Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof

Author's note: This story is set in the year 2993 of the Third Age; it is my understanding that relations between Rohan and Gondor were friendly at that time. Also, I realize that many names in this story lack accentsthat is due to a malfunction of my computer.

At a particular time of day, the late and heavily dragging hours of the afternoon till the light's fading to dusk, shafts of light glistened through the tall library windows, casting long rectangles onto the floor. Every speck of dust floating lazily about on migrating currents of air caught the light and held it for a while. This light tattooed pink patterns onto the pale cheeks of a young boy, who sat on a cushion he had moved to the floor, curled around himself like a small puppy.

The boy knew the best nooks of the library. He knew which corners would be warmed and illuminated at dawn, noon and dusk and frequented all of these places. Heavy books resting in his lap, the boy loved to pore over pages upon pages of adventures in history and sciences. Storybooks, too, he enjoyed, but less as he grew, for who needed fiction when worlds of true adventure awaited? Joys to the youth were books about animals and plants. He knew the contents of many volumes, though he often needed assistance in reaching these tomes. For all his knowledge, Faramir of Gondor was a small boy of only ten years.

Something nagged at Faramir's mind. He raised his eyes and, deciding that he would remember anything important, returned to the page. Words swam before him. "By Elbereth," Faramir gasped, "what hour is it?"

Past sunset, he observed, to judge by the shadows.

Suddenly he did remember what task early slipped his mind, and Faramir smacked himself on the forehead, a strange habit he had acquired some years ago. The King of Rohan! Drat it all! Now that he considered it, Faramir remembered hearing hoofbeats earlier that day, and that morning his brother had reminded him, "You must not be late tonight, Faramir! I cannot staunch Father's anger if you lose yourself in another book when we are to dine with the King of Rohan."

Boromir knew precisely what would happen, and his prediction came to pass! Faramir silently cursed his absent-mindedness as he flew down the corridor, pulling the ties from his hair and shaking out the girlish braids he wore to keep his vision clear when reading. Enough trouble he would catch from this incident without appearing effeminate!

Faramir always appeared effeminate. His lashes were long, his skin pale, and how could he help having beautiful raven hair? He never did a thing to care for it, save washing regularly! Training in archery gave Faramir muscle, but unlike his brother whose muscle forced the area of his skin to expand, Faramir's muscle wound tightly around his bones, leaving him thin as an arrow. Looking down at his slender, nimble fingers, Faramir thought wryly of his brother's comment: "You spend so long at your books, Faramir, that had you been born a woman… how much easier our lives would be!"

Weighing his options, Faramir decided to join the diners late at supper instead of staying away. He knew hours of writing lines awaited him following the meal, and deemed his situation better on a full stomach than any empty one.

"You are late," Denethor observed, regarding his youngest child with steely grey eyes. He was not a cruel man but neither particularly kindthough fair, with his favor weighed more heavily on punishment than forgiveness.

"Yes, sir... I know I am, Father. I apologize." Faramir bowed politely first to his father, then to the visiting King. Denethor motioned to Faramir's accustomed seat, and with another red-faced bow Faramir sat.

Boromir nudged his little brother with the toe of his boot; Faramir grinned ever so slightly. You were right, Brother, Faramir thought, seeing Boromir's gloating grin in his head.

Able to slip unnoticed from the conversation, Faramir observed Theoden King of Rohan. A man of stern features, Theoden was aged but not old. He wore his noble blood in his square shoulders, his certain eyes and his smile, not a smile as much as simply a lightness about his mouth, as though he knew the weight of the world but could not be conquered by it. Faramir respected Theoden immediately.

Theodred, Theoden's son, sat beside his father, looking for all the world like a mirror of opposites. Theodred was young to Theoden's many years, sullen to his father's joy, and to the King's noble and assured gaze was an opposite yet similar look of pride in the prince's eyes.

Ox-eye daisies, Faramir thought, grow up to one meter in height. This he learned from the book which drew him from his duties. They flower white petals around a sun-like center... "Up to twenty millimeters diameter…"

"What's that?"

Faramir's eyes widened at the words. He slowly met the gaze of Theoden King and, much to the surprise of Faramir, Theoden smiled. "Did I speak aloud?" Faramir asked quietly.

Theoden nodded, "You did. What, Lord Faramir of Gondor" he said this without scorn "grows up to twenty millimetersthat was the numberin diameter?"

Ooh, now I will catch it! If only he had been reading of warriors, that might please his father more than feminine subjects. "The ox-eye daisy, sir," Faramir answered quietly.

"Indeed? I never knew that. Do you study botany?"

Faramir decided that he liked the King. "No, sir," he answered, "I do not even know that word."

Theoden, enjoying this conversation very much, explained the meaning of the word. Faramir smiled and said that he had studied botanybotany, botany, the boy mutteredearlier that day, and for this reason had been late. "Ah, then it is all well," Theoden said, "for if a ruling man should be all timely and without knowledge, he should not be a wise or strong ruler."

"Is there a word," Faramir asked, beginning to believe that Theoden knew everything, "for using…botany…for healing? Marigolds for wounds and lilies for nervousness and the like?"

Later that night as Faramir raised his hand to knock on the door, his fingers were cramped from writing lines and his bottom ached. He repeated in his mind, I will perform the duties of the son of the Steward. Writing this out five hundred times had certainly burned the phrase onto Faramir's mind. "Boromir," he called aloud, "open the door, it's only me."

Within, Boromir looked to his comrade Theodred and sighed. "I am sorry about my brother," Boromir said, for the first time feeling embarrassed about Faramir's strangeness.

"It's quite all right," Theodred answered. "My cousin Eomer is only two years oldyour Faramir reminds me very much of my Eomer."

Boromir admitted Faramir, asking him, "What do you want?"

"Only your company," Faramir answered. He shuffled into the room. Seeing Theodred, Faramir bowed politely.

"You needn't do that," Theodred said. "No one will know the difference, and I am never overly concerned with formalities. Have you been studying your flowers? You and my father seemed quite interested in plants."

Faramir blushed. "I was writing lines," he admitted, "because I was late."

Boromir read the truth in his little brother's red-rimmed eyes, and his heart softened. "Oh, he didn't!"

Faramir nodded.

"The beast!" Boromir muttered. "My poor Bear!" He called Faramir by his childhood named, hugged his brother and kissed him, forgetting the presence of Theodred. "And you were hardly ten minutes late!"

"What happened?" Theodred asked. Upon being told, he remarked in disbelief, "He spanked you? But that's barbaric!"

Faramir grimaced. "Not in Gondor," he answered. "Besides, the hurt is dulled the next morning and gone within the week, usually within a day or two."

"Fara hasn't a drunkard's sense when he's reading and grows forgetful," Boromir explained. "Father's patience in this matter wears thin."

Not caring to keep the conversation going, Faramir leapt onto Boromir's bed and sat with his legs crossed, the soles of his feet pointed heavenwards, causing Theodred to goggle. "What's Rohan like?" Faramir asked.

"Well, for one thing, we call it the Riddermark. Only in Gondor is the land known as Rohan."

Theodred only just began this explanation when Faramir interrupted, "Oh, yes, I remember; and it was first called Calenardhon when it was a part of Gondor" he clapped a hand over his mouth.

Theodred laughed. "You already know the lot!" he exclaimed.

Faramir, usually rather quiet, displayed his chatterbox side. "But you probably know tons about horses," he protested, "and I'm awful with them!"

"Are you now?" Theodred grinned, mischief gleaming in his eyes.

Boromir nodded. "Faramir hates riding."

"The horses frighten me," Faramir said defensively. "Father's always angry; he thinks I ought to be able to ride by this age because Boromir took well to horses. Most times it takes Father or Boromir to cajole me into entering a tack room!"

Theodred grinned all the more broadly. "Tell me," he implored, "is there any way to sneak out of this city after dark?" His mind raced with thoughts of a midnight gallop around the city wall.

Boromir shook his head. "With seven gates to pass through and our fathers both awake into the night revising treaties? I should think not, Theodred!"

Disappointment clouded the boy's features, but not for long. "I have yet another ingenious plan," he announced, and with quick and quiet words detailed his idea to the brothers, whose grey eyes grew wider by the second.

Only Faramir remained uncertain of this mischief, but without conviction did he doubt it. Boromir and Theodred prodded and wheedled the younger boy the way down to the stable, through the tack room, and up onto the horse. "Why can neither of you do this chore?" Faramir asked, quivering in fear as the older boys blotted dark polish onto his face.

"Because," Boromir answered, "you hate to ride, so none will suspect you."

"Do, Faramir, please, it will be ever so comical!" Theodred begged.

Desperate for acceptance, Faramir grudgingly obeyed.

"What was that?"

Theoden and Denethor looked up from the article before them, one by which either country would aid the other in times of war, and blue eyes met grey ones. Neither knew precisely what the cry had been, but as one they raced to the window of Denethor's study. Looking upon the darkened city, they were just able to make out the form of a black-cloaked rider atop a black horse galloping across the seventh of the city walls.

Theoden recognized the nature of this action as Denethor recognized the build of the rider. At the same moment the leaders spoke:

"Theodred."

"Boromir."

"You shouted like an orc-horn, Faramir, you were wonderful!" Theodred cried, helping the younger boy off the tall horse.

Faramir stumbled, tore from Theodred's grasp and ran to his brother. Boromir held Faramir, realizing that the little one was crying. "There, it's all right, Fara! Nothing to cry about," Boromir assured him.

"Don't say that!" Faramir said, pounding his fists against Boromir's chest. "I hate you! You're so mean! I didn't want to go and you said go and I did! You ride the horse," he wailed. "You do it! I hate you!"

"Stop that." Boromir caught his brother's wrists in one hand, and struggle though Faramir might he had not the strength to break free. "Faramir, you are embarrassing me," Boromir hissed.

Understanding his position then, hating Boromir for treating him like a plaything and hating himself for allowing it, Faramir stopped crying and wiped his nose on his sleeve, not having a kerchief handy. Remembering the hateful black polish staining his face, Faramir swiped furiously at himself.

Theodred took pity on the young fellow's fear and pain, recollecting of a sudden that Faramir had been spanked for tardiness and was in pain before riding, and he apologized. "I am sorry, Faramir! This ploy was mine and I should not have forced you into it."

"But you did!" Faramir answered. "You made me do it, and now I will be in even more trouble. You are terrible, Theodred of Rohan, simply awful!"

"Faramir!"

That sharp, clipped voice drew the attentions of the three boys, who looked to the entryway where their fathers stood. Denethor, who had spoken earlier, said in an ominously calm tone, "You will apologize to our guest. Then you and your brother will return to my study."

Swallowing hard, Faramir squeaked, "Yes, Father."

Boromir grimaced. "I am not treating you as an expression of my anger," Denethor had said. "Do not think I enjoy this, for I do not. You must understand the wrongs of your actions. Your play alarmed the guardsmen and frightened that horse. You have brought injury to the reputation of your family."

"It was only in fun," Boromir had argued, while Faramir had remained quiet.

Now neither spoke as Denethor's lecture stretched forward. "…either of you have somehow gained this poorly earned ideal, Gondor is not so strong she can afford to lose her allies, Rohan more than any other! Why must you cast this shameful reflection upon her before Theoden King?" Faramir lost his nerve. Though Boromir stood by in silent deafness, every word his father spoke punctured the dams of Faramir's defenses. Now he broke. Tears streaked through the black polish not completely washed from his cheeks.

"Stop that, Faramir. I will be moved by no play."

But Faramir was not pretending! He was in pain, his legs only just stopped shaking from sheer terror, and the disappointment weighed heavily on his heart. If he did not weep, he would die. He knew that.

Seeing as much, Boromir wrapped an arm around Faramir and drew him close. Faramir muffled his sobs gratefully against his brother. Sufficiently placated, Denethor continued with a glare of death upon his face, "I am quite displeased with both of you." Truly? Boromir thought sarcastically. You hide it so well. There now, Fara, shh, it's all right. "You should know better. You do know better! Does the house of Hurin make a point of denying good sense and knowledge? I do not think it so!"

Hush, child! Boromir's thoughts did not pass on to his brother, who sobs grew desperate and climbed to a painful volume.

"Faramir!" Denethor said, sharply enough that Faramir looked at his father. "Come here, Faramir." Trembling, Faramir obeyed. With every step he seemed about to topple, much as a calf taking its first steps. When he stood before his father, Faramir trembled all the worse, expecting a sharp smack. To his surprise, he received no such thing. No! quite the contrary, Denethor held his youngest son tightly.

For a moment Boromir truly hated his father. He wished someone would smack Denethor, teach him a lesson about disciplining his children. Stop playing his emotions! Faramir will never ride another horse, Boromir thought. He will bear this fear for the rest of his life. Startled, Boromir realized precisely what Denethor meant to do: he meant not only to chasten Faramir, but to rule him by fear. The Steward knew nothing of his second son, understood nothing of him! Boromir realized incorrectly, but it was a view he would hold in a vicegrip for some time.

Denethor released Faramir, though with one hand he cupped the child's head. "I didn't want to, Daddy," Faramir sobbed quietly. "I never meant to…"

"I know, my child. I am so sorry," Denethor whispered.

Looking into his father's eyes, Faramir knew that this was true. He nodded and swiped a tear from his cheek.

Weakened by Faramir's forced strength and the words he was about to speak, Denethor sank back into his chair. "You may hate me, if you wish to."

"I don't hate you, Father."

Denethor smiled, not a smile of joy but one of sorrowful happiness, as one may smile at the beauty of a butterfly fallen in death to the dirt. "I am truly glad for it."

Faramir returned his father's look with a tight, weak smile, then sank to the floor and, burying his face against his father's knee, sobbed out his anger and pain. Denethor stroked Faramir's hair lovingly. Faramir forgives him, Boromir observed, surprised. Why? Seeing the softness in his father's eyes, Boromir wondered that Denethor could possibly love a boy he did not even know.

Theodred, meanwhile, had received a very stern reprimand, a promise of precious little free time until the end of the year, and an instruction to apologize to Denethor and his sons, especially Faramir. "Wait a moment," Theodred said, turning.

"Theodred…" his father warned.

"I will," Theodred promised, "but…" He pulled from his bag a book, his journal, and withdrew a pressed object from between the pages.

His apology to the Steward and the sons of the Steward was brief but honest. Looking to his father and seeing the slightest of nods, Theodred went to Faramir and offered to him the object taken from the book. "I offer this as an apology and a symbol of the kinship between ourselves and our two great countries."

Faramir gently took the dried flower in his hands. "Symbelmyne," he whispered, his tears forgotten. "These…these… Thank you, Theodred of Rohan, very much!"

Theodred smiled at Faramir and at the adults, then surprised everyone by saying, "If you like, Faramir of Gondor, I will teach you to ride and not to fear horses."

Grinning, Faramir answered, "I think I should like that very much."

To be continued

This story was originally intended to be a series of vignettes, however as each relies on the other for clarity I have elected to post a somewhat disjointed multi-chapter story.