Disclaimer: LotR is the property of JRR Tolkien; I am not JRR Tolkien, and therefore do not own LotR. This is every fic you’ve ever read, so expect heavy angst, light fluff, random beatings, rampant OOCness, spontaneous combustions, and weird innuendo. You have been warned.

0o0

The atmosphere surrounding Lothlórien is not one that is at all conducive to peaceful sleeping.

Such was Boromir’s analysis after a single day spent in the place. He hadn’t dared to settle down for an evening’s repose, feeling that, if he let his guard down for a moment, his mind would be under attack from the infamous Galadriel. Or maybe it was just insomnia. Insomnia ran in the family. So did fits, visions, and pyromania. Ah, the House of Húrin, such a happy family.

Whatever the reason, Boromir found himself taking aimless strolls by night to keep himself alert. He had run into Frodo on more than one occasion, skulking, giving him distrustful looks. Halflings–weirdos, the lot of them.

It was in this way that he came across Galadriel, refilling her birdbath.

Who on earth refills their birdbath in the middle of the night?

“Will you look into the Mirror?” she said suddenly, startling him.
“What will I see?” asked Boromir, gazing at the birdba….mirror… skeptically.

“The Mirror shows many things. Things that are, things that were, and some things that have not yet come to pass,” she replied ambiguously.

Way to give a straight answer, Galadriel.

Boromir shrugged and peered into the birdbath.

0o0o

Denethor, Faramir, and Boromir were seated around a low table, gorging themselves silly. Or, at least, Denethor and Boromir were gorging themselves silly. Faramir, however, was munching ruefully on stale peas, looking wistfully at his father’s heaping plate. Boromir, ever the subtle one, kicked his brother in the shin and tossed him a drumstick under the table. Faramir bent to pick it up, only to hear Denethor spring up with a triumphant cry of, “Ah-ha!”

Faramir froze, fearing the worst.

“Ah-ha-ha!” cried Denethor, dancing on the spot. “Ah-ha-ha-ha! Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

The younger Húrin stared at his sire in bewilderment.

“Ignore him, Fari,” said his brother through a mouthful of food, as his father continued his deranged cackling. “Have some food before he sees you.”

Faramir tentatively reached for a lamb chop.

“Hiiiiiiyah!” screamed Denethor suddenly, and laid into Faramir with a vinegar-soaked whip. “What-” crack “-have-” crack “-I-” crack “-told-” crack “-you-” crack “-about-” crack “-stealing-” crack “-food!?!”

“That if table scraps are good enough for a dog then they ought to be good enough for me,” recited Faramir rather painfully.

Crack! “Exactly!”

“Boromir?” cried Faramir. Crack! “A little-” crack! “-help??”

Boromir, buried deep in a serving of strawberry Jell-O, blissfully ignored his surroundings as his younger brother was beaten into unconsciousness and Denethor returned to his place at the table. Emerging from his angelic halo of gelatin to snatch a helping of mashed potatoes, he suddenly spotted the almost unidentifiable bloody mass that was Faramir.

“Father! ” he cried in a voice that struck a supremely feminine octave.

“What, O Favored Son?”

“Only you’ve gone and killed Fari, that’s what!”

“Ah, he’ll live. Maybe.”

“I shall fight you for my brother’s honor!” roared Boromir, his machismo suddenly returning as he wrenched a serving fork from the nearest roast boar and waved it about.

“Treason! ” honked Denethor, sticking his tongue out at Boromir. “That’s treason, BoroMIR, and I might just have to beat you, too!”

“I’d like to see you try it!” challenged Boromir.

Denethor hobbled from the table and tripped over his robes.
“Father!” Boromor squealed, and ran over to the Steward. “Are you hurt? Are you breathing? Do you want me to call a healer? Do you want me to call 911? Do you want me to do the Heimlich? Do you…”

“I’m fine, kid,” grunted Denethor.

Boromir burst into tears.

“Oh, Daddy, why do you hate Faramir so much? It makes me hurt inside!”

“The Reason™,” said Denethor, and paused for dramatic emphasis. “…is…” He paused again.

GET ON WITH IT! roared a random crowd, Monty Python-style.

“The Reason That I Hate Faramir™ is because he’s actually the son of Captain Thorongil Aragorn Estel Elessar Elfstone Strider Dúnadan Wingfoot Telcontar Longshanks Evinyatar and Finduilas’s second cousin’s daughter’s friend’s wife’s secret lover’s mistress!”

There was a pause.

“What?”

“Just kidding! The Real Reason That I Hate Faramir™ is because my beloved Finduilas died giving birth to him.”

A second pause.

“What?”

“Kidding again! The Really Real Reason That I Hate Faramir™ is he’s been involving you in a sick incestuous relationship for the past ten years.”

A third pause.

“WHAT?”

“Ok, ok, the Genuine Reason That I Hate Faramir™ is because he’s a cheeky little bastard who’s far too clever for his own good.”

A fourth pause.

“Oh.”

“Boromir…” Faramir croaked weakly from a corner. “Would you mind getting a healer or something? I don’t have any sensation in my limbs…”

“Oh, shut up, Fari, it’s not like you’re bleeding to death or anything!” snapped Boromir.

“On the contrary…”

“Faramir!” screeched Boromir suddenly, whirling around. “You’re hurt! We have to get you to the Houses!” Macho!Boromir then suddenly returned, and he picked up his brother as though he weighed no more than a sack of feathers. Faramir, beaten, bloody, and horribly confused, passed out again.

0o0

Three hours later, Faramir woke up in the Houses of Healing to find Boromir staring at him intently. He smiled at his big brother. “Hello, Boromir.”

Boromir continued staring intently without blinking.

“Boromir? Bori? Son-of-Gondor? Big Brother? Captain-General?” Faramir waved his bruised hand in front of Boromir’s face.

“EEEEEK!” shrieked Boromir suddenly, jumping out of his chair. Then, he gasped, “Oh, it’s only you, Fara. You startled me!”

“Uhmm… right…”

“Faramir, I’ve been wondering something,” said Boromir, his short attention span striking again.

“What’s that?”

“If we snogged passionately for an hour or so without pausing except to breathe, would that be considered within the bounds of normal brotherly affection?”

Faramir stared at his brother for a moment, slightly green.

“Never mind! Only joking!” said Boromir cheerily, and enveloped his brother in a bone-crunching bear hug. Faramir winced as his shoulder popped out of its socket and all his wounds reopened. Boromir released him with a painful pat on the back. Then, he noticed that Faramir’s shirt was soaked with blood.

“Eru, Faramir! You’re bleeding again!” he yelled.

“Don’t worry, it’s just…”

“THIS IS OUR FATHER’S DOING!”

“No, Bori, it’s actually…”

“He’ll answer for this one! You stay here; I’ll go deal with him!”
Faramir rolled his eyes and sunk wearily back into his sheets as Boromir dashed from the room.

Boromir finally found his father in the Tower of Ecthelion, staring into the Palantír and playing with candles. He blew a few rounds on the Horn of Gondor and menaced his father with his sword while he struggled to remember why he had come up there in the first place.

“What, Boromir?”

“Uh… Dad! Can I have a hug?”

“Sure you can, O Beloved Son,” replied Denethor, and threw his arms around Boromir, narrowly missing impalement on his son’s sword.

0o0

Boromir wrenched away from the Mirror, gasping.

Galadriel observed him with narrowed eyes. “I know what it is you saw.”

“What was that? I’ve never seen anything like it before. I mean, so Father’s hit Faramir once or twice… alright, maybe more than once or twice… but nothing as ridiculous as that has ever happened! We were behaving like complete idiots, for Eru’s sake! Well, not Faramir… I don’t think he has the capacity to behave like a complete idiot….”

“What you saw, Man of Gondor, was a Fanfiction.”

“Fanfiction?” Boromir repeated, the strange word sliding around his tongue.

“Fanfictions are exaggerated versions of canon events, or complete fabrications based on canon characters, employed by rabid fans to ease the pains of withdrawal. Within each Fanfiction universe, there is potential for unforeseen events.”

“You mean that anything could happen?”

“Yes. And, speaking of Fanfictions…”

Galadriel whispered the terrible truth into Boromir’s ear.

Boromir spontaneously combusted.