Trick-or-treat for j_flattermann

[splix]

Trick-or-treat for j_flattermann. Microficlet, more angsty and melancholy than I'd originally intended.




*


Boromir wrinkled his nose as Faramir slipped into his room. “Sweet mercy, what’s that stink?”

“That,” Faramir informed him, dropping a pile of folded and sealed vellum sheets onto Boromir’s bed, “is the mingled perfume of a score of lovelorn ladies, all of whom are grief-stricken at the thought of your departure.”

“Ah.” Boromir paused in the act of fastening his cloak and moved to the bed. He broke the seal of one of the letters, unfolded it, keeping it a fair distance from his nose, scanned it, and smiled. “Ahh.” He opened another, then another, murmuring fondly over each.

Faramir watched, amused. “I’m impressed.”

“At my popularity?” Boromir grinned. “Fie.” He stacked the letters neatly and laid them away in a carved wooden box filled with a quantity of similar notes.

“No, that you seem to remember them all.” Faramir dodged his brother’s mock punch and walked to the window. He caressed the worn leather of Boromir’s saddlebags. “It’s strange, is it not, that you and I have not yet married? And yet Father has not chided us for it. That is, he hasn’t chided you.”

Boromir shrugged. “He married late, and so, I suppose, shall we.” He took a clean shirt from his wardrobe and folded it haphazardly, stuffing it in the saddlebag. “But in truth, little brother, there is so much ripe, sweet fruit just waiting to be plucked. Why settle for one?”

“Oh-ho. You might enjoy fooling any number of gullible folk with that sentiment, but you cannot fool me.” Faramir peered mischievously at Boromir. “You are a romantic to the core; you wait for true love.”

A flush spread over Boromir’s face, and he lightly struck Faramir on the shoulder. “Nonsense.”

“Perhaps you’ll find some lovely creature in Rivendell.”

“An elf maiden? Never. Too dainty and fragile for my tastes. And can you imagine Father’s reaction? He’d perish of apoplexy were I to bring an elf maid to Gondor. Besides, with what I’ve been charged….” Boromir shook his head. “Finding a mate is not a preeminent concern. It would take an extraordinary individual indeed to distract me on this mission.”

“Well, if it should present itself to you, do not refuse.”

Faint vexation knitted Boromir’s brow. “Why do you persist?”

“I had a dream last night,” Faramir said, “that you found love. And then….” He hesitated.

“And then?” Boromir prompted gently.

Faramir frowned, seeking in memory the last grey-misted tendrils of the dream that had dissolved before waking, leaving him with the ragged edges of a vast and nameless terror. “Then it was lost.”

A sweet smile transformed Boromir’s countenance. He ruffled Faramir’s hair. “If I find true love in Rivendell, I promise not to lose it, just to please you.”

Faramir tried to smile in return, but a shadow passed across his heart. “Perhaps it will preserve you, and keep you safe.”

“I doubt it. Love is the most perilous thing of all.”



*



Faramir clasped the broken Horn close, and wept.

Perilous, indeed.

Comments

[alex-quine.livejournal.com]

The moments before parting for these brothers are suffused with love, some teasing, and although Boromir tries to hide it these must be some apprehension on both sides and a sense of their being caught up in something so big, so terrible in the old sense of the word, that they could be crushed by events over which they'll have little control - and so they joke and at the end grope for the words to say what they truly feel. A very poignant scene.

[splix.livejournal.com]

It's business as usual for them, on the surface anyway, and they're protecting one another, which is also business as usual, but the undercurrents are most definitely there. Thank you for your thoughtful comments.