FIC: Minas Migraine for empy (LotR, Faramir/Boromir)
Title: Minas Migraine
Author: cocoajava
Pairing: Faramir/Boromir
Rating: G
Written for: empy
Summary: Waaaay back in 2003 kielle suggested this plotbunny to me: "I bet Faramir gets migraines." It's stuck with me ever since. I guess it was time to let it out! Thanks for quickie-betas to jenlittlebottom and suzene.
"Yes, I have sought Ioreth's advice." Faramir sighed, and pushed aside with some disdain the mug of warm, foul brew. "And now I am debating whether the cure is worth the price of drinking her 'healing tea'. Two sips are all I can manage, though I promise you I did try."
Boromir frowned and picked up the mug, curious enough to sniff the contents. "I believe the old woman has taken leave of her senses. This foul potion would make a cave troll cry." He dealt quickly with the remaining drink, apologizing to the unwary plant life below as he poured it out the window. "You have had these before, you say?"
"Yes, but only rarely. It has been many months since the last one struck. I was able to take to my bed then, it was a quiet day and no one questioned my absence. But tonight..." Faramir sighed and gingerly rubbed fingertips against his temples.
Boromir winced. "But tonight we entertain visitors from Dol Amroth, and you know we cannot shirk our duties. I will admit I do not relish the notion of making pleasantries and minding my manners with such refined, boring company." His gaze turned towards the ceiling, and the elder brother's attention suddenly seemed drawn elsewhere.
"Boromir? If you are considering a merciful beheading before the feast, I might be inclined to allow it. Father does like to say that my mind gets me in the worst trouble, he might be pleased by the scheme." In spite of his pain, Faramir chuckled at the image of such a notion.
Boromir drew back to the present and looked at Faramir. "I am recalling a time long past. It was when you had only ten years. Cook and I found you here in the kitchens in the middle of the night, in the same place I find you today. You were miserable. You spoke of harsh dreams, and a head filled with pain. Do you remember?"
"I do not think I do, brother."
"It is probably best that you have forgotten. But I remember. Cook warmed a cup of wine, and stirred in a large spoonful of honey." As he spoke, Boromir rummaged through the cupboards, seeking a certain crockery jug. "You did not like the wine, as I recall, but now that you are a grown man, I know you have acquired a taste for it."
Boromir carried the crockery jug with him as he poked about for wine, and with a good amount of fumbling, managed to pour a generous amount of each into an iron pot hanging by the fire. "With luck I will not burn the house of the stewards to the ground. Ah, it is warming well." He dipped out a ladleful of wine into a clean mug and set it in front of Faramir.
Faramir sipped, and felt an ancient memory rustle to life. "It is good, brother. Perhaps you should be attending to the sick in the Houses, saving others from the bane of Ioreth's teas."
"Heed my words. If you should ever tell anyone that I have played nursemaid this day, you will find yourself hanging by your heels from your bedroom window! I am a warrior, not a nursemaid!"
"You are a warrior that shall soon find himself making polite small talk with the vapid daughters of Arandhil, while your younger brother looks on in amusement. Your remedy is of help, but watching you dote upon me has been the best medicine of all!" Faramir drained his cup, and pushed himself away from the table. "But do not worry. I shall warm wine and honey for you when the night is over. I believe you will need it."
Boromir muttered as he turned to go. He would need time to set aside his casual breeches and shirt and truss himself up in his fine, uncomfortable garments. "I should have simply walked past the kitchen. See what thanks a man gets for coming to his brother's aid?"
"Thank you, my brother." Faramir tried to suppress a smirk, and failed. "Thank you profusely."
The evening proved to be as intolerable as both men had known it would be. Conveniently enough, they later found that Cook had left a flask of wine and the honey jug set out on the rough wooden table in the kitchen. Never underestimate the knowledge of a household's hired help.
Author: cocoajava
Pairing: Faramir/Boromir
Rating: G
Written for: empy
Summary: Waaaay back in 2003 kielle suggested this plotbunny to me: "I bet Faramir gets migraines." It's stuck with me ever since. I guess it was time to let it out! Thanks for quickie-betas to jenlittlebottom and suzene.
"Yes, I have sought Ioreth's advice." Faramir sighed, and pushed aside with some disdain the mug of warm, foul brew. "And now I am debating whether the cure is worth the price of drinking her 'healing tea'. Two sips are all I can manage, though I promise you I did try."
Boromir frowned and picked up the mug, curious enough to sniff the contents. "I believe the old woman has taken leave of her senses. This foul potion would make a cave troll cry." He dealt quickly with the remaining drink, apologizing to the unwary plant life below as he poured it out the window. "You have had these before, you say?"
"Yes, but only rarely. It has been many months since the last one struck. I was able to take to my bed then, it was a quiet day and no one questioned my absence. But tonight..." Faramir sighed and gingerly rubbed fingertips against his temples.
Boromir winced. "But tonight we entertain visitors from Dol Amroth, and you know we cannot shirk our duties. I will admit I do not relish the notion of making pleasantries and minding my manners with such refined, boring company." His gaze turned towards the ceiling, and the elder brother's attention suddenly seemed drawn elsewhere.
"Boromir? If you are considering a merciful beheading before the feast, I might be inclined to allow it. Father does like to say that my mind gets me in the worst trouble, he might be pleased by the scheme." In spite of his pain, Faramir chuckled at the image of such a notion.
Boromir drew back to the present and looked at Faramir. "I am recalling a time long past. It was when you had only ten years. Cook and I found you here in the kitchens in the middle of the night, in the same place I find you today. You were miserable. You spoke of harsh dreams, and a head filled with pain. Do you remember?"
"I do not think I do, brother."
"It is probably best that you have forgotten. But I remember. Cook warmed a cup of wine, and stirred in a large spoonful of honey." As he spoke, Boromir rummaged through the cupboards, seeking a certain crockery jug. "You did not like the wine, as I recall, but now that you are a grown man, I know you have acquired a taste for it."
Boromir carried the crockery jug with him as he poked about for wine, and with a good amount of fumbling, managed to pour a generous amount of each into an iron pot hanging by the fire. "With luck I will not burn the house of the stewards to the ground. Ah, it is warming well." He dipped out a ladleful of wine into a clean mug and set it in front of Faramir.
Faramir sipped, and felt an ancient memory rustle to life. "It is good, brother. Perhaps you should be attending to the sick in the Houses, saving others from the bane of Ioreth's teas."
"Heed my words. If you should ever tell anyone that I have played nursemaid this day, you will find yourself hanging by your heels from your bedroom window! I am a warrior, not a nursemaid!"
"You are a warrior that shall soon find himself making polite small talk with the vapid daughters of Arandhil, while your younger brother looks on in amusement. Your remedy is of help, but watching you dote upon me has been the best medicine of all!" Faramir drained his cup, and pushed himself away from the table. "But do not worry. I shall warm wine and honey for you when the night is over. I believe you will need it."
Boromir muttered as he turned to go. He would need time to set aside his casual breeches and shirt and truss himself up in his fine, uncomfortable garments. "I should have simply walked past the kitchen. See what thanks a man gets for coming to his brother's aid?"
"Thank you, my brother." Faramir tried to suppress a smirk, and failed. "Thank you profusely."
The evening proved to be as intolerable as both men had known it would be. Conveniently enough, they later found that Cook had left a flask of wine and the honey jug set out on the rough wooden table in the kitchen. Never underestimate the knowledge of a household's hired help.