Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story. I was simply given a challenge to create an action/humor story about Boromir and Faramir by a friend.
"Boromir! Come to me my son." Denethor boomed. Boromir strode quietly across the hall to where his father sat. He stared at his father's face, trying to gauge the urgency in his father's voice. It worried him when he was summoned in such a manor. He had been on his way to spar with the royal guard, but had then been summoned by his father's chamber.
"Yes father. What is it? Why have you called me here?" he asked.
"My son," Denethor said proudly, "As the next heir to the Stewardship, it is your duty to assure the safety of all your citizens. To help them and guide them. To be a strong role model for them. Someone who they look up to and aspire to become. A teacher…………
Boromir's self praising bubble burst as his father's voice trailed off. "I don't understand. Where are you going with this father?" Boromir asked cautiously.
Denethor's face was still. He thought about his next words carefully before he spoke them. "Your brother has expressed a desire to learn to fight. I told him that when he had come of age he would have the opportunity to learn. Though when I spoke this, I had hoped he would grow away from this fascination. But as his 10th birthday approaches, he grows more and more eager. I cannot waste anymore time or pull anymore soldiers for this foolishness, so I am looking to you now. Faramir looks up to you. He listens to you. Perhaps you can show him this is not a game. Teach him to defend himself. I will not have a coward for a son." Denethor finished coldly.
Boromir's brows furrowed. So this is why he was called. To handle his father's issues with his little brother, again. It seemed that lately, Denethor had grown frustrated at the young boy. Boromir loved his little brother, but sometimes his enthusiasm was a bit much. He knew of his brother's potential, even if his father did not. 'This could prove to be interesting' Boromir thought, as a lazy smirk crept across his face.
"Good. You will start first thing tomorrow." Denethor said. "Maybe this will toughen him up into something I can be proud of."
Boromir bowed slightly to his father and turned to leave the room. He shook his head slowly. He vowed that he would show his father and make Faramir into someone he could love and be proud of. So off he went, to find his little brother and tell him the good news.
The Next Day……
'It's finally here,' thought the small 10 year old. He had been informed yesterday by his big brother that he was going to start a special training session with him as a birthday gift. Faramir could barely sleep that night anticipating the events that would soon unfold on his birthday. He had always wondered if his father was going to stay true to his word about his training beginning when he turned 10. He began to worry as Denethor's interest in him began to lessen. Faramir knew that his father adored Boromir, and so he always tried to follow in his big brother's footsteps. "One day, you'll see, I'll be as great as my brother" he once told his father. Denethor looked at his small son, "No one will ever be as great as your brother." Faramir was startled by the sudden sight that stood before his door.
"Little brother, you were supposed to be down in the courtyard 20 minutes ago. If you wish to be as great as me, then you need to learn Rule Number 1: a warrior must be on time for battle, otherwise he has already lost," said Boromir. He stood there taking in his brother's state of dress, and shook his head. Before him stood a skinny 10 year old in an over-sized tunic and helmet that he kept pushing out of his eyes. Boromir chuckled, remembering when he had been in Faramir's shoes.
"I'm ready, though I am having some difficulty. Is this supposed to be…?" he finished by pointing to his tunic.
Boromir smiled. "So that's where my tunic snuck off to," he said.
Faramir smiled widely. "I thought I should wear the same thing you did," he said as innocently as a small child could. After having a good laugh at his brother's expense, though the boy did not find it funny in the least bit, Boromir helped fix his brother's tunic. Grasping him around the shoulders he led him out toward the courtyard.
Several Hours Later……
"One! Two! Five! Again. One! Two! Five! Good, one more time. One! Two! Fi—ouch! Not so hard little one," Boromir said to his younger half.
"Sorry. It's just so hard to remember what swing goes with which number. But I promise to get better at studying them in the library later," Faramir said.
"You do not study fighting. The ability to yield a weapon to defend oneself is not learned in books, it is taught on the field." Faramir's happy demeanor began to fade as he listened to his brother's words. Upon seeing this, Boromir began to quickly regret speaking so harshly to his younger brother. "I am supposed to training you, but instead I am crushing your spirit. It's just that I never really found it necessary to study from books, when it was the physicality of the fight that spoke to me. In a lot of ways that is how we are alike, but also how we are different. Your ability to think rationally and devise plans becomes a valuable asset for a fighter to have. All I have is brute strength and cunning. You are no match for me," Boromir said while stifling a chuckle. "I lay down my sword before you, oh mighty warrior," he finished as he knelt before Faramir, presenting his sword to him.
Faramir assessed his situation carefully. 'Think cunning thoughts. Think cunning thoughts,' he chanted to himself. 'What would Boromir do?' That was when it came to him; Boromir would take advantage of the opportunity presented to him and go in for the kill. "Yaaaaahhhhhh!" Faramir shouted as he brought his wooden sword from behind him, effectively hitting Boromir on his crown, and knocking him out cold. Faramir burst into a fit of laughter, not noticing until he had to breathe again, that Boromir was still unconscious on the ground before him. 'Oh no!' he thought. He slowly approached the lifeless figure. "Boromir?" he whispered. "Brother, are you alright?" he continued in his quite voice. He got no response. He began to panic. 'What have I done, what if I really hurt him? Father will be so angry with me," he turned from his brother, not wanting to face him, even unconscious, with tears in his eyes. 'When father finds out, he will not permit me to train anymore,' the small, frightened child thought.
Unbeknownst to him, his "unconscious" brother rose from the ground, a small smirk on his face. 'So my young brother thought he could try and catch me off guard. The little guy caught me right on the top of my skull,' he grimaced, rubbing the now sore spot, noting the small lump that formed there. 'Well let's see how he does with a taste of his own medicine.' Boromir grabbed the wooden sword, and slowly made his approach. '1, 2, 3….'