The question had not come into his thoughts unwanted, but unbidden.
When did I first realize I was in love with him?
The answer did not come readily. He blinked and lost track of the conversation.
"Brother, are you well?" He realized that Faramir was repeating his name to gain his attention.
"Yes, I'm fine. Just thinking is all. Something distracted me. I'm sorry for that."
Faramir showed his curious colors, "Something important?"
"No, nothing really." A glance to find a raised eyebrow meant the words weren't believed.
"Really. Trust me, brother." Those soothing words brought a smile. The eyebrow relaxed and all was well.
And they rode on, this time in companionable silence.
But that was a lie and Boromir knew it. For once the question had been asked, it forced him to wrestle with it. Easy to admit that he didn't like to lose, even against himself. He began flipping through the pages of memory, just as Faramir did with his cherished books.
When did I first realize I was in love with him?
Pages of moments turned, bringing renewed fondness for each, but none displayed the answer: playing together, studying, sparring, coming home in a new uniform of the guard while Faramir cheered. No, none of those were the right page, although remembering them brought a surge of emotion. He wondered if his face had reddened thinking about them all.
The page should have been easy to find. Back and forth he searched until there it was, dog-eared and worn, the sight of it bringing a pang of sadness tainting the pride of success.
Denethor had witnessed their sparring. Their difference in age still mattered for size and strength and the exercise ended with little surprise. Instead of congratulating the two, their father's response was to berate Faramir, pointing out his faults and missteps and confirming the belief that his second son was a disappointment.
The two stood in silence, watching the Steward stalk off; glad to be rid of the cause of an unhappy ending after such an enjoyable time together.
"Don't listen to him," Boromir spat, still winded with the exhaustion of the exercise, "you get better every time we do this."
"Think so?"
"I'm sure of it."
"Then next time I might best you." Teasing eyes and a confident grin accompanied the statement.
"We'll see about that."
Faramir's smile was replaced with a sigh and eyes glanced toward their father's exit, "I know he doesn't love me."
"How can you say that?"
"I know. But it doesn't matter, brother, because I will always have you. You're more than enough. Always will be."
That was the moment. That point in time I knew I was in love with him.
And that was enough for both of them.
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Story notes: Charles Dickens wrote: "If our affections be tried, our affections are our consolation and comfort; and memory, however sad, is the best and purest link between this world and a better."
Beta: The inestimable team of Buttonbright & Zoë, SLP (Slash-Loving Pervs)
Feedback: Your comments may curb my urge to ever inflict another one of these on the world.
Written for the October, 2005 Library of Moria "First Time" Challenge.
