Faramir Fiction Archive

Ignored (PG)

Written by AlexanderW

30 October 2009 | 1367 words

Title: Ignored
Rating: PG (its a bit depressing)
Summary: Faramir ponders his life
Warnings: It’s not cheery by any means – it has got some stuff off my chest, although it hasn’t actually helped sort anything out.

Oh, and I won’t be doing a follow on for this. Please don’t ask for one.
Disclaimer: Any characters, places etc mentioned belong to the Tolkien Estate. This is for non-profit

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“And you must meet my son, Boromir…”

Faramir sighed as he watched from the edge of the great hall. Being forced to attend another party to be invisible wasn’t exactly his idea of fun, but when your father is the Steward of Gondor, there isn’t exactly much you can do to have a decision of his overruled. This was the fourth party in as many weeks, all in honour of his brother who had just turned 21. He was now a man in Gondor, although in his father’s eyes, he always was a man – the better, stronger, more important son.

Faramir turned and looked across the hall, desperate to find something, anything, to distract him from the monotony of being ignored. Unfortunately for him, having grown up in the grandest halls of Minas Tirith, which were currently filled with the dullest people imaginable (which included Boromir’s friends); there was nothing for him to even consider trying to distract himself from.

He sighed again, wishing the hole in his heart – the black, impenetrable hole of loneliness and hurt – would lessen. He couldn’t understand why he was treated with such disregard by everyone. At 16, he already knew whatever he did, in his father’s eyes, Boromir could do it better and this would remain the truth for the rest of his days. But why the rest of society thought it was acceptable to follow this “ruling” was beyond him. Boromir always told him he was good looking – “the heritage of your mother” – and that he was clever and quick witted and could, even at his age, drink many older men under the table. But maybe it was just Boromir telling him this to make him feel better. With hardly any friends, thanks to his position and his father, he had no real way of telling if what Boromir said was the truth.
And in any case, no-one else noticed. They treated him with a disregard for a part of the wall. He may as well have been part of the wall – in his father’s eyes, at least he would have then been doing something “useful”.

“… All you do is spend your time reading Faramir – it is unacceptable. Yes, there are times and a place for the use of texts and scripts, but this is not now. There are men out there training for the inevitable war that will come knocking on Gondor’s door – that is already knocking on our door. They are prepared, but I suppose you wish to treat with the orcs when they come rampaging, won’t you?”

“Faramir, what are you doing? Since my great grandfather’s time, the house of Húrin has used Shield and Long sword and here you are with a Short sword and a bow. The rangers are valuable to Gondor, but I doubt the commander would take you for all your “skill”… and don’t expect my position to help you either…”

“That is enough Faramir – you clearly cannot do anything right. Get out of my sight until you have learnt how to be at least respectful enough not to bother making a nuisance of yourself…”

And it goes on. Yes it hurts, every single time, but the pain has dulled after such a long time. Faramir knew that it was easier to let the comments wash over him now, lest anymore of him die inside from the wanton hurt. He couldn’t understand, he knew – he knew – that what he did was as good as Boromir. And if he wasn’t as good, then he knew that he would both have other skills that would make up for that and that he would train and try as hard as he could anyway to get as good as Boromir. He knew that he was as skilled as any soldier, even at 16 – thanks to the amount of effort he stuck in to becoming the best, in the vague hope that he might get some sort of praise from the family he had left. But it was for nothing, all for nothing and no one would ever notice.

He wished that people would take the time to talk to him. He wished that he could have the chance to interact with more people his own age without the beady eyes of his father’s spies watching his every move. He wished that he could have the chance to experience what it was like to live a normal, sociable and interactive life in society. He wished he was noticed by at least some people. He wished that someone would love him unconditionally – like his mother supposedly did.

He didn’t know if this was the case either, with Findulias being an off-limits topic with anyone in high Gondorian society – but with Boromir telling him this, over and over when he was smaller – he did hope that this wasn’t a lie and that he could take comfort he was loved at some point.

He looked up, the hall still full of mind-numbingly dull people somehow related to the council, high society and his father’s friends. Boromir was chatting to some beautiful women in one of the alcoves of the hall, with all of them flirting openly and desperately – trying to get Boromir’s attention. The look on Boromir’s face was that of amusement and self-satisfaction. Faramir smiled slightly.

Boromir, the only person ever really to take an interest in him, although being brothers with a family like theirs, it seems inevitable that they would be close. Boromir always encouraged Faramir – whether this was in training, learning, issues with father or anything really, Boromir always made sure that Faramir was somewhat happy. But with the increased duties of being the captain of the armies of Gondor, their relationship became more distant as Boromir did everything to keep Gondor safe and her armies strong. Lately, with the new duties father had given Boromir, Faramir had hardly seen his only source of comfort and only outlet in Gondor for months now. And this was horrific for him. The build of negativity was becoming too much – much too much.

Faramir turned, with the smile that ghosted his face a long distant memory, and made for a side exit to head for the gardens. He needed to clear his head – this thinking hadn’t helped him in anyway – and at least in nature, he found some sort of acceptance. It didn’t judge him, although it didn’t support him either. A neutral and sadly welcome part of Faramir’s life.
As the door closed behind him, his shoulders slumped and his posture shrunk. With no one around, the facade his fear and social awkwardness made him adopt shattered and if anyone was to see him, they would see a haunted look that should never been seen on anyone’s face, let alone for someone so young. But this was Faramir at his most vulnerable and as fate would have it…

“Faramir, are you dishonouring your brother by sneaking off?” the voice of Denethor was hard, angry and threatening. Like it always was – unless it was cold, cutting and uninterested – either way, while the facade was back up in a flash, the damage had been done. Faramir looked blankly on as his father hissed a diatribe of insults and abuse, with it all washing over him. As he made his way back to his position at the back of the hall, as his father instructed, he only hoped that he might, one day, get his wish. That of love and acceptance for who he was, from everyone – but only if the Valar were that kind…

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I should have the conclusions to Get Back soon. I’ll keep you posted

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