I missed these silly drabbles, and I missed the Gondorians, and I was feeling nostalgic today so I decided to write a sequel to "Mentor? Mental". It's not meant to be serious at all and I explained the joke in the previous drabble. I'll explain again, though, for those of you who don't want to go look again. Once upon a time on the Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum, a slogan was created: "Do the wave for Boromir the Disco King!" Flow with it. Flow with the changes. Flow with the humor even if Tolkien is rolling in his grave. I own nothing. :c
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"Master Faramir."
Faramir was leaning over pages upon pages of documents in the dim lamplight, his jaw slack as he floated somewhere between sleep and conciousness. The work he was doing was dreadfully boring and he hadn't been comprehending the words on the parchment in front of him for quite some time now, but he kept up the show by sitting there, pretending to look busy. The sound of Beregond's voice brought him quickly back to life, however, and his head snapped up so quickly that the wind created by his hair caused several documents to go fluttering to the floor.
"...Did I startle you, Master Faramir?"
"I--..no. No." Faramir shook his head. It was more in an attempt to work the crick out of his neck than anything else, but the guard didn't need to know that. "What is it, Beregond?"
The elder man was clutching a weathered slip of parchment to his heart as if it were something sacred. "I don't think you'd believe me if I told you," he chuckled. "But...it's a message from your brother."
"Boromir?" Faramir's heart lept and he quickly forgot how tired he really was. He stumbled out of his chair, his legs barely working as he scrambled over to Beregond, practically ripping the message from his hands.
His mind raced and his fingers trembled as he unfolded the scrap of paper. His brother had been dead for nearly a year now, and receiving a message from him now was exciting. Boromir's antics extended further than birds could fly, after all, and allowing a message to rotate until just the perfect moment is just the sort of thing Faramir expected from hs brother. The youngest son of Denethor smoothed the crumpled parchment out, held it before the lamps and began to read through Boromir's scrawled handwriting.
"Congratulations, little brother. You outlived both me AND your parakeet, you little runt."
Faramir grinned. Boromir always liked to mention the parakeet that the two brothers had owned when they were young boys. It had mysteriously disappeared, but Faramir always had a sneaking suspicion that his older brother had something to do with that.
"I don't care what you say. I had nothing to do with that."
"Liar," Faramir mumbled aloud, chuckling softly.
"I hope father didn't get too loony on you while I was gone, and if he did...my apologies. But, my dear little brother, I need to bring something back to your attention. I hope you remember everything I taught you, because it's time."
"...Oh, Eru, no..."
"Accept your position as Disco King, Faramir."
"No!"
"Don't backsass your dead brother."
"I'm a very busy man!"
"Shut up and make with the hips! Love, Boromir."