Faramir Fiction Archive

Tales of the Late Third Age (R)

Written by Susana

03 September 2011 | 7677 words

Title: He’s Four
Author: Susana
Series: Desperate Hours
Feedback: Please use the form below
Warning: AU
Disclaimer: All recognizable elements are Tolkien’s
Summary: A young Faramir uses his powers unwisely.
Beta: None, all mistakes are mine.

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He’s four

Healer Del looked from the pail of blackberries, to the poison-ivy and insect bite covered soldiers, and at last to the irritated child he’d just had to treat for poison ivy and bee stings.

“So,” Del started, “You went to pick blackberries, despite knowing the hazards of that particular bramble, because…”

The shame-faced sergeant explained, “Because they’re Lady Finduilas’ favorite, and this is the end of the season. That bramble is the only place where there are any berries left.”

“Unbelievable.” Del muttered, “Simply unbelievable. If Faramir had an allergy to bee stings, he’d be dead. No question. He still is one very sick little boy, and you idiots aren’t too well off, either. Your private IS allergic to bees, and you’re just lucky he didn’t get stung.”

The sergeant winced, and the private protested vociferously, “But Lord Faramir said…”

Del stopped listening at that point. He didn’t care what Faramir had said. He waited for the soldier to stop talking, and then responded in his quiet but intent voice, “It doesn’t matter to me what Lord Faramir said; it won’t matter to your captain, and it shouldn’t have mattered to the two of you, either. Look at him,” Del pointed to Faramir, who was angelically sleeping, “He’s four years old. Four.”

The sergeant sighed, “He was very eloquent.”

“You’ve both been treated; get out of my hall.” Del ordered, adding, “Your Captain is waiting for you.”

Del waited for them to leave, and then contemplated the child on the bed. He wished he could just turn the good-hearted but dangerously capable and charming little imp over to his father. Faramir’s mother was sick, but his father was healthy enough…in body. Unfortunately the situation was as it was, and the only one who really looked out after this child was…

“He’s a clever kit, but he is SUCH an idiot.” A frustrated and affectionate but still carefully modulated voice noted from just behind Del.

“I know, Lord Boromir.” Del agreed with the nine year old heir to the Stewardship of Gondor, “I know.”

“Mama said to spank him, when he’s well. But he seems too miserable now…” Boromir noted sadly, stroking the sleeping Faramir’s red-gold hair.

“We’ll see how he’s doing tomorrow afternoon.” Del said gently, placing a supportive hand on Boromir’s shoulder. Such strong shoulders, for a nine year old. Such slender and young shoulders, to be his brother’s keeper.

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