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Home and Away
by Acacea
Boromir had always liked this little courtyard by the walls tucked in a
quiet, sun-drenched nook behind the stables, away from the bustle of the city,
accessible only through a narrow path overgrown with grass and wildflowers.
It was paved with dulled white stones, and bordered by a narrow strip of
wild grass. An old lemon tree stood in one corner, its laden branches hanging
over the walls; and a small stone bench placed beneath it for anyone wishing to
enjoy the view in comfort. He and Faramir had often sat here on warm
afternoons, watching the plains and the river, a winding band of silver with tiny
boats bobbing up and down it. If one leaned out a little and tried, as Faramir was
doing at that moment, one could see all the way down to the quays, and even the
hazy green land across the river.
It was just the place he wanted to be right now.
He had to leave the next day to join his troop at Pelargir, after a fortnight
on furlough. He was not meant to be home this early in the year but he had
received a nasty cut to his sword arm at Osgiliath, and had been ordered to
report to the healers in the city. Much as he had relished the time spent at home,
he found he was anxious to rejoin his troop. Yet at the same time he felt unhappy
at leaving behind his younger brother who seemed so much older now than the
last time he’d seen him. With Faramir set to join the rangers in a year’s time,
Boromir suddenly felt very unsure of how often they could spend time together
like this again.
He had completed his duties for the day. He had risen early, packed away
most of his things, then breakfasted with his father so that they could discuss the
situation with the corsairs yet again. Then he had written out all of the myriad
reports his father seemed to want before he left, working swiftly yet
meticulously. The time was well spent for it had left him free to spend the
afternoon here with Faramir. They had had very little time together on this visit,
first with the healers cooping him up, and then the situation in Pelargir
necessitating endless meetings with his father and the council.
They had brought food with them; it was late in the afternoon and they
were both famished. Boromir had brushed away the ripened lemons that had
fallen on the bench and placed the food there. There was warm, soft bread
straight from the kitchens, newly churned butter, fresh, crumbly cheese, a pot full
of orange-scented, golden honey and a basket of plump red and green apples.
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