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Denethor watched warily as Faramir stood on his chair, tottering only slightly and reached for the desk. He had asked the nurse to leave Faramir with him while Boromir attended his lessons, so that Finduilas could rest awhile. But his study did not seem the ideal location.
Faramir put a quill into his mouth and promptly made a sound that clearly indicated disapproval of its taste.
“No, not that!” Denethor exclaimed, plucking it out of his son’s hands, “It’s brought specially for me from the east by one of the city merchants!”
“He tries to eat everything,” Boromir had complained earlier. Denethor had felt compelled to inform him that at Faramir’s age he had tried to chew the hilt of his grandfather’s hunting knife.
Faramir reached out for a small lebethron carving; a gift from Forlong. Denethor swiped it away in time, and managed also to deftly shove away the carved eagle from Finduilas. “That’s special too.”
Faramir shrugged and reached for a long wooden object with a cup like end. Denethor watched with interest as the boy pushed the long end into his mouth and chewed experimentally on it.
“You can chew that,” he said kindly, “It’s from Mithrandir.”
For Aervir who requested kind!Denethor and wee!Faramir.
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