Thanks to Kaisaan Greenleaf, Glory Bee, gginsc and Zammy for reviewing. Exams are now done, cue cheers.
Enjoy this slightly, okay, rather silly chapter
The Beacon looked the same as ever and when Faramir pushed open the door Boromir caught the scent of meat roasting, no doubt over the great oak fireplace at one end of the Common Room. They slipped inside, the few people at the bar paying little attention to two traders with no wares. Quietly Boromir walked to one of the many empty tables and dropped into a seat.
"Here"
A wooden cup slid up against his resting arm and he nodded to his brother, taking a sip. Swallowing slowly he raised an eyebrow "Cider?" Then the tang of the pepper bit his throat while a warmth crept through him and he shook his head. "Sailor's posset"
"I thought you might like a taste of home."
He nodded slightly and smiled "Remember how Uncle used to let us have a cup the first night of our holiday, even when we were little… Father would have had a fit if he'd known we were allowed alcohol that young."
Faramir's eyes twinkled.
Bells began to peel out, all over the city by the various distances their ears picked up. Boromir fought the inclination to leap to his feet and go to the door, reminding himself that he was no longer a soldier of Gondor. Thankfully everyone else seemed just as startled. He watched as the innkeeper crossed the room and threw open the door
"Hi lad! What's afoot?"
The 'lad' came trotting in and Boromir saw Beregond's inheritance on his face.
"Bergil" Faramir whispered, leaning over the table so their heads were close "Son of Beregond."
Boromir nodded slightly, that confirmed his thoughts
"Well lad, why are all the bells ringing fit to call back Elendil?"
"The Prince is back"
There was a moment of stunned silence until one of the older men blinked "Dead eh?" His voice was slurred with drink.
"No" Bergil's tone rose to exultant joy "He's alive and well."
"Bithî 'nKi ya-nam bawâb… That boy has too much luck, no child should lead to the amount of trouble he has and get away with it."
Boromir stood up, rolling his shoulders so subtly he knew no-one but Faramir would notice. But it did its job, loosening the tight muscles as if for a bout of sparring "And what trouble has he caused?"
"Disappeared off on a jaunt, cost me my rank, my livelihood, and my wife." The man swung off his stool and stumped forward, thrusting his finger under Boromir's nose "Don' you tell me he's a good lad… or I'll knock' you one, trader." He threw his arms wide "I wa' 'nce a capain in the army, I was. Then the Prin' ran o' when him an' me were riding toge'er an' now look a' me. A commo' mercery, livi' on sufferan an' subjecte' t' abuse by a…a travelin' pack opener."
Boromir shifted his feet, automatically getting ready to fight.
"Now now my man" The innkeeper strode over "Let's not have a brawl on this happy, happy day." Still soothing, he grasped the man's shoulders and steered him out the door, slamming it shut with a resounding thump before slapping his hands together like a baker dusting off flour.
Applause smattered along the bar and Boromir quickly dropped back into his chair before the attention shifted.
The innkeeper turned and gave a mock bow to his audience. "Bring out the Lossarnach White!"
A cheer echoed to the rafters, one Boromir felt equaled that that the men in Osgiliath had given after their battle. As the room suddenly bustled with activity he was surprised to hear suppressed chuckles from Faramir. He surreptitiously tapped his brother on the shoulder and raised an eyebrow
"That is about the only useful thing that man's done recently…" Faramir shook his head "I'll tell you what happened another time."
A barrel being ceremoniously wedged steady on the bar attracted all eyes, those of most of the other patrons nearly falling from their sockets. Lossnarch wine was famous within Gondor as being the best of the best, and consequently extremely expensive. Boromir was pretty sure he could count the number of times that he and Faramir had drunk it, between them, on one hand. And they the sons of the Ruling Steward.
Cups were handed around and everyone queued up for theirs to be filled. While Boromir waited his turn he was amused to watch the reactions of the men in front of him. Generally they went to treat the wine in much the same way as they would their ale, quaffing it in gulps. However after one swallow they froze, looked down in wonder at their cup, back to the barrel and then took a second cautious sip. He smiled slightly and steadied his full cup while the second one was measured out. Nodding his thanks but keeping his gaze low he wove back through a growing crowd, apparently the whisper of Lossnarch White had spread out onto the street…
"Like horses when you rattle a feed bucket"
Faramir pointedly appropriated his cup "These people have been valiant, don't tease them so."
He shrugged in response and sat down, automatically shielding his face from curious eyes. Faramir touched his arm in concern and he shook his head, wanting to remember how gregarious he had once been, before the Ring had seized him. And through that exile of sorts which Gandalf had imposed upon him he had cursed himself for what he had done, risking all of Arda for his own pride. He bowed his head, shutting his eyes tight and pressing his head to his fists.
Thwap
A neat, friendly, blow struck his shoulder and he yelped in pain and outrage as his elbows slid of the table and his chin followed them downward to strike the edge of the table. Only sheer luck prevented him tumbling ignominiously to the floor.
"Drunk already?
He looked round to see one of the friendly men from the bar and shook his head, as much to clear his brain from the jolt as to signal he was sober
"I'll buy you one then, it's a grand thing to see someone stand up to his Lordship." He jerked his head to the door, clearly meaning the captain.
Boromir smiled and adopted a thick Belfalas accent "My thanks… What was his name?"
The man shrugged "Don't know… Everyone here calls him Traston"
Boromir grinned at that, accepting the mug of ale from the innkeeper, who had come over at a beckon "May he cause no more tonight!"
"Aye!"
He set his mug down and nodded to the man, who raised his own mug in salute.
"Listen!" Someone shouted and a hush dropped over the babbling crowd as swiftly as blanket over a bed. Over the city, carried by many voices, came a song.
Sing now, ye people of Gondor
for Midsummer's come and the fair is beginning,
and the white tower shines.
Sing and rejoice, ye people of the Tower of Guard,
for your watch hath not been in vain,
Rest now your duties and
glory the spring,
Sing and be glad, all ye children of the West,
for your Prince has come again,
and he shall dwell among you
all the days of your time.
And the Tree that was withered shall e'r renew,
planted by the fountain
the City is blessed, on this summer night.
Sing all ye people!
"The eagle's song."
Boromir watched his brother. Some change, however brief in its staying, had happened as he spoke those words. There had been an open flash of memory, of the true grief and selflessness his brother had felt during the end of the Ring War, and above it all, the hope triggered by news of a victory, the chance not to lose any more of his kin, and to live as the person he truly was.
"Why do you stare at me?"
"Wasn't" He looked pointedly in the other direction
"I'm starting to think you must be drunk without drinking, because you can lie reasonably passably when you're sober…And that one was awful."
Boromir lent over the table in a mock attempt to grab the coin pouch that he saw in his brother's hands "How can I be sober when you're tying knots in the strings of the purse? We're allowed to be drinking, you know."
Faramir raised his eyebrows, sighed, and put the purse on the table, but Boromir noticed he kept a loose grip on the strings "Alright, but for pity's sake keep your wits about you, most here believe you dead."
He nodded and Faramir stood up, clearly regaining control of the situation. Not that he actually minded. The first time he'd been packed off to Ithilien after his brother had joined rangers he'd discovered what a natural leader Faramir was. The kind that could command instant obedience from his men, unless it meant leaving him to die…
He smiled, watching his brother weave his way through the crowd with two full mugs of ale. Yes, Faramir inspired loyalty in a way no-one else he knew, with the exception of Aragorn and Frodo, could. Then he forgot those thoughts as much as he could and took a long gulp of the ale.
"The Beacon's best"
"Of course"
Boromir drew a breath, pulled all his courage together and asked the question that had been worrying him since he arrived "Fara, did any of my men survive? Aside from Beregrond?"
"Two companies… more or less intact." His brother's eyes pulled away, but not before he saw a flash of guilt "The third…"
Boromir half rose, ready to do whatever he could; Faramir looked as if he was either going to faint or be sick. Then those brown eyes looked back at him, becoming the tear-filled ones of a confused five-year old boy
"They rode out with me to re-take Osgiliath…"
The sentence didn't need finishing. Boromir stayed silent for a long moment, going over each of the hundred odd names that had made up that company. Every-one he could put a face to, or often two; one battle weary, the other laughing over too many drinks. Then he looked back at Faramir, hating the naked guilt that shone at him "Why did you try to retake Osgiliath, little brother? We knew that when it fell it would fall hard, beyond rescue by one company…"
"'I will not yield the River and Pelennor unfought. Much must be risked in war. Is there a Captain here who still has the courage to do his lord's will?'"
Boromir snapped his head up and stared around, expecting to see his father looming up on them. Then he realised that it had been Faramir speaking, for the imitation was laced with bitterness, to a depth remarkable even for Adûnaic. He met his brother's eyes, nodded slowly and placed his hand on the table, pam up. When another hand covered it he gripped it tight briefly then used his free hand to push Faramir's mug towards him.
Hands trembling, Faramir lifted it and gulped down the contents. It was that which told Boromir just how upset and guilty his brother felt about what had happened, and that was probably doubled as he was sitting opposite the previous captain of that company. He knew what that felt like, or near enough… though thank goodness he hadn't had to face Frodo.
Then he shook himself, breaking his reminisces for the second time
Enough of that, he scolded and instead drained his own mug and stood up again, desperate to break the silence that reigned between them
"Do you want some more?"
Faramir nodded, wearily "One more, and after that slow down fetching your own… this isn't a competition"
Boromir looked at him and quirked a smile "No, it's having fun"
His brother flicked him such a look that he nearly laughed aloud, but pulled a look of utter blankness at what came from Faramir's mouth.
"Don't blame me if your head is splitting in the morning."
"No, little uncle" He scrambled off before he heard the reply.
Faramir sighed as his brother rose to his feet again, swaying somewhat. He copied him and attempted to push the other man back down
"You've had enough."
"Why? The night's still young"
Faramir glanced out the window and was trying to decide whether he should enlighten his brother as to the fact it was actually close on middle night. He turned back just in time to see Boromir starting to weeble his way back to the bar, now thoroughly crowded with early comers to the festival, determined to start before dawn. Quickly he grabbed the other man's sleeve "Fine, there's enough coin left to buy any one here who wants it a drink of Beacon mulled wine, we'll have our cup each and then go…"
Reluctantly he passed over the required coins and sat down to wait.
Very soon there was a murmur of thanks and laughter as news of the generosity began to spread around. Silently he stood up as Boromir returned, steered by several kind men who had taken pity on his lack of co-ordination. Faramir nodded his thanks, suddenly grateful not one had actually realised who they were near all evening; probably helped by the fact he'd done most of the trooping back and forth and Boromir had, until just now, kept his hood up. That made another reason for leaving soon. Still, he sipped his wine slowly, smiling as one of the Hobbit's favourite drinking songs began to ring through the room, people picking up one after the other.
Ho! Ho! Ho! To the bottle I go
To heal my heart and drown my woe.
Rain may fall and wind may blow,
And many miles be still to go,
But under a small tree I will lie,
And let the clouds go sailing by.
Recognising it as something that Bilbo might have written, or at any rate Tookish (as Pippin had said) he joined in softly, then flinched as what sounded like a kennel full of water deprived hounds took it up next to him. Swallowing the last of the wine he hauled Boromir to his feet and led him out, smiling shamefaced at the laughing men between them and the door. They parted willingly but also made his task harder by grasping Boromir's shoulder, clearly in an expression of thanks for the wine.
Eventually they were out on the street and Faramir lifted his face to the cool air, automatically drawing it in in a deep breath, though he did so silently. It was a habit he'd had as a young boy, and refined as a ranger, sometimes you could smell your enemy.
Especially if they're orcs, Uruk-hai or Haradrim
He smiled and set off, looping his brother's arm over his shoulder and grimacing as the slightly taller man stumbled along, still singing.
Or rather, Faramir thought, what passed as his brother singing. Especially when full of ale.
He shook his head ruefully and carried on, towing Boromir at his side like a slightly recalcitrant pony.
Éowyn rolled over as the bed creaked. Sure enough her husband was wriggling under the blankets next to her. She frowned at him "If you are drunk…" She left the rest of the sentence hanging.
Faramir shook his head "It's Boromir who's drunk" Then he smiled at her, and she noticed a slight twinkle "I think I come registered under slightly tipsy."
She swatted him lightly "You can stay then."
"I'll have to, I put Boromir in my chamber for tonight" She watched as he shook his head "What am I going to do with him?"
"Be glad he's back, send those boys to rouse him tomorrow morning, and hope Elboron gets someone just as understanding." She held his eyes for a long moment, hoping he would understand what she meant, then willingly accepted his embrace and a kiss.
As they lay side by side she felt her eyelids flutter shut, listening to Faramir crooning something in her ear
"Ki-zêri ni?
Ni-zêri ki
Ki-na izrê 'nNi
Ki-na izrê 'nNi
Ni-zêri ki"
Translations
Sindarin
Traston=Troubler
Adûnaic
Bithî 'nKi ya-nam bawâb =Wind pours from your mouth
"Ki-zêri ni?
Ni-zêri ki
Ki-na izrê 'nNi
Ki-na izrê 'nNi
Ni-zêri ki"
Do you love me?
I love you
You are my love
You are my love
I love you
(Made up by me from Merin Essi ar Quenteli's Adûnaic phase book)
The other two poems belong to tolkien, but I altered the Eagle one slightly to suit my own needs.
Sailor's Posset is my version of a 17th Century drink called Sheepwasher's posset. Milk and ale mixed together, with breadcrumbs added and enough pepper to make it hot. It was meant for warming up men who had spent half a day in an icy river washing sheep, I thought it would work just as well for sailors.
Reviews?