Faramir Fiction Archive

Meeting A Friend (G)

Written by Berengaria

31 August 2007 | 1498 words

Title: Meeting A Friend
Author: berengaria1066
Archive: Faramir Fiction Archive
Rating: G
Genre: Gen

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Meeting A Friend

Below Mindolluin, the easternmost peak of the White Mountains, the tall ivory walls of the city of Minis Tirith basked in the rays of the sun. Summer had finally come to the land of Gondor after a long cold winter and cooler than normal spring. In the distance, the river Anduin sparkled and a warm breeze wafted through the window of the cramped room, high in the Citadel overlooking the Pelenor plain. Faramir stroked the soft blue velvet of his mother’s cloak and then hastily tucked it back in its chest under his bed. He could hear his brother’s long strides coming up the stairs towards his chamber. Crossing the small room in a rush, he was seated at his scrap of a table in the light of the narrow window, studiously examining one of his few precious books when the door was flung wide.

“Faro, it’s a beautiful day. Why are you inside?” Tall and muscular at 16, Boromir grinned broadly at him as he entered the room. Faramir couldn’t help but smile back. Here was the one person in this world whose love he never doubted. He stole a look at his mother’s small portrait beside his bed; there was one person in the next world whose love was not in question either. Although he had been only five years old when she died, he still remembered the rose scent she had worn and the fierce hugs she would give him, arms tight around his little body as if she were afraid someone would pull her away from him. As the coughing sickness did, he reflected sadly.

“I was just thinking, Boro, that’s all.” He stood up and came around the desk to hug his brother. Boromir frowned at the worn fabric of Faramir’s tunic and mentally added a suit of formal clothes and armor for his little brother to the clothes he was ordering for his upcoming name day feast. Their father would never think to order some for the boy himself. Even though their mother’s death was long after Faramir’s birth, she had never flourished after that. Not only had Finduilas died that long-past day, Boromir sometimes thought, but his father’s love for the younger son as well.

Faramir breathed in his brother’s familiar smell of sweat, leather and horses and stepped back. Then he stiffened and his eyes flew to the door as other steps, equally familiar to his ears, came up the stairs. His father was no doubt in search of his brother; he couldn’t remember the last time Denethor had sought him out, except to scold or denigrate him.

“You think too much, young one,” Boromir said under his breath as he stepped away and turned to greet the Steward of Gondor. “Father, Faramir and I were just going to the practice field. Will you watch us?”

Denethor’s craggy face cracked with a rare cold smile. “Much as I would like to, my boy, I have an errand for you. I need you to take a few guards and ride to meet a visitor.”

“Oh, who is it?”

A sneer crossed Denethor’s visage. “A wizard, Mithrandir, one of the Istari,” he spat out. “I must give him access to the Royal Archives.”

“A wizard, Father?” ventured Faramir. “Will he do magic?” He shrunk under the stern glare his father turned on him.

“What care I for magic? He is a friend of those Elves and none of mine,” said Denethor. “Hopefully he will depart as soon as he has found what he has come for.” He turned to his eldest son. “Go now, Boromir, and meet him at Osgiliath. The sooner he comes, the sooner he leaves.”

“Can Faro come with me, Father? I’ll take good care of him,” asked Boromir, already knowing the answer but asking anyway. He slung an arm around his brother’s bony shoulders.

“No, leave the whelp at home. He will only distract you, and no doubt get into trouble.”

“But Father —” Boromir started.

“I said, no. Now, take your men and be gone.” In a swirl of robes, he turned and left the room.

“I’m sorry, Faro,” Boromir said. “I’d take you if I could, you know that.”

Faramir gave him a hard hug and leaned against his brother resignedly. “I know, Boro. But just think, a wizard, coming here. Perhaps I’ll be able to see him.” His small face shone with excitement.

Boromir laughed and tousled his hair. “You will, little brother,” he vowed. “You will.”

Faramir was almost beside himself with anticipation. He had hung over the wall overlooking the gate of the sixth Circle where the royal stables were located awaiting Boromir’s return for what seemed to be forever. It was rather warm in the bright sunlight but the breeze off the mountains provided welcome relief. The ride to Osgiliath and back had never seemed to take so long. There he was! His brother laughed and waved up at him as the riders clattered up the narrow passageway, earning him a sharp blue-eyed glance from the strange-looking man with the long white beard on the tan horse. A wizard! Never had he known any one trained in the magical arts. Oh, some of the healers in the Houses of Healing had spoken of such things, and of course he had heard bards sing of their deeds, but he had never seen one. He scrambled down the stone steps towards the stables, only to be drawn roughly aside by a harsh hand on the back of his tunic.

“Where are you going, boy?” His father’s herald, Renegir, shook him fiercely by the scruff of his neck.

“The stables —” He managed to get out, clutching his collar with both hands, trying to keep the neck of his tunic from choking him completely.

“Your father wants you to keep out of the way, especially with that wizard here.” Renegir twisted the fabric cruelly, tightening his grip. “No need for you to be getting ideas from that elfspawn.”

Faramir wriggled frantically, trying to get loose, but to no avail. He had suffered the man’s blows before, when his father had him punished, although never when Boromir was home. Heart pounding frantically in his ears, little sparkles danced on the edge of his vision. Suddenly the grip loosened and he fell to his knees.

“Never, NEVER touch my brother again,” Boromir roared, knocking the herald to the ground. He hauled the terrified man upright to hit him again, once, twice more, before getting his rage under control. “He is the son of the Steward of Gondor and you will treat him with respect!” he shouted furiously. “If you ever touch him again, you will taste the edge of my sword!” He shoved the herald roughly away, sending him fleeing down the alley.

Big hands gently set Faramir on his feet. “All right, now?” said the wizard kindly, carefully dusting him off.

Faramir nodded mutely, resolving not to cry in front of either his brother or the impressively tall wizard. He could hear his brother’s guardsmen approaching at a run. Them either, he thought, biting his lip.

Boromir ran his hands with concern over his brother’s slight shoulders. “Faro, did he hurt you?”

Faramir swallowed hard and shakily leaned into his brother’s arms. “I’m all right, Boromir.” His voice sounded odd and gravelly even to himself. He cleared his throat and awkwardly patted his brother’s arm. “It’s all right.”

Boromir tilted his chin with a gentle finger and stared at him intently. “Has he done this before? And tell me the truth, by the Gods, for I will not tolerate someone putting his hands on you.”

Faramir’s eyes slid away from his brother’s furious gaze. For once, his nimble mind could find no words with which to misdirect his brother’s question.

His brother’s gaze hardened. “We will talk later,” he said under his breath as he turned to greet his men. “Make sure Renegir leaves the city. If he returns to Minas Tirith, have him flogged.”

“But, my lord,” his Captain ventured. “He is the Steward’s Herald and —”

“I do not care who he is,” Boromir spat out. “He laid hands on my brother and I will not tolerate it. I will explain to my father.” He stared them all down and then turned to the wizard, forcing an unconvincing smile to his lips. “I apologize, my lord, for the excitement. My father has rooms set aside for you near the Archives and I will be glad to take you hence.”

“That will be fine, just fine,” nodded Mithrandir, stroking his long white beard gravely. “Let’s bring this young man with us, shall we, and have a spot of tea, with honey perhaps?”

Faramir’s beseeching gaze swung to his brother’s face so quickly Boromir laughed. “Aye,” he said with a more natural smile. “Biscuits, too, knowing my brother’s appetite.”

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