This story belongs to my precious Kat, a birthday present for a dear friend, who also beta'd her own pressie.

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended. This story is not meant to violate the rights held by New Line, Tolkien Enterprises, nor any other licensee, nor is any disrespect intended. I don't own Tolkien's original characters, however, my OC's, Gwinthorian, Garrick, Devon and several other Rangers are exclusively my own.

For new readers: This story takes place several weeks after the Final Battle and several weeks before Aragorn's coronation - and, in my AU, Boromir lives!

Foster Father of The Heart - part I

by Larrkin

"I do understand," I said.

"No. You don't. You can't."

"Indeed I can, little urchin."

Faramir winced and darted a look around at the bustling workers passing to and fro, all of them paying us no mind whatsoever whilst busying themselves amidst the ruins of Osgiliath. None were near enough to hear us, but my brother still growled, "Not that name, Boromir! Please."

I grinned. "You don't like me calling you little urchin?"

"Yes," he replied, almost shyly, "I-I do – "

"Well, then."

"Just. Not. Here."

"Very well, but – "

"And you don't understand."

I sighed. "You seem to forget, little boy, that I also suffered a near-death wounding and spent weeks healing in Lothlorien, so I do understand what it feels like to know you can do more than you're being permitted to do, but no one is listening to you or ready to believe you. I certainly understand your frustration, but there is naught to be done about it, and I am sorry for that."

Faramir calmed at my words, his features dropping into a quiet sulk, but I stayed in battle stance. He was regrouping. He'd come back in a moment and argue circles 'round me until I eventually lost my temper, and although reducing me to a sputter wouldn't be quite the triumph Faramir was hoping for, he would at least feel he'd won some small victory. With my clever little brother it was always best to avoid verbal sparring and I knew I should do just that. Because this was one battle Faramir wasn't going to win. I refused to give in to him.

However it could do no harm to let him be thoroughly difficult. It would get him nowhere, but it might help ease his resentment, so I continued on, opening the next skirmish by introducing a little balance:

"Aragorn and the Warden have allowed you far more freedom than Lerin gave me in Lothlorien. Aye, you have some limitations to observe, but you are hardly useless. You've been released from the Houses of Healing to help direct this crucial rebuilding of Osgiliath, little brother, and that's an important task. Aragorn made it clear how much he needs you to be involved in this project. You. He needs you here, Faramir, not following him off to Henneth Annûn on a mere reconnaissance mission."

"A 'mere reconnaissance mission?'" He shot me a feral look. "There's quite a bit more to Aragorn's purpose than just that!"

Well, that had been the wrong thing for me to say.

"Reconnaissance mission indeed! Aragorn is going to Henneth Annun to reunite his Northern Rangers with my Ithilien Rangers. MY men, Boromir!"

"I know."

"Two branches of Dúnedain will be meeting for the first time in hundreds of years. That's more than a mere reconnaissance mission!"

"I know."

"I wanted to be there."

"I know."

"And I can ride that far!"

"No. You can't."

"I can!"

"No, Faramir. You cannot. Aye, you can ride, but you are permitted to go no faster than the pace at which we rode here this morning, a gentle trot. You know that Aragorn plans a swift trip there and back again and you heard what he and the Warden said. That kind of vigorous riding would jostle your body too roughly and for too long. Such jarring could tear something open within you. Your wounds are too freshly knit. They're fragile."

"Fragile?" He looked horrified.

Definitely another wrong thing for me to say.

"Fragile!" he spat, glowering at me.

"You would most likely re-injure yourself."

"'Most likely,' Boromir?" He fumed. "Most likely is not the same as positively! Most likely leaves room for doubt."

Typical Faramir ploy. Twist my words around.

"Have it your way, then, little brother. You would positively re-injure yourself."

"You can't be positively certain of that."

"Faramir."

"There's no way even Aragorn could be positively certain of that."

I summoned patience. "Perhaps not, but he did know that they'll be traveling through areas of Ithilien where there have been reports of renegade fugitives – " Faramir scoffed, and suddenly I grew tired of this. "You are by no means ready to engage in any battle save a verbal one, Faramir, and I see no point in discussing this further as you are, I assure you, going nowhere. And there's an end to it."

He scowled at me as though longing to erupt anew, then he huffed and began to pace a short, furious path back and forth, back and forth, muttering, "Wretched Warden! Wretched man! Wretched, wretched man!"

"It was Aragorn's ruling, too."

"Wretched Ara – "

"Faramir! That is enough."

He gazed off, grumbling to himself in elvish. Nasty-sounding elvish, too. Would that I could remember some of it to repeat to Legolas and ask its meaning.

I sighed. I truly did understand him. Faramir was delighted when Aragorn and the Warden had released him from the Houses of Healing, delighted with the trust Aragorn showed in him by placing him in command of rebuilding Osgiliath. But he was feeling so much better that he was certain he could do everything, resenting his restrictions. Difficulties arose at once.

"But I can climb scaffolding, my lord Aragorn!"

"Nay, Faramir. You cannot."

"Well, then, at the very least I can --"

"Nay, Faramir. You cannot and you will not."

As he had ever been, Faramir was dangerously overeager to prove himself. He couldn't help being exactly who our father had molded him to be – a young man desperate for approval. He had tried and failed to please Denethor while our father lived and now Faramir was struggling to please a dead man's relentless voice still haunting him, urging him to do whatever might satisfy a cruel inner entity that was never going to be satisfied.

Somewhere within his heart Faramir understood this. During a ferocious spanking I'd given him not long ago that left his backside sore for days, I'd talked these things over with him and at the end of that wrenching journey my brother realized that he had not been responsible for Denethor's bitterness towards him.

Faramir had made a good beginning, but his behaviors had formed over many long years and those old habits were hard to break. It would take him some time to free himself from Denethor's echoing malice – if indeed he ever could – and therein lay our problem. During Faramir's first two days here in Osgiliath, Damrod, whose word was ever law concerning my brother, had been forced to remind him over and over that his was a supervisory role alone and that he was by no means permitted to share in any of the heavy labor.

But, ahhh, my little urchin. He seemed unable to help himself, unable to keep from ignoring his restrictions. Damrod's forbearance was wearing perilously thin.

"Faramir," I had told him just yesterday, "'tis never a good idea to let Damrod's forbearance wear perilously thin."

"Then I suggest you avoid doing so, Boromir," he replied with a sweet smile.

There was just no reasoning with him. No one knew his state of health better than he did and no one saw matters as clearly as he did and as long as no one would listen to him, he would return the courtesy in kind. His actions spoke those sentiments of his louder than he had verbally dared.

And now, finally, temporary madness had set in. My brother had apparently convinced himself that nobody would find out about his misdeeds, not me, not Aragorn, not Legolas, and not Damrod. Considering the fact that Faramir's deeply underlying purpose was, as it ever was, to seek attention, I could think of no better proof of his unsound state of mind.

"Ahh, my fledgling," Aragorn had said with his warm smile, "he is just like you."

"Aye," Legolas had said, chuckling. "He insists upon learning things the hard way."

I'd grimaced at the time, but of course they were right. Yesterday when Faramir had once again climbed high up on some scaffolding to help move some rubble Damrod had caught him in the act, carefully dragged my brother down, then threatened him with the kind of over-the-knee consequences at which our big lieutenant excelled.

"And he threatened to do it here, Boromir! Right here in Osgiliath! In the, in the . . . open!" Faramir had sputtered last evening. Unfortunately, Aragorn, Legolas and Damrod himself had been approaching and overheard him.

"Would that he had done so," Aragorn remarked, fixing Faramir with a stern look.

"And that he would have waited until we could stand witness," Legolas said.

Faramir lifted his chin and gazed past them all, sulking like an arrogant juvenile. Given his thoroughly bad attitude I vow he had been simply begging for a spanking from any one of us.

"I remind you yet again, sir," Aragorn went on, "should you overtax yourself you shall end up back in the Houses of Healing, confined to your bed, and, judging by Damrod's frown, lying on your stomach."

My brother's glance flew to our lieutenant who stood, tall and silent, his muscular arms crossed over his chest and his narrow-eyed stare pinning Faramir in place.

"I have known this man since before you were born," Aragorn went on. "So be wise, little Ranger, and behave yourself. Damrod is ever vigilant."

One fact neither my little brother nor myself ever needed reminded of.

Looking as though he hadn't a friend in the world, Faramir cast a glance of wounded betrayal around at the four of us as though we were all in league against him. Ah, that sad-eyed gaze of his! When he aimed it at me it was hard to keep from feeling like the meanest orc in orcdom. We were holding him back and getting in his way and disrespecting his opinion and not listening to him or trusting him and oh, how well I understood!

During my stay in Lothlorien's healing chambers, I was also certain I knew better than my elvish healers. When I decided to prove them all wrong by attempting to escape for a short ride, Lerin, Lothlorien's elvish version of the Wretched Warden, explained to me with humiliating ease and in a far too thorough hands-on manner that my behavior was unacceptable. Exceedingly large and packed with that staggering elvish strength, Lerin had been most convincing.

When it came to my well being, his opinion was the only one that mattered and he would decide my level of fitness and he would tolerate no further insubordination. Was that fully understood, little warrior?

Oh, indeed it was, sir. Fully. In fact, I couldn't recall how I had dared to think otherwise. And when Lerin was finished heating my backside and I lay limp and trembling and weeping over his lap, he gathered me up and politely asked if his little warrior had any further desires to steal a horse and attempt a ride when he had been forbidden to leave his chamber. Noooo, moreover, just the thought of mounting a horse sent his little warrior into a fresh torrent of tears. To this day the memory was all too vivid. Wretched elf.

I now feared that Faramir was charging headlong toward a similar lesson, and I felt certain Damrod would be the one to deliver it. When my brother took up his post in Osgiliath our lieutenant had become Faramir's shadow, all but outwardly laying claim to his care. Of course, it had ever been thus.

"Aye, and 'tis for the best now as well," Aragorn had said last night when I mentioned this, "considering what happened when Damrod last tried to discipline Faramir."

And although it wasn't something I liked to recall, the memory of what Aragorn had told me about Faramir and Damrod just days after I had been reunited with my brother surged forth again, flooding me with the same sorrow I'd felt when learning of it. Faramir, near-mad with grief over my presumed death, had started to behave in an alarming manner, taking such dangerous chances that it seemed he no longer cared to live. And when Damrod had tried to reach him, tried to discipline him, as he had been all Faramir's life, my brother in his shattered state of anguish did the unthinkable. After they fought and Faramir naturally lost, he lay passively over Damrod's knee, allowing himself to be spanked and spanked and spanked and showing no response until Damrod, fearing for Faramir's safety, was forced to stop and let him up.

To his way of thinking my little brother could not have wounded our beloved lieutenant more. To his way of thinking he betrayed Damrod's love and devotion, ripping asunder their mutual trust and destroying the precious bond they had shared since his childhood. He had hurt Damrod in a selfish attempt to make his own pain worse, to injure himself and to invite a crippling burden of guilt – which, of course, he had received.

And when the worst of Faramir's grief eased and his sanity returned, bitter though it was, his guilt over this sad episode with Damrod prevailed. Their usual father-son link had returned to normal, of course. Valar forbid Damrod change his inclinations towards either one of us, sad episodes be hanged. But the injury festered, hidden beneath the surface, unresolved. And there it remained. Damrod had not taken Faramir over his knee since.

So I understood last night when Aragorn said, "'Tis for the best that Faramir is behaving true to form, trying to prove himself and pushing his boundaries. He and Damrod need to heal this wounding."

"You are uniquely qualified to help Faramir, little brother," Legolas had said with a lazy grin. "You can counsel our gwador laes on the finer points of redefining one's boundaries."

"Insolent elf," I muttered with fond irritation, making them both chuckle.

"I am glad you have decided to stay here with him, my fledgling," Aragorn then said. "Your presence will help soothe his low-spirits."

At the moment I wasn't so sure. Faramir looked to be running more foul elvish through his head, creative descriptions, mayhap, of the Wretched Warden who had stranded him here and of everyone else responsible for his plight, including a certain tiresome big brother Steward now following his every move. His scheme to rid himself of Damrod and his watchful eye by sending him to the wharves had fallen with a thud, because instead of simply joining Faramir on his ride here this morning then returning to Minas Tirith, I had decided to remain at his side all day. I felt certain Damrod would have, with all due respect, declined the wharf assignment had I not said, "I have decided to stay the day, lieutenant. I shall keep my brother company." Meaning, of course, I shall sit watch on the tiresome brat, lieutenant. Be at ease.

Reassured, Damrod had departed, leaving me with one positively livid young Captain of the Ithilien Rangers. Ah! Such poisonous looks from my own blood!

Well, fire away, little brother mine! I was indeed staying close, especially in this crucial time when Faramir, lunatic that he was, could possibly mount up, chase off after Aragorn and his Rangers and possibly catch up to them. A truly mad thing to do, but given Faramir's mood, I could believe he was prepared to be that foolish. He had that defiantly dangerous gleam in his eye that worried me.

Marking when Aragorn left, however, I knew that soon the company would be too far away for Faramir to entertain any hope of reaching them. My brother could read the position of the sun as well as I could, so he was becoming more desperate by the minute, thus his earlier attempts to remind me of my duties in Minas Tirith and now this, "I can ride that far!" argument about his fitness. His temper grew worse at every thwarted turn and I reckoned this had gone on long enough.

I looked levelly at him and said, "Faramir, you are very intelligent, so surely you know that if you try to reach Aragorn and you succeed, your greatest threat will be Aragorn himself." He gazed at me in his vague, disinterested way. I forged on. "The perils of Ithilien might be merely possibilities, but two self-appointed big brothers, two quite furious big brothers, would be waiting at the end of your journey, and I vow you would find that most unpleasant. Think of that moment when you ride up to Legolas and Aragorn. Think of their faces."

It seemed he did. Faramir's eyes widened and I charged through the breech in his crumbling wall of boldness.

"And consider this," I said. "When Aragorn is finished with you, Legolas will be waiting to get his willful baby brother over his knee. Of course he will also want to spank his gwador laes." Faramir blinked and stared at me. "Aye, I think you recall the story I told you about when they did that to me, and believe me, sir, you do not want to suffer it. Imagine an elvish spanking on top of what Aragorn will have already done to that little boy backside."

"Boromir, please!" he groaned, casting another furtive look around.

"Aye, 'tis a grim prospect, youngling." And, to be honest, an unlikely one. Legolas would be burning to do it, but I doubted Aragorn would allow him to spank Faramir as well, not while my brother was yet healing. But Faramir didn't need to know that, so I embellished away: "Imagine mounting your horse to ride onward after two such spankings. Aragorn would demand that, of course. You wouldn't be able to stay encamped there in Ithilien until your bottom felt better. Legolas would pick you up and slap you down atop your saddle, right on that scalded backside."

Now thoroughly scarlet-faced, Faramir went silent for a long moment, his eyes downcast. I left him to further consider the dark vision I'd given him. I was rather proud of myself. My own backside tingled after my words. But then, I had actually lived through the experience.

Finally he peered up with a look of puzzled innocence and said, "If I'm as intelligent as you claim, how can you suggest me capable of such an asinine deed? Do you honestly think I'm unreasonable enough to do that, Boromir? To race off after Aragorn?"

I wasn't fooled. This was one of Faramir's classic ploys, suggesting I was being absurd and unsuitably suspicious. I didn't blink. "Aye."

"Alone? You think I'd ride through the precarious forests of Ithilien alone?"

"Aye."

He gazed at me in quiet dismay. "I am wounded, big brother."

"My point exactly."

"I mean I am offended! Hurt by your insinuations and lack of trust!"

I smirked and 'hmmph-ed,' then I paused and narrowed my eyes. This conversation was taking on a familiar quality.

"Boromir, do you truly believe me to be that witless?"

"Oh, I think you have plenty of wits, Faramir. But this has nothing to do with wits and you know it. 'Tis desire beckoning you on, little brother, and the irresistible need to prove everyone wrong about your fitness. What could be better than that? It might be worth a spanking to show that you were correct all along."

I smiled at his suddenly guilty frown and said, "You see? I do indeed understand, sweetling, and as far as I'm concerned anyone who's willing to accept a blistering spanking in order to get his way and prove his point is not in his right mind."

And I should know, having done so myself many times.

"Such a bratling shouldn't be allowed to roam about freely," I said. "Since I've stopped you from escaping to join Aragorn you're likely to soothe your wounded pride by trying some other mad stunt. So, I know this isn't what you want to hear, little urchin, but you're staying within my sights today. Best you get used to that fact. Between Damrod and I we might just be able to keep you safe from your foolish self."

Faramir gasped a strangled sound and glowered at me like Pippin in a foul mood. Suddenly enraged to be facing a day hemmed in by responsible Stewards and tiresome lieutenants who would put an end to any daringly brilliant plans he might hatch, he cast back to the original cause of this suddenly confining day and blurted out, "How can you think that I intend to go against everyone's orders and somehow follow along?"

Ah. Now I remembered why this all sounded familiar. He'd asked me that very question in the Houses of Healing ere the final march, so I replied now as I had then: "Because it's what I would do."

end part I
Foster Father of The Heart to be continued