"Boromir."
Faramir felt his brother's neck bend, his chin, resting warm and heavy atop his own head, shifting. He tilted his head back, Boromir's gaze meeting his from above.
"Hmm?" Came his languid response. The two boys, seated on the dry grass of the Pelennor-Boromir with his legs stretched out in front of himself, knees bent just slightly, so that in between could sit Faramir, back against his chest-to be warmed by the last of a late autumn sun shining down on them, dark yellow as it was slowly leaving the sky. One head of hair still jet black, the other catching brown tones in that fading light.
"Say something."
"Say what?"
"What were you thinking about?"
Boromir wasn't sure that he had been thinking about anything, anything concrete, at least, following their conversation, when it had fallen to silence. Not utter silence, or at least their view made the scene seem less still, even while no word was uttered; the tilled fields yet further out still being worked, the road back to Minas Tirith beside them still busy, people either walking to or from to get to home at the end of the day. "Nothing."
"Nothing?" Faramir questioned, more sceptic than disappointed with that answer, while Boromir had given it so lightly in the end.
But he held to it, "No, nothing." Though, he quirked one eyebrow, lightly, and while they had nearly become earnest in their quiet, a smirk came to break the straight line of the elder's mouth now. "What were you thinking about?"
As Boromir still looked down Faramir still looked up and, as faintly, though both, not one, raised his brows. But more fully and sooner he grinned, relaxed back against Boromir's chest comfortably, as they had sat for a while before. "Nothing," he said, content.