the window on the west

Boromir had spent several hours of the early evening searching for Faramir in his usual hiding places. Not finding him, he decided to ask his father if he knew where Faramir was. The chances of this were slim, but Boromir wanted to try anyway. Somewhere inside Denethor’s cool heart, there must be some warmth for his second son. At least Boromir always hoped so.

The hallway to the Steward’s chambers was quiet and deserted, save for the usual guards that kept watch. They nodded at Boromir and allowed him inside. His father, Denethor II, 26th Steward of Gondor, sat at his table, staring at various maps and papers. He was hunched over, a surly look on his face as he studied the current status of Gondor. He looked to be a foul mood and Boromir wondered why, since he hadn’t seen his father all day.

“Good evening, Father,” Boromir said, stopping to stand in front of him. “Have you by chance seen Faramir or know where I might find him?”

Denethor poked at a map with a dagger and grunted. “I have not, nor do I care where he is.”

Boromir swallowed back a disgusted sigh at his father’s indifference to Faramir and nodded.

“I shall seek him out on my own then.” He turned to leave, then paused and asked, “What troubles you today, Father? Is there something I can do to ease your mind?”

Denethor grunted again and glared at Boromir. “Perhaps you can forget the woman who bore you, but I cannot.”

Boromir winced and left the room. Of course. Today was the anniversary of his mother’s death. How was it possible he could have overlooked the date?

Feeling foolish for spending the day practicing his sword movements, Boromir suddenly realized he knew exactly where his brother would be found.

As he made his way towards the west tower where his mother’s private rooms had been, he heard bits of whispered conversation among the servants. It was the same as it was every year.

“Such a tragedy,” they said.

“Poor boys, left without a mother.”

“Such a pity the young one never knew her.”

At this, Boromir stopped listening. If there was one thing he did not want others to feel for his brother, it was pity.

Boromir shook away these thoughts and came upon the doorway to his mother’s sitting room. He remembered coming here often, to sit in her lap, or at her feet when he got too big, and listen to her read stories of great kings and soldiers. He adored her and was deeply saddened by her death 12 years earlier, but not nearly as badly as Faramir. Faramir had barely entered his fifth year and clung to the love of his mother like a lifeline, since Denethor barely acknowledged his existence. But Boromir knew that after her death, Faramir’s few memories had faded into oblivion, and he now remembered nothing of her except for what he was told by others.

Sitting in the beautiful brocade covered daybed that their mother had brought with her from her homeland, and facing the window that looked westward, was Faramir. For a moment, Boromir stood quietly just outside the room, observing his brother as he sometimes liked to do.

Faramir was seventeen, five years younger to Boromir’s twenty-two, but he was no longer the “little brother” that Boromir had cherished since his birth. He was nearly as tall and broad as Boromir, although more slender in the waist and hips. When he was born, his eyes had been a steel gray, but they had quickly changed to a startling blue that were the topic of many of the kitchen maid’s conversations. Where Boromir had dark blond hair, Faramir’s was lighter, with reddish glints that caught in the sunlight.

Boromir tilted his head and studied the profile of his brother’s face, noting the particularly long eyelashes, the smooth line of his cheekbone down to a strong jaw. Boromir had always believed himself to have a face cut from stone. The lines were too sharp, too harsh. Faramir more closely resembled their mother, both in physical appearance and the nature of his personality.

He was never quick to judge, but always quick to hide his hurt feelings caused by their father. He carried himself with pride for being a son of the Steward, and the brother of Boromir. He loved books and the arts, and was never above sharing his appreciation with everyone, from the highest member of the Gondorian council to the smallest child of the White City.

He was almost as good a swordsman as Boromir, but a much better bowman and rider. He was honest and fair, and loyal to a fault. Boromir was proud to call him brother.

Faramir suddenly turned his head, catching sight of Boromir, and smiled. He dipped his head, beckoning for Boromir to join him.

“Little brother, why do you hide from me?” Boromir asked, seating himself beside Faramir.

“I hadn’t meant to. I just wanted to remember the day,” Faramir said. He looked to the window and Boromir followed his gaze to the snowcapped mountains in the distance.

“I’m sorry; I forgot the significance of the day. Would you rather be left alone?” he asked.

Faramir shook his head. “You know I would never turn you away. Stay.”

They settled into a comfortable silence, surrounded by their mother’s things, each lost in thought.

“I don’t remember her,” Faramir said a moment later. His voice was quiet and Boromir leaned closer to hear. “I can’t recall her scent. Her smile, her touch. It’s all gone.”

“You were so young,” Boromir said, touching Faramir’s arm. “But even my memories have faded somewhat.”

“I know Father abhors my presence.” He raised his eyes to look at Boromir. “Is it because I may have caused her death?”

Boromir sucked in a breath. He had heard hints of this very thing, although it had never been confirmed. Finduilas had become very ill during her pregnancy with Faramir, and he’d been born earlier than anticipated, smaller than normal babies, but still healthy. Their mother, however, never fully recovered and seemed to waste away during her last years. The healers had presumed the pregnancy had weakened her, allowing in various infections and ailments that they couldn’t cure.

Boromir had long suspected that Denethor blamed Faramir for her death, and retaliated by snubbing his youngest and showing him nothing but contempt. It cut Boromir deeply that Faramir wasn’t shown love and treated with respect. He despised it when his father would praise him, but with a simple wave of a hand, disregard any good deed that Faramir had done.

“Where did you hear this?” Boromir asked, frowning.

Faramir shrugged and studied his hands. “I have heard whispers.”

“Well, listen no more, brother. It is not true. I certainly do not believe it to be so.”

“Thank you,” Faramir said. “But I always knew that you loved me.”

Boromir touched Faramir’s cheek lightly with his fingertips, marveling at the beginnings of a beard he felt there. “Never forget it.” He dropped his hand and said, “Mother missed the sea. It pained her to be trapped in this walled city, no matter how great it is. She simply wilted away. It had nothing to do with you.”

Faramir nodded and looked to his older brother with bright eyes.

“Would you tell me more about her?”

“What would you like to know?”

Faramir tilted his head, thinking. “Tell me about the day she died. I can’t remember it.”

Boromir shifted a little, suddenly uncomfortable with this memory. Faramir may not have any recollection of that day, but Boromir did, and it wasn’t pleasant. Not just because it was the day they lost their mother, but because of the dreadful way Faramir had been treated by their father.

The healers had advised Denethor to make ready the burial preparations for his beloved wife, and to allow the boys to pay their respects. Faramir had begun crying the moment he set foot in her room, angering Denethor to the point of slapping his face and having him removed and banished from the tower.

“He is young,” Boromir tried to reason, pleading with his father in the hallway. “He does not understand what is happening.”

“He is a wailing brat. No, he is not welcome here. He does not deserve to be in her sight.”

“That’s rubbish. He is her son, just as much as I.”

Denethor had turned his furious gaze to Boromir and said, “You would do well to remember your place and not speak to me in such a manner.”

“My place is beside my brother. And you would do well to remember yours, not only as the Steward of Gondor, but also as his father.”

Denethor pulled back his hand as though to strike Boromir, and Boromir stood tall and unflinching, staring hard at him with all the intensity his ten-year-old body could muster. Denethor’s hand dropped to his side.

“You may bring the boy to her side this evening, before he goes to bed,” Denethor said, then turned and went back to his wife.

That night, Boromir had gathered a weeping Faramir in his arms and carried him to the west tower. He ordered the healers to leave them alone, then he placed the boy beside their mother and perched nearby at the edge of the bed.

Finduilas talked with her youngest son for several minutes, drying his tears, and Faramir curled up against her while she stroked his hair and kissed his forehead. Faramir drifted off to sleep, and Finduilas turned her attention to Boromir.

“Look after him, he loves you so,” she said, and Boromir promised, crossing his hand over his heart.

She kissed his cheek then, and closed her eyes for the last time. Boromir carried the sleeping Faramir back to his own bed and crawled in beside him. When Faramir awoke in the middle of the night, crying for their mother, Boromir mimicked her actions of earlier until he slept again. From that day forward, he had been his brother’s protector.

“Boromir?”

He jerked back to the present and blinked at Faramir’s questioning gaze.

“Where did you go?” Faramir asked.

“Just a memory,” Boromir said, smiling. “Mother’s last moments were spent with you. She went peacefully, with you in her arms. She loved you very much, Faramir.”

Faramir let out a soft sigh and closed his eyes. “I think I remember her touch, faintly. Did she kiss my forehead?”

Boromir nodded. “Yes, and she brushed your head, like this.”

Boromir reached out and touched his brother’s ginger colored hair, running his fingers through the thick strands again and again. Faramir moved into Boromir’s touch, and Boromir gently guided Faramir to rest his head on his shoulder.

“I miss her,” Faramir said. “Is that odd? To miss someone I barely knew?”

“Of course not, and you did know her. You know her in your heart, and that is all that matters.”

Boromir placed a gentle kiss on Faramir’s temple.

“Will you always be there for me? To ease my pain and allay my fears?”

“As long as I am allowed to be,” Boromir said, his voice firm. “Never forget that I am here for you, brother.”

They sat quietly, side by side. Boromir held Faramir and together they watched the sun settle peacefully behind the mountains.

~end