LOTR Fic: In Vino Veritas
Jul. 24th, 2008 01:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
martasficTitle: In Vino Veritas
Summary: So, a Gondorian and a Rohir walk into a bar....
Word Count: 927
Characters: Boromir, Theodred, OC Dol Amroth artisan
Timeline: 3010 TA (1410 SR) - set between Concealment and Miquan Melave
Rating: Teen, for drunkenness, (non-sexual) nekkidness, and the slightest smidgen of sexual suggestion
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
just_ann_now
Notes: Written foragape4gondor. She requested a Boromir/Theodred story, though I think this scene could just as easily be friendship as slash.
--- from "The Long Race by the ever-creative Branwyn. Some references just beg to be expanded upon - how was I supposed to leave this one alone? (Written with Branwyn's permission.)
**************************************
Boromir was drunk. Not just a little unsteady on his feet or a bit loose-lipped, but full-out drunk; Théodred doubted that he would have made it home without help. Which should have made him question the wisdom of following Boromir down to the docks, especially given the late hour.
He had little excuse save that he was hardly sober himself; the grog favored in Dol Amroth rivaled Rohirric mead, though he would never admit it by light of day. It certainly surpassed the weak brew that passed for ale in Minas Tirith. Théodred was tempted to blame Boromir's state on the more potent drink, but Boromir could drink the hardiest of Rohirrim under the table, indeed Théodred had seen him do it on more than one occasion.
More likely, Boromir's stomach had been too empty for such drinking. For Adrahil was not long buried, and Boromir had not yet regained his appetite; most meals, he only pecked distractedly at his food. Théodred chastised himself for not keeping a better eye over his friend, and thought again about guiding him back toward the Prince's fortress on the hill, where both men could sleep off the effects of the night's revelry.
Yet Boromir had suggested the tattoo earlier in the night, and had brought up again just as they were leaving the tavern. These days Boromir could not seem to focus overlong on any task, and Théodred had found himself unwilling to discourage him from something he cared enough to insist upon.
Boromir stumbled down the street, peering into the windows of first a tannery and then a cooper's shop. Théodred saw the next shop sign, depicting a quill and a bare shoulder. "Boromir, look," Théodred said, pointing out the sign.
Seeing that the windows were darkened, Théodred thought they'd be back on their way home, but Boromir had other plans. He knocked loudly at the door for several minutes, until a window from the apartment above the shop opened. A man stared down at them, blinking in the moonlight. "A moment," the craftsman called out, and he shut the window.
"You shouldn't have woken him," Théodred said after a moment. The city bells tolled as if to emphasize his point, announcing the sixth hour of the night.
"Fah," Boromir replied, "It's not like we're banging on the doors of a lady's emporium."
Théodred fixed Boromir in a skeptical gaze. "We?" he demanded.
"Very well, it's not like I'm banging on the doors of a lady's emporium. The man probably gets half his custom from half-drunk sailors."
Théodred privately thought that "half-drunk" was a rather generous appraisal of Boromir's state, but before he could answer the point the door opened.
"Good even, sirs." The man's eyes strayed to the silver ring on Boromir's finger, marking him as a member of the prince's household, and his eyes grew a little wider. "Lords," he corrected himself. "How may I serve yeh?"
Théodred looked at Boromir expectantly. That was a question he too wanted answered.
"In the normal way, of course," Boromir said. "Master...."
"Edhroth," the man volunteered, letting Boromir and Théodred into the shop.
Without another word, Boromir undid the lacings of his trousers and pulled them and his braies down to his thighs. Edhroth blinked twice, and Théodred had to suppress a chuckle. He could well imagine what a shock it must be, even for a man in a line of work such as his: to see the bared rump of one of Imrahil's household, without so much as a word of explanation. Yet the man seemed to find his center quickly enough, and he ducked into the back room for his ink and needles.
"You heard Erchirion speaking at dinner about Amroth, how he was lost at sea?" Boromir asked once the man was out of the room. "The thought occurred to me.... none of us knows what the morrow will bring. I could drown, or be kidnapped by pirates. Or I could be hit in the head and forget my name. Stranger things have happened."
"Aye," Théodred agree. "But what do you plan to do? "Have your name inked on your back?"
"Nay, nothing so obvious as that," Boromir said. He patted his hand against his lower back just above his buttocks. "I thought to have a horn tattooed there, like the Horn of Gondor I carry. That should be recognized enough."
It was good Théodred did not have any drink in his mouth at the moment, for he would have spat it all over Boromir. As it was he found himself laughing until he gasped for air. Recognizable, yes, to put it mildly!
He wondered whether Boromir jested, for surely there were easier ways to identify his body should he be kidnapped by Corsairs. Théodred could not be sure. He wondered, too, whether Boromir realized just how suggestive it was to have a large horn drawn on his arse. He chuckled at the thought of what the Gondorian, normally so restrained, would think the next day, when he realized what he had done.
Ah, well. He was not the one who would have to explain the marking to Boromir's uncle, or – the thought sent shivers down Théodred's spine – to his father; Gondor might be more prudish than Rohan, but the soldiers still sometimes wrestled bare-chested when the heat of summer grew most onerous, and Théodred guessed Boromir would not keep this night's escapades a secret forever.
Trying to keep a straight face, Théodred walked over to Edhroth. Someone needed to explain the design Boromir had in mind.
Summary: So, a Gondorian and a Rohir walk into a bar....
Word Count: 927
Characters: Boromir, Theodred, OC Dol Amroth artisan
Timeline: 3010 TA (1410 SR) - set between Concealment and Miquan Melave
Rating: Teen, for drunkenness, (non-sexual) nekkidness, and the slightest smidgen of sexual suggestion
Beta:
just_ann_nowNotes: Written for
agape4gondor. She requested a Boromir/Theodred story, though I think this scene could just as easily be friendship as slash. "A tattoo?" Faramir asked.
"I know that they practice this art in Gondor," Elfhelm said, as he untied a small bundle and set out the shining needles and tiny pots of pigment. "Did not your own brother sport a large tattoo of a horn on his – uh, backside?"
Faramir smiled wryly. "He had it done after a late-night revel in Dol Amroth, and he rued the deed when he woke on the morrow. Though the mark was in such a place that few would ever see it."
Someone made a strange sound, halfway between a laugh and a cough, and several of the Riders were grinning broadly. No small number of people had gazed upon that famous tattoo during Boromir’s visits to Edoras.
--- from "The Long Race by the ever-creative Branwyn. Some references just beg to be expanded upon - how was I supposed to leave this one alone? (Written with Branwyn's permission.)
**************************************
Boromir was drunk. Not just a little unsteady on his feet or a bit loose-lipped, but full-out drunk; Théodred doubted that he would have made it home without help. Which should have made him question the wisdom of following Boromir down to the docks, especially given the late hour.
He had little excuse save that he was hardly sober himself; the grog favored in Dol Amroth rivaled Rohirric mead, though he would never admit it by light of day. It certainly surpassed the weak brew that passed for ale in Minas Tirith. Théodred was tempted to blame Boromir's state on the more potent drink, but Boromir could drink the hardiest of Rohirrim under the table, indeed Théodred had seen him do it on more than one occasion.
More likely, Boromir's stomach had been too empty for such drinking. For Adrahil was not long buried, and Boromir had not yet regained his appetite; most meals, he only pecked distractedly at his food. Théodred chastised himself for not keeping a better eye over his friend, and thought again about guiding him back toward the Prince's fortress on the hill, where both men could sleep off the effects of the night's revelry.
Yet Boromir had suggested the tattoo earlier in the night, and had brought up again just as they were leaving the tavern. These days Boromir could not seem to focus overlong on any task, and Théodred had found himself unwilling to discourage him from something he cared enough to insist upon.
Boromir stumbled down the street, peering into the windows of first a tannery and then a cooper's shop. Théodred saw the next shop sign, depicting a quill and a bare shoulder. "Boromir, look," Théodred said, pointing out the sign.
Seeing that the windows were darkened, Théodred thought they'd be back on their way home, but Boromir had other plans. He knocked loudly at the door for several minutes, until a window from the apartment above the shop opened. A man stared down at them, blinking in the moonlight. "A moment," the craftsman called out, and he shut the window.
"You shouldn't have woken him," Théodred said after a moment. The city bells tolled as if to emphasize his point, announcing the sixth hour of the night.
"Fah," Boromir replied, "It's not like we're banging on the doors of a lady's emporium."
Théodred fixed Boromir in a skeptical gaze. "We?" he demanded.
"Very well, it's not like I'm banging on the doors of a lady's emporium. The man probably gets half his custom from half-drunk sailors."
Théodred privately thought that "half-drunk" was a rather generous appraisal of Boromir's state, but before he could answer the point the door opened.
"Good even, sirs." The man's eyes strayed to the silver ring on Boromir's finger, marking him as a member of the prince's household, and his eyes grew a little wider. "Lords," he corrected himself. "How may I serve yeh?"
Théodred looked at Boromir expectantly. That was a question he too wanted answered.
"In the normal way, of course," Boromir said. "Master...."
"Edhroth," the man volunteered, letting Boromir and Théodred into the shop.
Without another word, Boromir undid the lacings of his trousers and pulled them and his braies down to his thighs. Edhroth blinked twice, and Théodred had to suppress a chuckle. He could well imagine what a shock it must be, even for a man in a line of work such as his: to see the bared rump of one of Imrahil's household, without so much as a word of explanation. Yet the man seemed to find his center quickly enough, and he ducked into the back room for his ink and needles.
"You heard Erchirion speaking at dinner about Amroth, how he was lost at sea?" Boromir asked once the man was out of the room. "The thought occurred to me.... none of us knows what the morrow will bring. I could drown, or be kidnapped by pirates. Or I could be hit in the head and forget my name. Stranger things have happened."
"Aye," Théodred agree. "But what do you plan to do? "Have your name inked on your back?"
"Nay, nothing so obvious as that," Boromir said. He patted his hand against his lower back just above his buttocks. "I thought to have a horn tattooed there, like the Horn of Gondor I carry. That should be recognized enough."
It was good Théodred did not have any drink in his mouth at the moment, for he would have spat it all over Boromir. As it was he found himself laughing until he gasped for air. Recognizable, yes, to put it mildly!
He wondered whether Boromir jested, for surely there were easier ways to identify his body should he be kidnapped by Corsairs. Théodred could not be sure. He wondered, too, whether Boromir realized just how suggestive it was to have a large horn drawn on his arse. He chuckled at the thought of what the Gondorian, normally so restrained, would think the next day, when he realized what he had done.
Ah, well. He was not the one who would have to explain the marking to Boromir's uncle, or – the thought sent shivers down Théodred's spine – to his father; Gondor might be more prudish than Rohan, but the soldiers still sometimes wrestled bare-chested when the heat of summer grew most onerous, and Théodred guessed Boromir would not keep this night's escapades a secret forever.
Trying to keep a straight face, Théodred walked over to Edhroth. Someone needed to explain the design Boromir had in mind.