I came running at the screeches from the nursery.
The room was a mess -- wooden soliders and blocks underfoot, overturned chairs, a water pitcher shattered on the floor-- and the midst of this chaos, Boromir flat on his stomach, Faramir sitting on his shoulders, pummeling his brother with small fists, yelling, "Do you yield?"
"Faramir son of Denethor!" I shouted, disbelieving.
They both turned toward me, startled, but Faramir showed no inclination to move.
"What is going on here?" I demanded.
They exchanged puzzled glances.
"Nothing," Boromir said as he sat up.
"We're just playing," Faramir agreed.
Not for the first time, I wondered how much simpler my life would be if the Steward had had girls.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.