Summer Nights

"Uncle?" Faramir said, knocking on the door to the parlour. "I am back."

He pushed open the door and stepped inside, only to be enveloped in a crushing bear hug. He looked up at the strong shoulders and the raven locks not unlike his own. "Boromir!" he exclaimed. "I thought you were not coming until next week."

"Now is that any way to greet your brother?" Boromir ruffled Faramir's hair, then the two of them sat down on the couch opposite Imrahil's chair. Faramir looked first at Boromir, then over to his uncle, a questioning look in his eyes.

"Father insisted," Boromir explained. "He ordered my captain to let me go a few days early. 'I will not have Faramir running around Dol Amroth by himself!'" Faramir laughed at the imitation of Denethor's gruffness. "He did not trust you, brother, and wanted me to come look after you. But it seems his fears were groundless. Uncle tells me how you leave every morning _to read a book_ and are home every night by dinner --"

"My book!" Faramir cried. "I left it --" He stopped short.

"Yes?" Imrahil asked. "What of it?"

Faramir blushed slightly. "Nowhere. It is not important."

Boromir raised his eyebrow at that. "O ho, maybe Father was not quite as wrong as I thought! I had hoped you were not really spending all day learning Elvish -- that the book was just your excuse. And I see I was correct. Come now, Faramir, what mischief have you done today?"

"Mischief?" Faramir asked, fixing his brother in his stare. "Why, I have done no such thing. No worse than you would, at least."

"That does not eliminate much."

"No, indeed!" Imrahil laughed.

Boromir gave Faramir a conspiratorial smile, then looked at his uncle. "True. Perhaps I should set a better example, but then Faramir would have no excuse, and we cannot have that, can we?" Faramir tried to force a laugh, but it was not very convincing. Noticing the uneasy look on Faramir's face Boromir decided not to push the matter. "We eat in an hour?" he asked, and Imrahil nodded. "Then I must ask your leave. That is, unless you _wish_ your sons to suffer the smells of the road all through dinner?"

"Of course not," Imrahil replied. "Out with you, then. You, too, Faramir." And the brothers left.

Once they were out in the hall, Boromir turned to Faramir, "Come now, what did you do? You can tell me."

"Nothing," Faramir replied, blushing. "I was lost, and I --"

Faramir was interrupted by a high-pitched squeal coming down the hall. The brothers turned and saw a small girl toddling towards them with seemingly impossible speed. "Bori!" she cried, and Boromir ran to her, catching her up in a hug.

"Hallo, Thiri," he said, setting her down on the ground and kneeling in front of her. "And how is the Lady of Dol Amroth?"

"Good," Lothiriel replied, curtseying awkwardly in front of her cousins and dropping what she had been holding.

"What do you have there?" Faramir asked, coming over.

Lothiriel bent over and picked up the bronze spoon she had dropped. "Pretty," she said, looking up at him nervously.

"Aye, it is," Boromir replied. "Where did you get it?"

Lothiriel thought about that, then ran behind Faramir, peeking out around his legs.

"It's all right," Boromir replied. "It is very pretty, but don't you think Cook will wonder where it is?" Lothiriel nodded, and Boromir picked her up in his arms. "Well, let's give it back to her, shall we?" The three stopped at the kitchen and returned the spoon, then left Lothiriel in her nursery. "Do they always let her run loose like that?" Boromir asked.

"No, but she's small and her legs are quick," Faramir replied. He was silent for a second. _You can tell him, Faramir; he's your brother_. At last he continued, "Boromir, we need to talk."

Boromir nodded. "But not here. This should be a talk between brothers."

~*~

Five minutes later Boromir and Faramir reached their suite of rooms. Faramir sat down on Boromir's bed while Boromir removed his tunic and began washing. "We need to talk," Faramir repeated.

"We do," Boromir agreed. "You were telling me about how you lost your book."

Faramir tugged at his tunic collar, looking a bit uncomfortable. "I left it at an inn," he said at last, "the Silver Fox. The matron said you came there often?"

Boromir nodded. "I go there on occasion. It is a nice inn, and it serves its purposes. How did you find it?"

Faramir turned his head away and mumbled, "I got lost."

Boromir left his cloth beside the washbasin, came over to the bed, and sat beside his brother. He looked intently at Faramir and asked, "So did you enjoy your dinner?"

Faramir shook his head. "I left before my meal was ready."

"Oh?" Boromir asked. "Why? The wine there is the best in the city, or so I have been told." Faramir turned to face him, and for the first time Boromir noticed a faint red streak along Faramir's cheek. He ran his finger along it, then licked it. "Faramir, did you know what happens in that house?" Boromir asked.

"Not when I went in."

"And now?"

Faramir lifted his head, his eyes ablaze. "I would have never -- _never_ -- entered such a house if I knew what went on in the back rooms. You know that."

Boromir inhaled slowly, calming himself. This was a conversation he and Faramir had had before. As he drew in the breath he caught the strangely familiar scent of lilies, vines, and rose-petals. He leaned over Faramir's shoulders, pulling the tunic to the side, and sniffed. "You did not answer my question, Faramir. Do you now know what happens in that house?" He straightened Faramir's tunic, then returned to the washbasin. "Do not try to deny it; I smell her on you." He returned with a wet cloth and started scrubbing the remains of lip colour off Faramir's cheek.

"Nothing happened," Faramir responded matter-of-factly.

"Do not lie to me," Boromir said. _Who do you think I am, brother? Why do you hold back so?_ "Tell me the truth, Faramir. I am no hypocrite. I will not think you less honourable for indulging in what I do as well."

"Nothing happened," Faramir repeated. He opened his mouth to speak again, but then shut it.

"When you say that, do you mean that nothing happened -- that you went in, decided you were not hungry, and left? Or perhaps that you did nothing wrong, no more than I would do?" Boromir placed his calloused hands on Faramir's shoulders and turned him so that they faced each other.

"Nothing happened," Faramir said at last, "but I wish it had."

Boromir leaned back against the headboard, hiding the smile playing at his lips. _Perhaps I misjudged you_. "Something happened. Tell me, Faramir, or I will go to the matron herself." Faramir's eyes widened in fright. "Do not worry, I will not laugh at you."

"I was lost," Faramir admitted, "like I said, and so I went in to ask directions. It was so cool, I decided to order a meal. The matron offered me a room in which to relax, and so I accepted." The smile Boromir had been fighting broke out, followed quickly by a soft chuckle. "What?" Faramir demanded. "In Minas Tirith I could accept a room without fear of such unwanted company."

"You are not in Minas Tirith," Boromir answered; "this is Dol Amroth. Yet from all you said, I would think her company was not altogether unwanted."

Faramir blushed. "I did not ask for it; at least I did not mean to. But she said I did . . . "

"A little wisdom from the guards, brother: '_Ask for a ground room if sleep you desire; so says the fisherman's lore. / But seek for the stairs and the rooms above, if you wish for something more._'" A moment passed, then Boromir continued. "Did she have a name?"

Faramir sighed contentedly. "Isilwen."

_The boy has good taste_, Boromir thought. "Aye, I know her. I can see why you would want to bed her."

"I never said --" Faramir began indignantly.

"Yes, you did," Boromir corrected him. Faramir started to object but decided against it. "And why not? She is very beautiful."

"Because," Faramir replied in a superior voice, "I do not do that. I would sooner find release in myself than in another man's toy."

_Toy?_ Boromir thought. "I hope you find release, then, for there are worse 'toys,' as you put it, than tavern wenches." He paused. "Do you remember Eseleth?"

Faramir thought for a moment, then nodded. "She was a housekeeper, was she not?" Faramir replied. "Did not she use to clean your room?"

_So he remembers_, Boromir thought. "Yes. And do you know what became of her?"

Faramir considered that. "I have not seen her in years. I believe she went to live with her aunt in Anórien . . . "

"Why?" Boromir pressed. When Faramir didn't answer, he continued, "Eseleth left Minas Tirith because she was three months with child. With my child." He stopped, waiting for Faramir to adjust to this news. When several seconds passed without Faramir responding Boromir repeated to himself, "My child." He brushed at his eyes, then forced himself to continue.

"Faramir, there is a boy somewhere in Anórien who will _never_ see how much his father might love him. And there is a woman who will probably never marry. Why? Because Father did not have this conversation with me." _I will not have you ruining some maid's life, depriving some boy of a father, like I did, brother_, Boromir thought to himself. _Your pride is not worth that much. And would you let Father send her away? Nay; you would marry her first_. Faramir just stared at him in shock. _Aye, Faramir. A child -- my child._

At last Faramir shook his head in disbelief; he looked slightly hurt. "Do you really think I have so little control, Boromir, that I would do that to some poor girl?"

"I do not know, Faramir," Boromir answered. "I thought that I had control. All I know is that you are seventeen, as was I." _Oh, do not look at me that way, brother_! "I made my decisions, as Isilwen made hers. Does that make us so horrible?"

"Why did you never tell me?" Faramir demanded.

Boromir sighed. "You were twelve at the time. How would you have accepted this news?"

"You should have told me later. I am no child, Boromir, and have not been one for some time."

"Yes, _that_ would have been an interesting conversation. How should I have opened the subject? _Faramir, when I was your age I slept with the maids, and now one of them cares for my son_. Or perhaps, _Faramir, you have a nephew somewhere, but you can never see him_. But you are right, I should have told you." _Do you hate me, brother? Do you think less of me? Or do you even know what to think at this point?_

Faramir was quiet for some time. At last he asked, "Why?"

"Why _what_, Faramir? Why did I never seek out the child?"

"No," Faramir replied, shaking his head. "That I understand -- your desire I understand all too well, and I can see why finding the boy would only make life more difficult for everyone." He laid his hand on Boromir's shoulder. "That was many years ago. I must reconcile myself to the idea, but I will. No, I was wondering why any woman would choose to trade her favours for coin? Did she really have any other options?"

Boromir nodded. "The Silver Fox does not accept unwilling girls. If Isilwen had not chosen this life freely, they would have helped her find work elsewhere. But if you would hear her whole story, you should ask her yourself."

"You mean I should go back?" Faramir asked incredulously. "I -- I couldn't. They would laugh at me."

"Nay," Boromir said. "'Tis more than their lives are worth, to ridicule the Prince's nephew." He looked over at Faramir. _I know that yearning look in your eyes, brother, for I have seen it often enough in the mirror. The question is, will you take her? I have said all I know._ Boromir stood up, walked to his saddlebags, and pulled out a fresh tunic. _Very well, you must make up your own mind about this._

Somewhere in the castle a bell rang. "We should get ready for dinner," Faramir said, and he went to his own room to change.