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With a smashing sound, loud and harsh against the joyful noises that had been heard, Faramir's sword collides with the window - Boromir's pushing into it. Instinctively Boromir pulls his little brother back, away from the danger and towards him. The sword falls to the floor and he can hear Faramir tense beside him, taking a small step towards him.
"Are you hurt?" Briefly checking for glass, Boromir sheaths his sword before looking to his little brother.
"Only shaken." Faramir gives a quick smile then turns to gaze at the window and shards on the floor. "Which is more than can be said for the poor window."
At his brother's quip Boromir laughs, "If you can wield that sword half as well against our enemies, you'll soon be Gondor's best."
Ducking, both to pick his sword and to avoid his brother's attempts at ruffling his hair, Faramir clears the glass of the blade. "D'you suppose father will be angry?"
Boromir thinks back to his own youth, the trouble he got into. "No. Still, it is best you alert someone of the mess."
Faramir gives a non-committal hum, and there's a moment of silence before Boromir begins to move his brother away - not willing to have him near the shards. Faramir tries to protest before eventually giving up, promising to come back quickly with a maid. As Boromir gathers some of the larger glass shards he tries to suppress a wince. It's entirely his fault the window is broken, although he knows Faramir will blame himself.
The skill with which Faramir wields a sword, dancing with the blade and almost becoming one with it, easily makes Faramir one of his best soldiers. But it also makes Boromir forget his brother is still young, isn't strong enough to parry one of Boromir's blows. He could probably outsmart Boromir in combat, however, and that's something they should work on. Most of the shards are cleared when a servant comes to him and takes over.
He doesn't get too far before running into one of his father's aides, a small smile on their face. The grin is knowing, and Boromir is reminded of the times he's sparred with them, as well as the accidents that have occurred. "Next time, if the two of you could spar in an appropriate place."
"We will."
"Good." The smile lessens slightly and they speak again, “Also, Lord Denethor wishes to speak to you about it. At the earliest convenience.”
‘The earliest convenience’ is a longhanded way of saying now, and Boromir can never figure out why they don’t simply say that. He knows that, in proper court, it should not be used - but he is around people he has known for years, talking about someone he has known for years. Still, he bows slightly and then begins to walk in the direction of the hall. “My father is still in his halls, I assume?”
“His studies, sire.”
Boromir simply nods, although inwardly he’s not sure why his father is there. He knows there’s some meetings today, perhaps he has simply caught him at a lucky time. Or an unlucky time, depending on how he is to view it. Still, when Boromir knocks on the door to his father’s study he is greeted well, and bade to come in. “You must stop indulging your younger brother as you do.”
The words are said mildly, but matter-of-factly, and Boromir knows there is little leeway. “It was not he who suggested we spar there, father. But I will be more careful.”
“I trust you to be. Although I understand it was his sword that went through the window.”
“Only by the forcing of my hand.” Boromir does not like to give up the fight, and so adopts his father’s tone - that he will not move on this issue, on his beliefs.
“Very well.” His father lets out a small sigh before smiling at his eldest, “You are good to him, Boromir.”
There’s a moment of silence, and brief moment of melancholy - in which Boromir knows he is missing something but cannot figure out what - before his father speaks again, this time of a different matter. Informing him of the meeting he has had today, what that could mean for larger Gondor, and then a brief congratulations on Boromir’s progress. It is only a small advancement, but the fact his father knew to comment on it makes him smile. When Boromir does leave it is in better spirits, almost enough for him to forget about the window - or at least lose the negativity from it.
It doesn’t cross Boromir’s mind for the rest of the day, or at least until he sits down to eat dinner. It has been awkward for a long time, the concept of a family meal when it’s so obvious that the whole family isn’t there. Even the way the table is designed makes it about that they’re all missing her. Some days are better than others, and today is worse. The little conversation Boromir tries to make is only picked up by his father, and even then the answers are short. Any other talking isn’t about how people’s days are, but merely to schedule things and make sure what’s going on. Faramir finishes his food quickly and asks to be dismissed, briefly dipping his head to his brother before leaving.
Boromir struggles to go to bed, the thought of his brother sitting silently at the table and the broken glass playing on his mind. The contrast between the warmth his father spoke to him alone and the curtness that he spoke with when they are all together. As he goes to sleep he resolves to talk to Faramir about it, to make sure his brother knows it was an accident and no-one blames him. When he wakes up that is the first thing on his mind as well.
Faramir is not there at breakfast, although that isn’t entirely surprising. He isn’t in the library either, which is more unusual. Or his room, or even the main training grounds. But eventually he does find his younger brother, in one of the smaller training rooms - silently running through basic training drills, alone. The sword goes through the air again, almost perfectly.
“Well done.” The words immediately break the silence and Faramir jumps, sword slipping out of his hand.
He immediately takes a step back before looking at his older brother and then the training sword, “I. My apologies, you startled me. I… should have been paying more mind to my surroundings.”
“There is nothing to forgive.” Crossing the gap between the two of them, Boromir picks up the sword. “Are you hurt?”
“It’s a training sword.” A hint of exasperation enters Faramir’s voice, but his eyes don’t light up as they usually do. “It did not even hit me.”
Noticing the difference, Boromir takes a second to look over his brother. To see that he’s holding himself slightly more rigidly, with slightly less eye contact. “Faramir… how are you hurt?”
“I’m not.” Faramir is trying to sound reassuring, Boromir can tell that much, but his eyes glance to his wrist and he speaks too quickly.
“If you’re sure.” Boromir holds out the sword, placing it slightly in his little brother's hand. Then he guides the hilt up, placing his hand against his little brothers. Enough to put force on, but not enough to suddenly cause pain. Except Faramir winces.
They both stay silent for a second, and Faramir takes in a deep breath that’s far too shaky for Boromir’s liking. Gently, Boromir takes the sword out of his hands and lets it slide to the floor. “Faramir?”
His little brother freezes slightly more, then stays still and silent. It’s up to Boromir to probe again, “Faramir, may you show me your wrist?”
“Promise me.” His voice is shaking and Faramir takes a pause. “Promise me you won’t do anything, that you’ll only look at it.”
“Faramir.” Boromir feels his heart break, to hear his brother so afraid. Looking into his eyes, Boromir speaks again. “I’m the Steward’s son. I promise, whoever has done this, I can deal with them. I swear I will help.”
“You-” He cuts himself off, and then Faramir gently pulls up his wrist. There’s the etchings of a bruise there, a handprint a little larger than Boromir’s own. It looks painful, recent, and it’s on his brother's skin. Boromir feels sick, slightly, and angry. But most of all he feels a mixture of protectiveness and heartbreak, that Faramir didn’t feel safe to go to him. And that he will do everything in his power to keep this from happening again. He takes a breath, and tries to remember how young Faramir still is. That it makes sense he wouldn’t act entirely rationally.
“Faramir, I promise I can help. You… you don’t need to be afraid of whoever did this to you. I will protect you.”
At that, Faramir begins to shake his head before rushing into Boromir’s arms. He can feel Faramir begin to cry, shaking and burying his head into Boromir’s chest. The sobbing continues for only a second, before Faramir begins to try and taper them off again. Then he looks up at Boromir, a look of utter defeat in his eyes. “You can’t. He-”
The admission brings fear back into his eyes, but Boromir nods again. So his little brother takes a deep breath, “He… outranks you.”
At first Boromir’s mind goes to different military commanders, and what reason any of them would have to hurt Faramir. And then his mind slows for a second, and he realises that Faramir doesn’t mean to outrank him in military power.
Boromir looks down at his younger brother, his own flesh and blood he loves so much, and feels his heart break slightly. As something changes forever, something he’ll never get back again. And he pulls his brother back into his arms. “I am so sorry.”