“This is boring,” Boromir complained. “Why do I have to do this? You mend all my clothes!”

I took a deep breath, trying not to show my exasperation. I had known that Boromir would not be receptive to learning to sew; he was not one to be satisfied in carrying out such small tasks. “But I shall not always be able to do so, duckling,” I said. “When you are a grown man and a soldier, you shall need to know how to repair your own gear.”

“See, like this!” Faramir chimed in, proudly displaying the shirt he had just finished mending. His stitches were neat and even, and I gave him a pleased smile. I had not been surprised when he had asked me to teach him to sew; Faramir greatly enjoyed any task that required careful attention to detail. “It’s not hard, Boromir – you just have to be patient.”

That was the biggest obstacle, of course. The words “Boromir” and “patience” went together as well as “Faramir” and “unfriendly”.

Boromir scowled, heaved a much belaboured sigh, and turned back to the tunic he was attempting to mend. I was sure the only reason he continued was that he did not want to be shown up by his little brother, but I was not about to argue that motivation. Lord Denethor had instructed me to teach Boromir, therefore I was required to do so, whether or not the job was thankless.

“Master Alhael says we’ll have to learn to repair armour, too,” Faramir said as he took up a sock. “He says you should always take care of your own armour, because it’s the most important thing you’ll wear.”

“I know that,” Boromir snapped. “I’ve been learning from Master Alhael longer than you, Faramir.”

Faramir did not look chastened or hurt by his brother’s tone; in fact, I thought I saw him grinning as he threaded a darning needle. I chuckled to myself – apparently Faramir realized the source of Boromir’s reluctance, and had taken it upon himself to help overcome it. Briefly, I considered asking Master Alhael for some cast-off armour, so the boys could practice on it, but decided not to. I thought he might take that as me intruding upon his domain.

I returned to mending the more badly-abused garments, and they continued for a bit, Faramir in peaceful silence, Boromir muttering and occasionally hissing angrily when he pricked his finger. I had offered him a thimble, but he had complained that it “didn’t feel right” and had refused to use it.

“This is stupid,” I heard Boromir whisper to Faramir. “I’m going to have someone to take care of my things! Father has Mormegil –”

“But you’re not going to have someone for a long time,” Faramir reminded him. “So you better–“

“Well, I’m not going to be in the field for a long time, either!” Boromir countered, then his voice turned persuasive. “And wouldn’t you do it for me, if I asked you to?”

“Not if you’re just being lazy,” Faramir said heartlessly, and I had to swallow a laugh. “I would if you were hurt or sick, though. And anyhow, I couldn’t do it for you if I was in Ithilien and you were somewhere else.”

Faramir had gotten it into his head that he wanted to be a Ranger; I had no idea what Lord Denethor’s plans for his youngest son were, so I did not encourage or discourage this idea. I did think that he would make a very fine Ranger, indeed, for he could spend hours reading on woodland lore, or in the gardens, studying different plants and pestering the healers as to their uses.

Boromir grumbled under his breath, clearly annoyed that his little brother was not being properly sympathetic. But he stubbornly kept focused on the tunic, though I doubted his stitches were going to be acceptable, with the haphazard way he was drawing the needle through.

Abruptly Boromir gave a yelp, making both Faramir and I jump. “Boromir, if you would just use the thimble, you wouldn’t…” I began, but he stood up and threw the tunic to the ground.

“I’m not going to do this any more!” he announced. “This is women’s work -- ”

“..I’m not a woman!” Faramir protested indignantly.

“…well, it’s not my work!” Boromir amended as he glared at me defiantly. “My work is to kill orcs and fight, and I don’t need to learn this!”

I sighed. I had been expecting some sort of outburst, but I was certainly not looking forward to trying to explain to Lord Denethor why I was no longer teaching Boromir how to sew. Then it occurred to me that I didn’t have to tell him. Boromir was old enough to present his case to his lord father. “Then I suggest you discuss it with your father the Steward,” I said blithely. “He is the one who wanted you to learn, after all.”

Boromir looked at me, startled. I was sure he had expected me to argue with him, but I had no desire to do so, and he needed to start being able to express himself and defend his opinions to Lord Denethor. “I will!” he declared. “I will right now!” With that, he collected his practice sword – he hardly went anywhere without it these days – and stormed from the room.

Faramir glanced at me, puzzled. “You’re …you’re not going to make him do it?”

“No, rabbit,” I said, giving him a reassuring smile. “It is likely that I would not have taught him at all, had your father not asked me to do so. And since it was your father’s wish, then I think it proper that your father make the decision as to whether or not Boromir should continue.” A thought crossed my mind. “Faramir, would you prefer to stop learning to sew?”

“Oh, no,” he told me. “I like it, Nanny. But….if Father wants me to learn something I don’t want to learn, can I ask him to let me stop?”

Oh. “You may,” I said slowly, standing and going to sit next to Faramir, “but you will have to give him very good reasons why you should not have to learn this thing. Is there something you are learning right now that you do not like?” I hoped it was not something vital, like archery or dagger-fighting, but he had always seemed enthusiastic about all his lessons.

“No,” Faramir admitted. “But there might be, one day.”

I smiled at him, relieved. “Yes, there might be,” I agreed, ruffling his hair. “And if that day comes, I will help you find all those good reasons you should be allowed to stop, agreed?”

“Agreed.” Faramir nodded with a sunny smile. “But I like learning new things; I probably won’t need to talk to Father about that.”

I hoped not. I was fully aware that the Steward was not as…tolerant of some of Faramir’s boyish whims as he was of Boromir’s, and while it deeply annoyed me, there was not much I could do about it if Lord Denethor gave me an order regarding his sons. Though he had sworn to Lady Finduilas that I would not be dismissed until Faramir was twelve years old, I did not want to antagonize him with open defiance, unless it was a matter of great importance.

I was not particularly surprised when I received a note from Lord Denethor, telling me that Boromir did not have to learn any more sewing. “I only hope that you do not find yourself far from home one day, with holes in your clothing,” I said to Boromir. “Then where will you be, with blisters and without the skill to mend your socks?”

“I’m not worried,” Boromir said in a tone that was irritatingly smug. “I’ll have someone to do those things for me.”

“Only if you are not too proud to ask,” I could not keep from saying. I well knew how reluctant Boromir could be, when it came to admitting that he needed help, and I hoped that tendency would not cause him grief as he grew older.

A/N: Boromir eventually did learn to sew a bit. However, I suspect that he was too proud to ask Nanny to show him after he made such a big deal about not needing to learn.