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The first time Boromir held his younger brother, Faramir was only a few days old. Had he had his way, Boromir would have met him as soon as he was born, but the delivery had been difficult, and both Finduilas and Faramir needed to be monitored by the healers before they could have any visitors. Only Denethor was permitted to see his wife and newborn son, but that was still a day after the birth.
Faramir was estimated to have come three weeks early, so he was smaller in size. Boromir learned this, though he did not fully understand it, when he commented on how tiny he was, earning a mild scolding from Denethor about speaking too loudly. His only question was if Faramir was too small for him to hold. Denethor told him that as long as he was gentle, he could hold him, and Finduilas waited while Denethor lifted Boromir onto the bed before she instructed him in how to position his arms. Once she had been relieved of her precious cargo, Finduilas allowed herself to relax amongst the pile of pillows.
“He’s so little,” Boromir said again, trying to be quiet, his voice sounding as small as the babe in his arms. “Was I this small?”
“You were quite a bit larger,” Finduilas answered tiredly with a faint smile.
“But strong,” Denethor said.
“Is he sick?” Boromir asked.
“No, just fragile. But with love and care he will grow strong, too.”
“What does… fragile mean?”
“It means you must be gentle with him while he is growing,” said Finduilas. “I know you want to play with him, but he is not old enough for that, yet. He cannot do anything on his own, so we must help him until he learns. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mama. I promise I won’t drop him.” Finduilas laughed.
“I am glad to hear it.” She reached out a hand and brushed some stray curls behind his ear. “I know he will be safe with you.”
Boromir gasped when the baby squirmed and his face contorted in a frown, his lips pouting and wrinkles forming on his brow. Then his little mouth opened in a yawn, and for a moment Boromir spotted a hint of gray peeking out between his eyelids. Boromir’s eyes began to sting, and he sniffled as he felt his nose fill with mucus.
“Don’t worry, Faramir, I’ll protect you. I’ll even teach you everything I know.”
“Just do not neglect your own lessons,” said Denethor. “Soon you will begin sword training, and your tutor has told me that you are not always attentive during your lessons.”
“They’re so boring,” Boromir groaned, pressing his lips together when Faramir made a noise.
“You need to listen to your teacher, Boromir,” said Finduilas. “But children should be allowed to be children, too.” This last part was directed at Denethor, who said nothing.
“Yes, Mother. Yes, Father.” Boromir slowly moved his finger to Faramir’s tiny nose and tickled it, withdrawing his hand when Faramir scrunched his face up. “I know you’re still little, but when you’re bigger, we’ll be best friends. I can hardly wait.”
~*~
Boromir was very hands-on when it was time for Faramir to begin learning how to walk. Quite literally, in fact, as he held onto his brother while he too step after wobbly step. He was really the only person who could help, because their mother seemed to be too tired more often than not, and with the recent death of their grandfather, their father had to step into his role as the Ruling Steward, which gave him fewer opportunities to spend time with his family. The only bright side to this was that Denethor was unable to tell Boromir to return to his lessons.
Boromir had also been involved when Faramir started crawling, sitting on the floor and beckoning the toddler to him, which might have explained why Faramir seemed somewhat nervous when he was trying to walk, because Boromir was behind him and out of his line of sight.
“Don’t worry, little brother, I’m here to catch you,” he said when Faramir whimpered and made a sound like he was about to cry. No sooner had he said this, Faramir’s foot twisted and he went down on his behind, and a wail tore from his throat. Boromir bent down and picked him up from behind, pressing a kiss to his head while Faramir’s legs wriggled. “You’re alright, little brother. You’re alright.”
“Be careful with him, Boromir,” said Finduilas from her chair by the window. She got up and took Faramir into her arms, gently rocking him and patting him lightly on the back. She soothed him in Sindarin, which Boromir didn’t understand; his tutor was trying to teach him the language but it didn’t hold his interest. “I think that is enough for today.”
“But we barely practiced!” Boromir groaned.
“Boromir…” His shoulders slumped and he looked down at the floor sheepishly. “There will be plenty of opportunities to practice, but I do not want either of you work yourselves to exhaustion to the point that you cannot take the time for things you enjoy.”
“Yes, Mama.” After some more comforting, Faramir’s cries quieted. “Can we try again later?”
“We will see. Right now, Faramir needs to lie down for a rest, and you need to go to your lessons.”
“Awwww!!!” So much for avoiding that topic!
“You will come to appreciate those lessons one day. Don’t you want to read to Faramir when he is older and understands better?”
“It’ll put him to sleep! And me!” Finduilas gave him a patient smile and shifted her hold on Faramir to one arm so she could stroke Boromir’s hair.
“I am sure you will change your mind. Reading is a wonderful escape.”
“Escape? From what? Orcs?” Her smile faded. Boromir tilted his head when she did not answer him. “Mama?”
“It is an escape to places where everyone is happy and there is no more pain.” She turned to the maid, who took Faramir from her and set about putting him to bed. She then approached Boromir and stroked his hair again. “I will walk with you to the library. And, if you want, I can sit with you at the table.”
“Really?! Yes!”
Faint wrinkles formed around Finduilas’ eyes as she smiled. She managed to keep it in place when Boromir grasped her hand and she took note of how, despite the small size of his hand, its warmth seemed to chase away the chill that had burrowed into her bones.
~*~
“Don’t let go!”
“I won’t!”
“Promise!”
“Alright, I promise!”
Boromir was standing waist-deep in seawater while he held Faramir, who was practicing his paddling. It had been a year since Finduilas passed, and her family had invited them to Dol Amroth for a visit. Denethor had been averse to going, not being overly fond of his father-in-law, but he eventually agreed, stating that it would be a good opportunity for Faramir to learn how to swim. It was also an informative lesson, because Boromir learned that Faramir was ticklish on his sides, which caused him to swallow a bit of saltwater and spend the next ten minutes coughing. Once Faramir had stopped coughing, Boromir tried again, this time holding Faramir in the bend of his elbows, his hands flat so that he wouldn’t accidentally tickle him again.
“I’m doing it!”
“You’re doing it!” Faramir giggled, and the sound made Boromir smile. It had been a long time since he’d last heard his brother laugh. If he remembered correctly, the last time had been before their mother died. “Want to try swimming on your back?” Faramir’s arms and legs stilled and went limp, and he turned his head as best as he could to look at Boromir with a furrowed brow.
“Won’t I get water up my nose? That hurt last time.”
“Not if you do it correctly,” Boromir said matter-of-factly. Faramir frowned at him with visible skepticism.
“Here, watch me do it.” After Boromir lowered Faramir onto his feet, he took a couple steps back from the shore. “First you take in a deep breath so you’ll float. Like this.”
His chest expanded as he drew in a big gulp of air. Then he slowly tipped backwards, and his toes peaked above the surface, and he sunk slightly until the water reached just above his ears. In his peripheral vision, Faramir was staring at him open-mouthed. When he started to run out of air, he released his breath and tipped forward again until he was standing upright.
“Does it hurt when water gets in your ears?” Boromir blinked at him.
“Not as much as water in my nose,” he answered with a grin. “If you’d like, I can still hold you up. And if a wave comes, it’ll hit my back so it won’t reach you.”
Faramir nodded eagerly. Boromir stepped closer once more and held his arms out in an L shape again. Faramir’s eyes bugged out a bit when he sucked in a breath, his cheeks puffing up like a chipmunk with nuts. Boromir stifled a giggle.
Faramir started to tip back, but seemed to get a little scared, so Boromir placed one of his arms under his shoulders. Faramir jumped to get his legs up, and Boromir looped his other arm under his bent knees.
“Straighten your legs.” Faramir hesitated a moment, but when he still felt Boromir’s arms holding him up, he followed instructions. “You’re doing it!”
“I’m doing it?” Faramir sunk a little, but not enough for him to notice. Boromir nodded. “I’m doing it!”
“Boromir, Faramir! It is time to go inside!” their aunt called.
“Just five more minutes, please?” Boromir pleaded.
“Please, Auntie?” said Faramir. The woman would not be persuaded, though.
“If you two stay out here any longer, your noses will turn as red as tomatoes! Come along, now. It is time to get ready for dinner.”
“Yes, Auntie,” both boys answered somewhat glumly.
Boromir helped Faramir onto his feet once more, and they headed towards the shore, one of Boromir’s hands on Faramir’s shoulder. When Faramir flinched, Boromir noticed that the skin had turned pink. Perhaps their aunt had a point.
“I can’t wait to tell Father!” Faramir said, the pain on his shoulder forgotten. “Do you think he’ll be proud of me?”
“Of course he will, little brother! You’re learning fast, and in no time you’ll be able to swim faster than Uncle Imrahil’s fastest ships!”
“Faster than a fish?”
“Way faster!”
Faramir laughed with a grin, his missing bottom teeth making Boromir laugh, as well. Suddenly, Faramir leaned against his side and hugged him around the middle.
“Thank you for showing me how to swim.” Boromir hugged him back, being careful not to aggravate his burned shoulders.
“I promised to teach you everything I know, little brother, and I always keep my word.”
~*~
No sooner had Faramir finished reciting his vows to serve lord and land within the ranks of the Rangers of Ithilien, he was grabbed from behind and lifted nearly a foot off the ground. He grunted as the air in his lungs was squeezed out of him.
“Congratulations, little brother!” Boromir all but shouted in his ear.
“Can’t… breathe…!” Faramir wheezed, lightly smacking at one of the arms that was wrapped around his middle. Boromir set him down on the ground, and Faramir gasped for air and rubbed at his sore abdomen.
“Sorry, I’m just excited for you.”
“And I appreciate that. But I’d prefer not having my ribs broken in half before I get the chance to go on my first mission.”
“Noted!” Boromir pulled Faramir into another bone-crushing hug and then released him almost as quickly, only to throw an arm around his shoulders. “We must go celebrate! A round of drinks on me!”
“Hold on, I can’t get inebriated, I have a patrol assignment in the morning,” Faramir said, straining to be heard over his fellow Rangers who were voicing their appreciation for free alcohol.
“Oh, come on, little brother, one drink won’t hurt!” Boromir didn’t seem to be listening to him, because he was leading Faramir in the direction of the nearest pub. “Besides, you’ve earned this!”
“I don’t know. Father might…”
The mention of their father seemed to have broken through Boromir’s excitement, because he came to an abrupt stop, causing Faramir to stumble a bit. When Faramir looked at him, his brow was set in a deep frown.
“What about Father?”
“I… I do not think he would approve of me indulging in such things. It would reflect poorly on him and on the Stewardship.”
“Says who? I am no stranger to enjoying a few drinks now and again!”
“Yes, but Father never gets upset when you do it.” Faramir’s shoulders slumped and he dropped his head, his light brown hair forming a curtain around his face. “He did not even attend the ceremony. I know he would have preferred that I had followed in your footsteps and joined the army and eventually served as Captain of the White Tower while you fulfilled your duties as the High Warden of the White Tower, but I think the only reason he consented to me joining the Rangers was the fact that I would be away from the city more frequently than if I had become a soldier.”
“That is not—!” Boromir sighed. He wished that Faramir’s assumption was untrue, but despite his numerous attempts to make excuses for their father and convince Faramir that he simply struggled to show affection on occasion, he knew that it was naïve to think so. After all, their father had no trouble praising his accomplishments. Boromir had tried to reason with the man about the unfairness of his favoritism, but his words only seemed to go through one ear and out the other. Steward Denethor was not averse to counsel, but he was so set in his ways that trying to persuade him to change was like trying to get a mountain to move just by talking to it. “Try not to dwell on that. Today is a good day, one that is meant to be celebratory. Let us not allow this moment to be overshadowed by dark clouds, hmm? Father may not be here, but I’m here, and so are your fellow Rangers—your brothers. They already respect and admire you now, and I’m sure that in no time, you will become their captain; a captain they will follow anywhere.”
“I suppose.”
“Are you sure I can’t change your mind about a drink?” Faramir peeked up at Boromir, who had a wide grin on his face and raised his eyebrows. He heaved a sigh, but still managed a small smile.
“Alright. Just one drink.”
“That’s the spirit! And a good thing, too, because I do not enjoy drinking alone, and all of this excitement has left me feeling quite parched!” Boromir boasted before cupping a hand around his mouth. “Who else is thirsty?”
Many arms were raised in the air, as well as jubilant voices of Rangers, old and new. Without prompting, calls rang out, some for Boromir, but many more for Faramir.
~*~
“The roads near our own lands are dangerous, so there is no telling what perils await beyond our borders. Allow me to go on this errand to Imladris.”
“No, brother. You are needed here more than I am,” said Faramir. “If the Enemy tries to launch another attack to capture Osgiliath, our men will need your leadership to hold them off once more.”
While the two brothers debated, Denethor sat on the black stone chair at the foot of the king’s throne with his fingers steepled beneath his chin. His gaze was focused at a spot on the floor between both of his sons, but he was looking not at anything in the room with them but at something that existed only within his mind.
“Osgiliath will not be targeted in this year of the Third Age,” the Steward proclaimed. “However, it will need to be manned so that we are prepared for the day that the attack does come.”
“How do you know this, Father?” asked Boromir, his brow creased with worry.
“That is inconsequential. And though I am loath to send the captain of the army and my heir far from our borders, your knowledge of the lands to the north will be advantageous and guarantees a quicker return. Not only that, but your loyalty and dedication to the Race of Men is stronger than any affection some have for the Elves and their friends.” At this, Denethor’s eyes shifted to Faramir, who lowered his gaze. “I approve your request to seek the answers to this riddle that you have heard in your dreams and anticipate that you will return bearing much valuable wisdom that will aid us in this war.”
“Yes, Father. I won’t let you or our people down.”
“I know you won’t. You never have, and I do not anticipate that changing. Now, if you will excuse me, I must call a meeting of the Council, and you must prepare for your journey.”
After a quick embrace, Denethor drew away from Boromir and left the room. Faramir followed the man’s departure with his eyes and kept his expression neutral. Boromir turned to him and tilted his head to one side.
“Help me pack?” Faramir nodded once after a pause.
“I should be going, not you. I had the dream, as well. Minas Tirith cannot afford to lose you. Your absence will be felt far more than mine.” Boromir glanced up from packing his saddlebags.
“I have no desire to abandon Gondor in this time of great need, but it is that great need that leaves me with little choice but to go. That, and the fact that I could not bear it and would never forgive myself if anything happened to you were you to go in my place.”
“Do you doubt my abilities, too?” Boromir secured the straps of his saddlebags and then turned to his brother, placing his hands on his shoulders.
“Of course not. You are as capable as I am, if not more so. But I also feel that I would be shirking my duties as your older brother by not doing all I can to keep you safe. There is no one I trust with the protection of our city more than you.”
Faramir heaved a sigh, unable to find the words to voice his argument. Boromir pulled him into a hug, patting him on the back. After a moment of hesitation, Faramir returned the embrace, his fingers grasping at the material of Boromir’s cloak.
“You must come home,” he said into Boromir’s shoulder. "Promise me."
“I will. Never doubt that.” Boromir pulled away and grinned at him. “Have I ever not kept my word?”
Faramir shook his head, but deep down, there was a sliver of doubt that made him uneasy. Whether it was a dream he’d had and had since forgotten or a dream that had not yet come to him, he feared that these moments would be the last he ever spent with his brother. That once Boromir rode out through the gates, he would never pass through them again.
He stared at the ground as Boromir mounted his horse. The clop of hooves sounded as Boromir turned the horse around, but he did not proceed toward the gate. Faramir looked up at him then, and his eyes gazed at his brother’s face in a last-minute attempt to commit every feature to memory. There was a thin smile on his brother’s lips that was tinged with melancholy. Boromir had never been able to conceal his emotions like the courtiers that roamed the halls of the Citadel, so Faramir knew that Boromir’s regret about leaving was real.
“I will return as soon as I can. You have my word.”
And then Boromir grasped the horn that hung at his side and brought it to his lips, letting out a long blast, drawing the eyes and ears of the men standing guard along the walls. It was a tradition his brother favored to blow the Horn of Gondor whenever he set out from the White City and upon his return. Until now, it had been likened to a promise whenever Faramir heard it. Now, as he watched Boromir lead his horse through the gate, it seemed to him an omen.
~*~
It had started with a vision of Boromir lying in a boat. He didn’t know if he was awake or dreaming, but in spite of it all, he knew that his brother was dead.
This was why he barely reacted when one of his Rangers found the Horn of Gondor along the banks of the Anduin; it had confirmed what he already knew to be true. However, he was almost certain that his heart had been cracked open, just like the two halves of the horn he held in his hands.
He should have pleaded with Boromir and with his father more to allow him to go. His father… he would have to tell his father the news. Unless he already knew, which Faramir suspected was possible, given the Steward’s foresight he often demonstrated.
How had Boromir died, and why did the horn return without its owner? Where was Boromir? Would his family have anything to bury, to mourn, besides a broken heirloom?
Faramir leaned slightly forward and shut his eyes as tears dripped on the horn. No longer was he the Captain of the Rangers of Ithilien but the small boy who looked to his older brother for comfort and safety. His older brother, whose smile he would never see, whose laughter he would never hear, whose warm embrace he would never feel again.
“You promised to come home. You have always kept your word. Why did you stray this time?” he said through clenched teeth. “Brother… brother.”
And then, he held the horn to his chest, hoping to feel any lingering remnants of Boromir’s warmth in it. But just as his brother appeared in his vision, the horn was cold and lifeless.