Written as a birthday present for Astara.
December 10, 2004.
December 10, 2004.
"No, Faramir: like this."
She heard Boromir's clear voice from far down the hall, and smiled. What was he teaching his brother today, even when kept indoors because of rain? Swordplay, as always. Faramir was only five and already his brother was hard at work making her littlest one a warrior!
"Stroke down, and curve right twice. There, see? Perfect."
Her eldest son's voice was full of pride. Hearing that coaxing tone....
"I'm tired of letters, Fin. Can't I go outside and play now?"
She sighed, faintly exasperated: an adult's mind in a decade-old body. "Finish your lesson and you can."
"Fin, please? I'm almost done..."
Resigned sigh. "Let me see your letters." The paper was thrown across the desk, and she leaned forward, inspecting it. "Almost, Imri: the ngoldo character has a double bow. The lúva curves twice to the right."
She took up a quill, correcting his mistake. "There, see? Perfect."
The memories faded. Peering around the corner into the nursery, she drew back in surprise, then smiled.
Boromir, frowning in concentration, was kneeling next to the desk fixing Faramir's letters.