their wives shopping or sitting with the baby, it had seemed an easy decision. Now both men regretted their choice and would rather be serving as luggage bearers for their wives as they hunted through Minas Tirith's shops. Pippin dug a old favorite toy out of the satchel and offered it to his son. Baby Fara stopped crying long enough to inspect the offering, making his father and honorary uncle hold their breaths in anticipation. Unfortunately, the toy was deemed unacceptable and the hobbit lad resumed his wailing.
Faramir bounced the baby, thinking desperately. "I know it's only been an hour since his last bottle, but do you think he could be hungry again?"
Pippin considered the idea. "Well, with a Hobbit that is always a possibility," he agreed. "It's worth a try."
They hurried to the kitchens to fetch a fresh bottle, enduring smirks from the women who were amused at the helplessness of men and babies. A kindly older cook, feeling sorry for the frazzled adults, brought the bottle swiftly. Baby Fara graced the cook with a sweet toothless smile before he settled back to enjoy his snack. Pippin secured another bottle and the men tiptoed back to the study.
"How many bottles did Diamond leave?" Faramir whispered, afraid to disturb the child.
"I don't know," Pippin hissed back. "What do we do if we run out?"
"Don't even think about that!" Faramir sighed. "I'll order an entire dairy herd of cows brought to the citadel courtyard if I have to."
The baby paused in his snack to offer a burp of satisfaction at his meal. Then he quickly settled back down to eating, leaving his father and uncle counting the minutes until the ladies returned.
Boromir watched the practice with a critical eye. He was the instructor here, and he took his duty quite seriously. A sloppy thrust made him frown a little and he went to his pupil.
"No, Faramir," he said patiently. "You hold the sword like this, remember?" He demonstrated with his own sword, and then stepped back to watch another attempt.
The four-year-old stuck out his tongue in concentration, his tiny hands barely big enough to grip around the wooden play sword. Faramir was only a few inches taller than his "weapon", and it was close to outweighing him as well, but he was very determined. Boromir had promised he could have his old play sword when he was big enough to hold it, and Faramir wanted the prize today. He managed a rather wobbly swing, nearly making himself spin around and fall, but held his ground and Boromir was satisfied it looked like a fine attack.
"Yeah!" Boromir cheered. He picked up his brother and Faramir clung to him. "I knew you could do it," Boromir praised him. Faramir giggled in delight, beaming with his accomplishment.
"Can I have it now, Boro?" he asked, still managing to cling to the sword. "You have a new one Father gave you," he reminded his brother.
"Yes, you deserve it now," Boromir agreed. "But remember the rules, you touch it only when I am with you; the rest of the time it stays put away. It's not a toy, Fara." Having just been given a *real* metal sword, Boromir now regarded the wooden implement as a complete toy, but he wanted Faramir to be safe. He was never too young to learn how to properly handle arms.
"I promise," Faramir said solemnly as Boromir put him back down.
"Now, let's go inside, and I'll show how to clean your weapon. Remember, Fara, you have to take care of a sword and it will take care of you." It was a line from a lecture that Boromir now had daily during his practice sessions with the sword master, and it seemed good advice to give his little brother. Nodding earnestly, Faramir trailed after his brother, dragging the wooden sword behind him.
time change
"Ouch!"
"Sorry."
"That's the third time you've slapped my wrist. I'm beginning to be worried that you'll slap my hand at dinner tonight," Faramir snapped at the Elf.
Legolas smirked. "I just may; thank you for the idea." He ignored the look that the Steward gave him, and took hold of Faramir's hand again, remembering this time to gentle his grip. Faramir was still recovering and Aragorn would surely have his head if he returned the Steward any worse for wear.
Faramir was still officially "banned" from weapon's practice until Aragorn decided that his arm and shoulder had sufficiently recovered from their wounds in battle. Knowing the new Steward was going crazy from lack of physical activity, Legolas offered to show him how to throw the Elven knives, an offer Faramir accepted gratefully. This was their first day at practice, and Faramir was finding the Elf quite the taskmaster.
"When you were learning, did your instructor slap your hand?" Faramir asked, regarding the Elf warily.
Legolas had the grace to blush. "Once or twice. You have to get the grip correct from the beginning or you will never learn how to throw them properly."
"Well, alright," Faramir muttered. He did want to learn this correctly. He offered his arm to Legolas and the Elf tried to bend his fingers in directions they were not mean to flex. Once he had an acceptable grip on the knife, Legolas removed the weapon and handed it back to Faramir.
"Now you try to hold it properly this time." Faramir muttered something about silly Elves, and made his fingers comply.
Legolas nodded in satisfaction at the latest effort. Faramir was a quick study and the Elf knew the Steward could become accomplished with this new weapon in time. Aragorn had worriedly told his friend that Faramir's arm might always remain a bit weak, and Legolas had vowed to see this young man able to defend himself properly with another type of skill. Legolas looked upon Faramir as a little brother, and he was going to protect his new sibling.
Boromir steadied the feet balancing on his shoulders, looking around the garden worriedly. "Do you see anything?" he hissed.
"No…wait! Yes. Yes, I see them!" Faramir answered. Boromir felt his brother stretch a little higher. "They're on the table," Faramir reported.
"Good! Can you reach the latch?"
"Yes, Boro." There was a metal scraping sound, and the window above them swung open. "Ready," Faramir reported.
Boromir took a deep breath and boosted his brother higher, lifting his arms straight up holding Fara's feet. Luckily, Fara weighed hardly a thing, even at five-years-old and Boromir was strong for his age of ten years. With the extra height, Faramir was able to scramble over the ledge and into the room through the window. Boromir kept an eye out, never knowing when a servant might come through the garden. Fortunately, Faramir was quick and in no time at all he was back at the window, crawling out onto the ledge.
"Ok, jump, Fara, I'll catch you," Boromir ordered. Faramir nodded and with complete trust in his brother jumped lightly from the windowsill. Boromir easily caught him and sat him back on the ground. "Good job, Fara!" he praised as he took the keys from his brother's hand. They had waited until the guard was gone eating lunch before sneaking into the room to steal the extra keys that were always kept there. "Now let's go explore the dungeons!"
Faramir nodded solemnly, his eyes wide with excitement as he followed his brother back inside on a great adventure.
time change
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. At least, I think so."
"You *think* so?" Faramir stopped and turned around to face the Hobbit. "We've crawled past the guards, through a window, and climbed over the wall using the tree just because you *think* Mithrandir has fireworks in his wagon?"
Merry had the grace to blush. "Well, it's the same wagon he always uses. And Pippin heard Gandalf tell Arwen that there would be fireworks for Aragorn's birthday tomorrow. Where else would he store them?"
Faramir considered the information. "You don't think he would have moved them after the stunt you and Pippin pulled at Bilbo's last birthday in the Shire?"
"It's not likely," Merry argued. "Gandalf is a creature of habit. And he insisted on them storing the wagon in the barns in case of rain tonight. They have to be in there."
After a moment's thought, Faramir mentally agreed and they returned to their stealth attack on the barn. Secrecy was vital, for they wanted there to be no evidence whatsoever that the Steward and one of the Hobbits had been sighted by the barns. Mithrandir would surely put two and two together and conclude that they had stolen the fireworks. Faramir and Merry wanted no witnesses to their pilfering.
"And after we get the fireworks, lets go explore Strider's throne room," Merry giggled quietly as Faramir boosted him through the barn window. "I bet we can hide them in there!"
"Sounds perfect," Faramir snickered back.
Merry smiled at the happiness in Faramir's voice. The Steward had proven to a perfect accomplice with various tricks and stunts, as no one ever suspected him. And it was handy having a Big Person for a partner in adventure; Faramir would boost Merry through all sorts of windows and into rooms, then Merry threw out a rope and Faramir would climb in. Merry was delighted to have a new brother with whom to create mischief.
He located the exact firework he wanted, and quickly returned to the window where he lowered it down to Faramir. Then the hobbit jumped down and they moved onto their next target, giggling the entire time.
"Fara?" Boromir looked around the huge room, considering all the hiding places the library offered. Faramir could be anywhere and if he was curled up with a new book, he might not even pay attention to his brother's call. "Faramir, come out now," Boromir commanded.
A sigh, and then a small head appeared from behind some shelves. "Over here, Boro," Faramir said. Boromir smiled and went to his brother.
"What has got your attention this time?" he asked his little brother fondly, joining him on the floor. Since Faramir had turned six and was allowed to enter the libraries to read, the boy spent much his free time with his nose in a book. Boromir himself did not quite understand the fascination with old histories, but he knew Faramir loved all types of learning.
"It's a history of Rivendell," Faramir said excitedly. "All sorts of stories, but I wish it had a map."
Boromir shrugged. "There is surely a map here somewhere," he said. "You can ask the scribes sometime."
Light eyes smiled at his older brother. "But I want to find it myself," he said. "That's the fun part."
Boromir laughed in agreement. "And I bet we can find all sorts of interesting stuff while we are looking," he agreed. Just last week while helping Faramir find a story about the dwarfs, Boromir had come across a very interesting little book of poetry. Normally he hated poetry of all types, but this one had contained some quite enlightening words about love and women. Judging from the reaction of the scribes, Boromir had correctly deduced that it was for adults only, and thus he badly wanted to read it. He would help Faramir find his map, and then Faramir would surely remember where the poetry was stored.
He helped Faramir up to his feet, and the brothers began their sneak attack on the unsuspecting library.
time change
His stomach announced that it was time for a break, and Frodo Baggins was one to listen to his stomach, even when reading. He carefully placed a bookmark to mark his spot in the huge volume of maps, and looked around the library. "Faramir?" he asked aloud. There was no telling where the Human had curled up this time.
"Over here, Frodo." A dark head appeared from behind some shelves, and Faramir joined the hobbit at one of the tables. "Let me guess, snack time?" the Steward teased gently.
"Guilty," Frodo admitted. "And you know that if we don't take a break, Sam and Éowyn will be in here to drag us out. I don't know how they expect us to get work done with interruptions for food, but I must admit a snack does sound good."
"I agree tea and perhaps some of cook's pies appeal to me as well." Everyone in Gondor seemed intent on stuffing the Ringbearer and Steward with food, which both accepted stoically. It was difficult to pull themselves away from the libraries, but it was a fact that they would be dragged away by their various keepers if they missed a meal.
Frodo smiled fondly as Faramir tidied the maps on the table before they left. It was such a delight to have found a fellow scholar, and in Faramir the Hobbit had a kindred soul. The two would often disappear for an entire day in the vast libraries, perfectly content with reading and learning. It reminded Frodo of days spent with Bilbo, and Frodo loved the Steward as a younger brother. Faramir eagerly learned all that Frodo could teach him, and the Hobbit treasured their time spent together. As much as he loved Bag End, Frodo had felt a bit lonely at times, and wished for a younger brother to keep him company. Now he had Faramir in that role, and he was content.
Faramir smiled at the Hobbit, and Frodo took his hand as they left the library together.
THE END
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What a delightful series of stories. I know you had to write THE END at one point or another but I am sad you did. I’d like to see this continue.
— Lucky Monday 16 October 2006, 5:22 #