Boromir slashed his little, wooden sword through the air and twirled
around, tripping slightly from dizziness, recovering, then thrusting
forward into the next imaginary enemy.
"Ha!" he cried triumphantly.
"Well done, Master Boromir!" chimed Elonwe, his nurse enthusiastically and not without a patronizing tone. It was her job to watch him when his parents were too busy, which was quite often in the case of his father, being the steward of the Gondor. She loved her little lord dearly and faithfully. He was an energetic, enthusiastic child, and though he was perhaps spoiled a little, he was at heart a very sweet, sincere child. "But I think that's enough playing, excuse me, fighting, for now." The five-year- old put his hands on his hips indignantly and big grayish-blue eyes started up at her from under brown hair. "Since you seem to have defeated the enemy, I thought now would be a good time to get back to your studies." Boromir's lip stuck out in a pout immediately.
"I don't wanna!"
"But just imagine how proud it would make your father if you learned to read!" she persisted, knowing well what would make the boy work hard. If not for her wishes, then certainly he would for his father's.
The child hesitated, imagining his father smiling proudly as he read to him. His father was always thrilled when he learned something knew. "That's my little heir of Gondor!" he'd say. "Oh, alright!" he said at last, though not without a heavy sigh of impatience and boredom.
"Bless you," Elonwe responded with a smile. She watched as he put away his sword. It had been another of his father's gifts, carved no doubt by the finest money could buy. She sometimes disapproved of her lord's treatment of his son. He gave him everything, and yet never seemed to have time to actually spend time with him, though he always had kind words on those occasions. They would sometimes go on outings together, the steward and his wife and son. Elonwe reprimanded herself silently for questioning her master; after all, he was a very busy man, and it was obvious he did love Boromir very much. Both Steward and Lady adored their only son.
She helped as Boromir struggled with the elegant letters on the papers and gave him praise, but could not help her thoughts from wandering to the steward and his wife once more. How was Lady Finduilas fairing? She glanced at the door. Any hour, a messenger might come asking for Boromir to come see his parents and their new child. She had been pleased when she learned of the Lady's pregnancy. It would do Boromir great good to have another constant companion beside herself. And one who was not his servant as well… Perhaps a sibling would show him he could not always get his way.
"This is too hard!" said Boromir after a few longer minutes of struggling. He had truly put in a great effort of memorizing the letters and sounding out the words, but his attention span was short; he had stretched it greatly already. "I'm trying, Nurse, really, I am!" he said, seeing her lips thin in restrained disapproval. But he expression softened and she ran a hand over his head.
"Very well. I suppose that's enough for today," she said. "Are you excited?" The child hesitated, unsure of what event he was supposed to be excited about. He might know of what she spoke, but he didn't want to say it and be wrong. "About the baby?" she prompted.
"Oh, yes!" he said. "I thought you meant that. Yes, I want to see my baby brother!"
"Now, now, Boromir. What if it's a sister?"
"I don't want a sister," he said bluntly, an apologetic smile spreading over his face at the look on his nurse's face. "Well, I guess I'd still love it if it was a girl… But I really want a brother. Then he can play with me and I can teach him to fight!"
Elonwe smiled. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Boromir's face lit up, and Elonwe gave him a pat on the head before rising and opening the door. Boromir tried to contain himself as he sat looked on. Elonwe was speaking with someone at the door, their voices hushed. But… something seemed wrong. Why didn't they call him? Why weren't they telling him he had a brother? Why were they ignoring him?
"Is it a boy?" he interrupted, curiosity and a desire for attention to return to him getting the better of him. Elonwe and the messenger turned and looked at him with white, startled faces. "Well?" he asked, growing impatient and uneasy.
"It's a boy," said Elonwe, forcing a calm, yet strained smile, then turned away once more and dismissed the messenger. Boromir smiled at the news, but remained uneasy. Why was his nurse being so strange?
"I knew it'd be a boy. Didn't I say it would be?" he asked, trying to cheer her into her normal spirits. He looked at her as she knelt down to eye- level and took his hand in hers. "What's wrong?" he asked quietly, reaching out to wipe the tears off his nurse's face. "Why are you crying?"
Elonwe smiled sadly and choked back a sob at the little boy's sweet gesture. "Boromir there's something I have to tell you," she said, her smile fading quickly. His big eyes stared at her with concern and anxiousness, and she looked away as more tears came. He was so young, so innocent. How could she possibly break the news to him? And he had been so excited, so impatient for good news. How could this have happened? "Valar… Would that I did not have to tell you, but someone else," she whispered. "Boromir… You mother is dead."
The child's mouth opened but no sound came out. Shock spread through him as this completely unexpected horror hit him. Dead? How could she be dead! He had just seen her! She had tucked him into bed just the other night! Her smiling face framed with wavy brown hair filled his mind and he began to cry. Panic filled him and he tried desperately to comprehend what this could mean. Would he ever see her again? It just couldn't be! It couldn't be!
"That can't be!" he screamed. "Mommy can't be dead! You're lying!" Elonwe's lip quivered at the pain she saw in this little child she loved as a son. She put a hand on the back of his head and drew him into her arms. He knew she wasn't lying, but he just couldn't believe it. He let her hold him as the tears continued down his pale face. He didn't understand. It didn't make sense. This was supposed to be a good day; it was supposed to be happy news! But instead it was the worst news he had ever learned. His entire world was changed now, and a piece of him was gone.
Denethor lay beside his wife's lifeless body, clutching her, smothering his face into the pillows. She was the only person who had even broken down his walls, who had found a place of warmth within him. He held onto her and would not let go. Tears blurred his vision as he beheld her smooth face, which had been so tormented only minutes ago, and now seemed to have finally gained peace. His hand reached up to stroke her still warm cheek and run his fingers over her closed eyelids. "Finduilas…" came the desperate, agonized whisper. "Finduilas, you can't leave me…"
A new-born child's wail could be heard but it seemed far away and insignificant as Denethor grieved the loss of his wife. The servants stood by watching awkwardly, as their Steward sobbed silently, pain and emotion such as they had never seen him display before, taking complete control of him. The question soon arose, what to do with the child? But all of them were afraid to approach their lord in such grief and he seemed to have forgotten the child altogether, so they sent him away to the nursery.
______________________________________________________________
Author's Note: Um, I've been told that Finduilas did NOT die in childbirth. I had thought that already, as I've read some stories about this family and they had her living a little longer but I didn't realize there was actual evidence on it. Sorry, I'm afraid I failed on discovering that information. I just thought it was a good theory as to one reason why Denethor might hold a grudge to Faramir.
"Ha!" he cried triumphantly.
"Well done, Master Boromir!" chimed Elonwe, his nurse enthusiastically and not without a patronizing tone. It was her job to watch him when his parents were too busy, which was quite often in the case of his father, being the steward of the Gondor. She loved her little lord dearly and faithfully. He was an energetic, enthusiastic child, and though he was perhaps spoiled a little, he was at heart a very sweet, sincere child. "But I think that's enough playing, excuse me, fighting, for now." The five-year- old put his hands on his hips indignantly and big grayish-blue eyes started up at her from under brown hair. "Since you seem to have defeated the enemy, I thought now would be a good time to get back to your studies." Boromir's lip stuck out in a pout immediately.
"I don't wanna!"
"But just imagine how proud it would make your father if you learned to read!" she persisted, knowing well what would make the boy work hard. If not for her wishes, then certainly he would for his father's.
The child hesitated, imagining his father smiling proudly as he read to him. His father was always thrilled when he learned something knew. "That's my little heir of Gondor!" he'd say. "Oh, alright!" he said at last, though not without a heavy sigh of impatience and boredom.
"Bless you," Elonwe responded with a smile. She watched as he put away his sword. It had been another of his father's gifts, carved no doubt by the finest money could buy. She sometimes disapproved of her lord's treatment of his son. He gave him everything, and yet never seemed to have time to actually spend time with him, though he always had kind words on those occasions. They would sometimes go on outings together, the steward and his wife and son. Elonwe reprimanded herself silently for questioning her master; after all, he was a very busy man, and it was obvious he did love Boromir very much. Both Steward and Lady adored their only son.
She helped as Boromir struggled with the elegant letters on the papers and gave him praise, but could not help her thoughts from wandering to the steward and his wife once more. How was Lady Finduilas fairing? She glanced at the door. Any hour, a messenger might come asking for Boromir to come see his parents and their new child. She had been pleased when she learned of the Lady's pregnancy. It would do Boromir great good to have another constant companion beside herself. And one who was not his servant as well… Perhaps a sibling would show him he could not always get his way.
"This is too hard!" said Boromir after a few longer minutes of struggling. He had truly put in a great effort of memorizing the letters and sounding out the words, but his attention span was short; he had stretched it greatly already. "I'm trying, Nurse, really, I am!" he said, seeing her lips thin in restrained disapproval. But he expression softened and she ran a hand over his head.
"Very well. I suppose that's enough for today," she said. "Are you excited?" The child hesitated, unsure of what event he was supposed to be excited about. He might know of what she spoke, but he didn't want to say it and be wrong. "About the baby?" she prompted.
"Oh, yes!" he said. "I thought you meant that. Yes, I want to see my baby brother!"
"Now, now, Boromir. What if it's a sister?"
"I don't want a sister," he said bluntly, an apologetic smile spreading over his face at the look on his nurse's face. "Well, I guess I'd still love it if it was a girl… But I really want a brother. Then he can play with me and I can teach him to fight!"
Elonwe smiled. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Boromir's face lit up, and Elonwe gave him a pat on the head before rising and opening the door. Boromir tried to contain himself as he sat looked on. Elonwe was speaking with someone at the door, their voices hushed. But… something seemed wrong. Why didn't they call him? Why weren't they telling him he had a brother? Why were they ignoring him?
"Is it a boy?" he interrupted, curiosity and a desire for attention to return to him getting the better of him. Elonwe and the messenger turned and looked at him with white, startled faces. "Well?" he asked, growing impatient and uneasy.
"It's a boy," said Elonwe, forcing a calm, yet strained smile, then turned away once more and dismissed the messenger. Boromir smiled at the news, but remained uneasy. Why was his nurse being so strange?
"I knew it'd be a boy. Didn't I say it would be?" he asked, trying to cheer her into her normal spirits. He looked at her as she knelt down to eye- level and took his hand in hers. "What's wrong?" he asked quietly, reaching out to wipe the tears off his nurse's face. "Why are you crying?"
Elonwe smiled sadly and choked back a sob at the little boy's sweet gesture. "Boromir there's something I have to tell you," she said, her smile fading quickly. His big eyes stared at her with concern and anxiousness, and she looked away as more tears came. He was so young, so innocent. How could she possibly break the news to him? And he had been so excited, so impatient for good news. How could this have happened? "Valar… Would that I did not have to tell you, but someone else," she whispered. "Boromir… You mother is dead."
The child's mouth opened but no sound came out. Shock spread through him as this completely unexpected horror hit him. Dead? How could she be dead! He had just seen her! She had tucked him into bed just the other night! Her smiling face framed with wavy brown hair filled his mind and he began to cry. Panic filled him and he tried desperately to comprehend what this could mean. Would he ever see her again? It just couldn't be! It couldn't be!
"That can't be!" he screamed. "Mommy can't be dead! You're lying!" Elonwe's lip quivered at the pain she saw in this little child she loved as a son. She put a hand on the back of his head and drew him into her arms. He knew she wasn't lying, but he just couldn't believe it. He let her hold him as the tears continued down his pale face. He didn't understand. It didn't make sense. This was supposed to be a good day; it was supposed to be happy news! But instead it was the worst news he had ever learned. His entire world was changed now, and a piece of him was gone.
Denethor lay beside his wife's lifeless body, clutching her, smothering his face into the pillows. She was the only person who had even broken down his walls, who had found a place of warmth within him. He held onto her and would not let go. Tears blurred his vision as he beheld her smooth face, which had been so tormented only minutes ago, and now seemed to have finally gained peace. His hand reached up to stroke her still warm cheek and run his fingers over her closed eyelids. "Finduilas…" came the desperate, agonized whisper. "Finduilas, you can't leave me…"
A new-born child's wail could be heard but it seemed far away and insignificant as Denethor grieved the loss of his wife. The servants stood by watching awkwardly, as their Steward sobbed silently, pain and emotion such as they had never seen him display before, taking complete control of him. The question soon arose, what to do with the child? But all of them were afraid to approach their lord in such grief and he seemed to have forgotten the child altogether, so they sent him away to the nursery.
______________________________________________________________
Author's Note: Um, I've been told that Finduilas did NOT die in childbirth. I had thought that already, as I've read some stories about this family and they had her living a little longer but I didn't realize there was actual evidence on it. Sorry, I'm afraid I failed on discovering that information. I just thought it was a good theory as to one reason why Denethor might hold a grudge to Faramir.