Fic for kaleidopy
Title: Night Vigil
For kaleidopy
By roh_wyn
Characters: Faramir, Boromir, Ithilien Rangers, Imrahil, Denethor, Gandalf
Rating: G
Genre: General
Warnings: None.
kaleidopy had requested: A pre-ring story. I'm easy to please.
Faramir stopped, pressing himself hard against a wall. He had been stalking his prey for some time, soundlessly and in the dark. This expedition had been long in the planning and had required much discussion and coordination. The idea had originally come from his uncle, Imrahil, and Faramir had rejected it at first, thinking it too dangerous. But then, he was reminded of something Mithrandir had once said to him, that sometimes the end justified the means, and that had been enough to convince Faramir to join in.
And so he waited, with the great patience sometimes required of an Ithilien Ranger. Even as he waited, ticking off the minutes until his next advance, he knew Boromir was keeping the same vigil, no doubt also leaning against a wall in the darkness, trying not to be seen or heard.
Presently, the opportunity to make his next move presented itself . . . a small sliver of bright light at the end of a long stretch of darkness. His quarry stirred!
--
Elsewhere, Boromir breathed deeply, excited and yet nervous about his mission. He had dismissed the idea at first, finding it unnecessary, but when Imrahil had spoken of the possible danger involved, he had become intrigued. It was to be a singular assault with no reinforcement, and if it failed, Boromir knew there would be serious consequences. It was just the sort of mission that appealed to him entirely.
Besides, he could hardly let Faramir venture into danger alone. His brother was both brave and skilled, but their target was wily and powerful, and Boromir could not help but think that two would be better than one in a hunt like this. He moved a few steps forward, and then waited for Faramir's signal.
--
Imrahil leaned on a parapet and stared up at the moon. It was a lovely night, and part of him wished his nephews had been here to enjoy it with him, instead of off on this expedition. He had helped them plan out down to the last detail, and was certain it would have the desired outcome. But now that they were gone, he began to see all the ways in which the plan could fail . . . and utterly at that.
He was at least glad that he had remained behind. There was always the chance that Boromir and Faramir would need to be rescued. If nothing else, he might be needed for some sort of rearguard action.
--
Boromir surveyed the area around him. The darkness before him seemed to stretch forever, but presently, he saw a light . . . a thin sliver of yellow that beckoned to him. His target was close at hand then!
He could see something else as well, a smudge of a shadow in the distance that slowly resolved itself into the shape of a person. It was Faramir. He nodded in Faramir's general direction, who nodded back and then gave the signal.
They were now in the final stages of their venture, and they threw themselves into the advance, lunging forward at great speed. They made their way down the long expanse of darkness until they could see each other clearly, and then, joining forces, they pounced on their unsuspecting target. They ripped off the covers, reached over and tickled Denethor mercilessly.
--
Long years of being a soldier allowed Gondor's steward to recover quickly. With a well-practiced move, he shoved off his attackers, and a moment later, when he finally opened his eyes fully, he found his sons sprawled on the floor near his bed.
"Boromir! Faramir! The two of you frightened me nearly out of my wits!" He glared at them angrily, wondering what could be the cause of such appalling behavior. "What is the meaning of this?"
His question was met, at first, with perfect silence. Then Boromir, now old enough to know that an answer was expected, began to speak, if only haltingly. "I . . . well, Father, you were not well . . . and . . ."
He seemed to be searching for words, so his brother came to his rescue, as he often did these days. "And Uncle . . . well, Uncle told us that laughter was the best medicine!"
Denethor stared at Faramir incredulously, and then, seeing his sons' faces and thinking of his situation, he could do nothing but laugh as he had not done in a very long time. Laughter was indeed good medicine.
--
A/N: Faramir is about six in this story, and Boromir about 11. I'm not sure this is what kaleidopy really had in mind, but it's what the muse brought me.
Thanks, roh_wyn!!
For kaleidopy
By roh_wyn
Characters: Faramir, Boromir, Ithilien Rangers, Imrahil, Denethor, Gandalf
Rating: G
Genre: General
Warnings: None.
kaleidopy had requested: A pre-ring story. I'm easy to please.
Faramir stopped, pressing himself hard against a wall. He had been stalking his prey for some time, soundlessly and in the dark. This expedition had been long in the planning and had required much discussion and coordination. The idea had originally come from his uncle, Imrahil, and Faramir had rejected it at first, thinking it too dangerous. But then, he was reminded of something Mithrandir had once said to him, that sometimes the end justified the means, and that had been enough to convince Faramir to join in.
And so he waited, with the great patience sometimes required of an Ithilien Ranger. Even as he waited, ticking off the minutes until his next advance, he knew Boromir was keeping the same vigil, no doubt also leaning against a wall in the darkness, trying not to be seen or heard.
Presently, the opportunity to make his next move presented itself . . . a small sliver of bright light at the end of a long stretch of darkness. His quarry stirred!
--
Elsewhere, Boromir breathed deeply, excited and yet nervous about his mission. He had dismissed the idea at first, finding it unnecessary, but when Imrahil had spoken of the possible danger involved, he had become intrigued. It was to be a singular assault with no reinforcement, and if it failed, Boromir knew there would be serious consequences. It was just the sort of mission that appealed to him entirely.
Besides, he could hardly let Faramir venture into danger alone. His brother was both brave and skilled, but their target was wily and powerful, and Boromir could not help but think that two would be better than one in a hunt like this. He moved a few steps forward, and then waited for Faramir's signal.
--
Imrahil leaned on a parapet and stared up at the moon. It was a lovely night, and part of him wished his nephews had been here to enjoy it with him, instead of off on this expedition. He had helped them plan out down to the last detail, and was certain it would have the desired outcome. But now that they were gone, he began to see all the ways in which the plan could fail . . . and utterly at that.
He was at least glad that he had remained behind. There was always the chance that Boromir and Faramir would need to be rescued. If nothing else, he might be needed for some sort of rearguard action.
--
Boromir surveyed the area around him. The darkness before him seemed to stretch forever, but presently, he saw a light . . . a thin sliver of yellow that beckoned to him. His target was close at hand then!
He could see something else as well, a smudge of a shadow in the distance that slowly resolved itself into the shape of a person. It was Faramir. He nodded in Faramir's general direction, who nodded back and then gave the signal.
They were now in the final stages of their venture, and they threw themselves into the advance, lunging forward at great speed. They made their way down the long expanse of darkness until they could see each other clearly, and then, joining forces, they pounced on their unsuspecting target. They ripped off the covers, reached over and tickled Denethor mercilessly.
--
Long years of being a soldier allowed Gondor's steward to recover quickly. With a well-practiced move, he shoved off his attackers, and a moment later, when he finally opened his eyes fully, he found his sons sprawled on the floor near his bed.
"Boromir! Faramir! The two of you frightened me nearly out of my wits!" He glared at them angrily, wondering what could be the cause of such appalling behavior. "What is the meaning of this?"
His question was met, at first, with perfect silence. Then Boromir, now old enough to know that an answer was expected, began to speak, if only haltingly. "I . . . well, Father, you were not well . . . and . . ."
He seemed to be searching for words, so his brother came to his rescue, as he often did these days. "And Uncle . . . well, Uncle told us that laughter was the best medicine!"
Denethor stared at Faramir incredulously, and then, seeing his sons' faces and thinking of his situation, he could do nothing but laugh as he had not done in a very long time. Laughter was indeed good medicine.
--
A/N: Faramir is about six in this story, and Boromir about 11. I'm not sure this is what kaleidopy really had in mind, but it's what the muse brought me.
Thanks, roh_wyn!!