Fic: Mithrandir's Regard, 3/3 (LotR FPF)

[przed]

Title: Mithrandir's Regard, Part 3 of 3
Author: P.R. Zed
Fandom: LotR FPF
Characters: Boromir, Gandalf and the rest of the Fellowship
Rating: G, gen
Summary: Gandalf tells Merry and Pippin a story of Boromir's youth.
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the Professor; the idea is mine.
Note: Originally published in the zine Warriors of Gondor.


The Fellowship had stopped for an all-too short rest on their journey. Attempting to escape from rambunctious Hobbits, an Elf and Dwarf set on arguing their respective races' superiority and two Men still struggling to develop a tentative friendship, Gandalf had withdrawn from the company. He found a welcoming rock that had been warmed by the winter sun, and pulled out his pipe and a pouch of Longbottom Leaf to enjoy a quiet smoke, only to have his solitude disturbed by the two most rambunctious of the Hobbits.

"Gandalf," Pippin said, "we've been looking everywhere for you."

"No one knew where to find you," added Merry. "We were worried."

"Perhaps I didn't want to be found, you young ragamuffins. Did you ever consider that?" Gandalf said, though with more good humour than venom. Mischievous and trouble-prone Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took might be, but they were also full of the liveliness of spirit that so attracted Gandalf to Hobbit-kind.

"Of course not, Gandalf. Everyone wants to be found. Don't they, Pip?"

"Absolutely, Merry."

Grumbling, Gandalf made a place for the Hobbits on his rocky seat. They then eagerly took him up on an offer of his pipeweed. As they contentedly smoked their pipes, Gandalf mused that it was only when smoking and eating that most Hobbits were silent, and even then it was never for long. As if to prove his point, his two companions began to poke and prod each other, provoking several yelps.

After a minute of such antics, Gandalf could take no more. "Can you not be still?" he asked in the most imposing voice he could manage. The Hobbits froze immediately, only to begin again a few minutes later when the wizard's threat had been forgotten.

Taking a different tack, Gandalf fixed Pippin with a steely glare and addressed him directly. "Do you have something you wish to say, Master Took?"

"No," Pippin squeaked immediately. "Or rather, yes." He looked to Merry, who gave him yet another poke in the ribs. Pippin turned back to Gandalf. "I, well more we, wanted to ask you a question."

"And what was that?"

"Boromir has offered to train us in how to use our swords."

"And we appreciate the offer," Merry added.

"Yes, we do," Pippin said, before pausing. "But we find him a bit..."

"Alarming," Merry said, finishing his friend's sentence.

"Being Hobbits, we find all the Big People imposing. But Boromir just seems a bit more..."

"Stern," Merry completed.

"And what would you have me say?" Gandalf asked.

"You've known Boromir for a long time," said Merry.

"Since his boyhood," Gandalf agreed.

"And we thought you'd know if..." Pippin said.

"He'd make a good teacher," Merry continued. "For Hobbits."

"Without being quite so alarming," Pippin said, finishing his appeal.

Both Hobbits looked at Gandalf with such anticipation that he nearly started laughing, but restrained himself. Instead, he retained an air of seriousness as he answered.

"I don't think you need to worry about Boromir. He's less alarming than he seems."

"Really?" Pippin said, brightening immediately.

"In fact, I think he would be the perfect instructor for the pair of you." Gandalf leaned closer, in a conspiratorial manner. "He has a younger brother, you know. Boromir dotes on Faramir, and taught him everything he knows about using a sword."

"See, Pippin," Merry said. "I told you it would be all right."

"You did not, Merry. You were as scared of Boromir as I was." He turned back to Gandalf. "Not that we were really scared of him. Not really."

"No, not really," Merry said. "Tell us a story, Gandalf."

"What sort of a story, Meriadoc?"

"About Boromir and his brother. When they were boys."

"I'm hardly a common storyteller," Gandalf protested.

"You tell wonderful stories when you come to Hobbiton," Pippin said.

"They're nearly as good as your fireworks," Merry said.

"I don't think I've ever seen either of you sit still long enough to listen to a story," Gandalf said, hoping to distract them from their purpose.

"We'll sit still for this one," Pippin said, and both young Hobbits fixed him with pleading looks.

Gandalf harrumphed once or twice and refilled his pipe, before finally submitting to the whim of the Hobbits. "Just this once, I will tell you a story," he said, pointing a finger ominously in Pippin's direction. "But take care that you do not make too free with a wizard's time."

"We won't, Gandalf," Pippin assured him.

"Well, then, where shall I begin?" And settling his robes around him, Gandalf began to tell his story.

---

"Keep your wrist straight, boy, or someone's going to break it. Good. Now parry. Parry! Riposte. No, no, no. Start over again."

As Gandalf approached the practice yard, he could hear the sounds of young men learning the tools of war: the bright clash of metal on metal, the dull thud of a sword hitting a wooden man, the muted whuff of breath as a blow found its target. And over everything he could hear the voice of Gelnor, Gondor's Master at Arms, and the bane of every soldier's existence, young or old.

"No, you're holding your sword too tightly. Keep that up and your muscles will cramp. Then what will you do when an Orc tries to cleave off your head?"

"Yes, Gelnor." The answering voice was young, a sweet tenor only recently dropped to its mature register and still possessing a tendency to break. As Gandalf emerged from the arch into the sawdust-covered practice yard, he saw that it was the Steward's eldest son being subjected to Gelnor's criticism this spring day. Sweat dripped from the boy's brow and even from this distance Gandalf could see his arm tremble with effort. But in spite of the criticism and effort, Boromir remained even-tempered. He was growing into a fine man, Gandalf thought to himself. He would make a good soldier, and a good leader of men. His grandfather would have been proud.

"Mithrandir!" a boyish voice shouted from across the yard. The voice's owner ran across the yard, interrupting several sparring matches, before engulfing Gandalf's legs in an exuberant hug. "No one told us you were coming."

"I wasn't sure I was coming myself, Faramir. I need to do research in your father's library."

"I'm glad." The boy released his hold on Gandalf, who tried his best to pretend that his wizardly dignity had not just been disturbed by a ten-year-old boy. "I can show you how much Elvish I've learned. And you can teach me more?" This request was delivered with a hopeful expression.

"I have much to do myself," Gandalf began, watching as Faramir's mouth began to turn from a bright smile to a trembling pout. "But I'm sure I can find time to teach you more Quenya."

This news restored Faramir's good spirits immediately, and the boy clapped his hands in delight. Once again, Gandalf marvelled at the differences in Denethor's children. Faramir delighted in learning arcane histories and languages and had to be pried away from the library and the lure of its ancient volumes, while the direst threat of punishment was usually required to force Boromir to complete his reading lessons. Even at fifteen, Boromir was clearly far more suited to the life of a soldier, revelling as he did in martial pursuits.

Yet both boys loved the outdoors and horse riding. And there was no doubt about their affection for each other.

His greeting of Mithrandir complete, Faramir turned his attention back to the practice yard, his quick eyes finding his brother immediately. Gelnor seemed to have finished with Denethor's eldest for the moment, and had set him to spar with one of the other soldiers. In spite of Gelnor's earlier criticism, the boy's skill was clear. His opponent was a man full grown, his elder by at least five years, and yet Boromir held his own against him, landing as many blows as he received. Faramir clapped as Boromir dealt a final mock death blow to his opponent.

"Isn't he wonderful?" Faramir said, and there was no doubt that he meant his brother. "He's only been defeated twice all week, and then only by the older men."

"Time he stopped training with the cadets and started with the experienced soldiers then, isn't it, Little Squirrel?"

"Master Gelnor," Faramir squeaked, almost, but not quite hiding behind Gandalf's robes at the unexpected encounter with the grizzled soldier.

"Are you ready to join your brother, Little Squirrel?" Gelnor asked, his eyes laughing behind a mock stern mask. "Your father has told me that you'll be training with the other new cadets in the summer."

"I'm ready," said Faramir, recovering from his shock and facing Gelnor with a determined chin. "I'm going to be a member of the Citadel Guard, just like Boromir. He's going to be the best soldier in all of Gondor."

"Aye," Gelnor said, watching as Boromir put away his weapons and his protective leather jerkin and came over to join his brother and their wizardly guest. "You may not be wrong there, Little Squirrel." He ruffled Faramir's hair. "Now if you'll excuse me, I must return to these ruffians. They'll do no work at all if I'm not there to watch them."

As soon as Gelnor was out of earshot, Faramir began pulling on his brother's sleeve. "Can we do it now?"

"Not now, Faramir," Boromir said, shooting his brother a quieting look. "We must see to our guest."

"Your guest has no other plans. What is it that Lord Faramir wishes to do?"

"Boromir is teaching me to use a sword." Faramir's voice raised in excitement with each word.

"Hush," Boromir said, checking to see if the Master at Arms had heard his brother's words. "You know you're not supposed to lift a weapon until you attend Gelnor's classes. He's always warning us about learning bad habits."

"But you won't teach me any bad habits, because you're going to be the best soldier in Gondor. Except for me," Faramir finished smugly.

"You have to learn to hold a sword before you can claim to be a soldier, Little One."

"I would be honoured to witness one of your lessons," Gandalf said, cutting off any good-natured squabbles between the brothers.

"Then, you must come with us," Faramir said, grabbing Gandalf's hand and dragging him out of the practice yard.

Gandalf followed the two brothers through twists and turns, through archways and doorways, until they came to a deserted courtyard in an obscure corner of the Citadel. Once they confirmed that they were not being observed, Boromir brought two wooden practice swords out of hiding and the lesson began.

Boromir took Faramir through the basics of using the sword, correcting his grip, showing him how to lunge, how to parry a blow.

As he watched, Gandalf was impressed by the patience that Boromir showed with his brother. He never lost his temper, even when Faramir was frustrated by his own lack of skill. It was clear that the affection between the two boys was as strong as ever.

The lesson was declared over when Faramir dropped his wooden sword and tackled his brother to the ground. The serious business of swordplay was forgotten in a giggling wrestling match, until Gandalf finally saw fit to break them up.

"I do not think the Orcs of Mordor will be swayed by a tickle attack," Gandalf said.

"They might," Faramir said, still laughing. "It might be just the tactic we need."

"If anyone could manage to stop an Orc that way, Little One, it would be you," Boromir said. He stood and straightened his tunic, then helped his brother to his feet.

Gandalf watched as they stowed their practice swords back in their hiding place, then followed the two boys back to the dining hall, where their evening meal awaited them.

"After I have spoken with your father, we must talk again. Boromir, you must tell me of the battles you have studied. And Faramir, you can show me how much progress you have made in translating the Elvish books I left with you on my last visit."

Gandalf contentedly spent the next fortnight exploring the more obscure sections of Gondor's library, teaching Faramir all the Quenya the boy could absorb, and watching Boromir administer his surreptitious sword lessons, and was sorry when he once again had to leave.

---

"See," Pippin said, nudging his friend. "I told you that Boromir would make an excellent teacher."

"You told me no such thing."

"I'm sure I did."

The two Hobbits quickly fell into a good-natured squabble that reminded Gandalf fondly of the two Gondorian brothers. Swatting them both, he shooed them back to the main company before they could cause further trouble.

Gandalf watched as Boromir took Merry and Pippin through some basic sword drills, marvelling at the concentration the usually flighty Hobbits were showing at the exercises. Boromir was proving a better teacher than he'd expected, showing an unexpected patience and gentleness with the smallest members of their Fellowship. Unexpected to everyone except Gandalf, that is, who'd seen him display the same traits with one other person.

He looked around the camp and noted with satisfaction that there were signs of affection growing between other members of the Fellowship. In spite of the rivalry of their races, or perhaps because of it, Legolas and Gimli were fast becoming staunch allies. And the hoped for friendship between the two Men was indeed becoming fact.

If things continued as they were, perhaps they might just succeed in their mad quest to destroy the Ring.

And yet he knew that their chance of victory was small, and that the forces arrayed against them were great. Even now he could feel the temptation offered him by the Ring, just as he knew the Ring was preying on all members of their company.

Looking again to Boromir, he knew the greatest danger lay with him. For the others, with the lone exception of Frodo, the threat of Mordor was yet theoretical. Boromir alone had seen the Dark Lord's forces systematically strike at his home and kill his people. In spite of his acceptance of their quest, Gandalf suspected that the man of Gondor even now believed the Ring could be wielded for good.

But perhaps his fears would not be borne out; perhaps the darkness he saw before them would not consume them. Perhaps they would succeed in their quest, and all the members of the company would meet once again in Elrond's realm.

All that remained was for all the members of the Fellowship to stay true.

Comments

[alex-quine.livejournal.com]

Particularly nice pictures of the sons of Denethor. Thanks for posting.

[przed.livejournal.com]

You're welcome.

[shalom]

These three hang very nicely together. The time shifts and use of the wizards POV keep it interesting and give it an underlying sadness, knowing what Gandalf knows of the world as it is, the past, the the difficulty of the future.

[przed.livejournal.com]

It's that underlying sadness, I think, that always draws me back to writing about Boromir. Even writing happier stories, you can't avoid thinking about how his life ends, just as Gandalf can't avoid considering what is stacked against them at the end of this story.

[shalom]

Next to that sadness is the bittersweet knowledge that one of the brothers survive. I very much like how you wrote their relationship as children.

[przed.livejournal.com]

Next to that sadness is the bittersweet knowledge that one of the brothers survive.

There is definitely that.

And the relationship between the brothers was one thing I really wanted to convey in this story. The fencing lesson was one of the first things I came up with when I started writing this.

[ribby.livejournal.com]

A wonderful look into Boromir and Faramir's childhood, and a lovely look at how the Fellowship sees him at first, and of his subsequent friendships. Well done, and thank you for sharing it with us!

~Kris

[przed.livejournal.com]

I wanted to take a look at sides of Boromir's character we don't see all the time. Very glad you enjoyed it.