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B2WM of the Men for the B2MEM
Title: Influenza, Interrupted
Rating: G
Pairing:(if there are any) Faramir/tiredness, with a side order of Boromir/homework avoidance
Summary: Faramir tries to look on the positive side to being out of the world.
Warning:(if there are any) May be a bit on the AU side, though there's nothing out and out contradicting canon. Tolkien's characters.
Setting the book reluctantly aside, he coughed into his sleeve, being as careful as he could not to get anything on those precious words. This was the only benefit to being ill, Faramir decided: time to read his favorite stories without having to worry about lessons or practice. While he was immersed in his books, his influenza seemed a mere distraction, like some problem happening to someone else on another world. Boromir frequently became restless when confined to a sickroom, but as long as Faramir was not lacking in reading material, the younger boy was content enough to conserve his strength for more important things. He would return to the rigors of Middle-earth soon enough; for now, his fevered brain was content to drift amongst the distant stars.
Arda, however, had a way of rudely interrupting Faramir’s lazy voyage. In a word: Boromir. In several words, Boromir, carrying an unwieldy stack of papers, many of which were suspiciously blank but for a line or two in what looked very much like their tutor’s handwriting. Faramir blinked slowly, rubbed the grit from his eyes, and blinked again as his brother set them down atop Faramir’s stack of books. “Your Sindarin lessons?” Faramir asked.
“No, these are all yours,” Boromir said. He seemed to take entirely too much joy out of surrendering the homework to Faramir.
“Mmph.” Normally, Faramir enjoyed such lessons: the liquid sounds of the words, the beauty of the letter strokes, the puzzle of the translation, the art of choosing the right well-turned phrase, - but all of that seemed beyond his reach at the moment. He was unsure that his overheated brain could manage much more than the primers he had learned at his mother’s side. And his dripping nose and sore throat would hardly help Faramir’s concentration.
Boromir ruffled his little brother’s limp hair. “It won’t be so bad. Maybe I’ll even be able to help you.”
“Unlikely,” Faramir muttered in Sindarin. Boromir had his talents, but studying outside his interests was not amongst them. Needless to say, elvish languages did not rank high upon Boromir’s lists of hobbies.
“I asked Master Corusael to keep it simple. I told him you weren’t up to full strength yet,” Boromir said defensively, recognizing his brother’s tone, if not the mumbled word.
Faramir blew his nose and grimly perused the topmost assignment. Maybe his brother was right. And maybe the king would return. Boromir and their tutor had drastically different concepts of “simple.” Normally, this did not daunt Faramir too much, but today, the stack of paper looked awfully tall, when compared to the pile of used handkerchiefs next to his bed.
Dear Faramir, he read, do try to get some rest. I have included copies of some of your brother’s latest lessons. The remedial practices shall help keep your skills sharp, if you can fit them in, and you shall know if Boromir attempts to foist any of his assignments upon you, as shall I. Highest regards, Corusael.
Crisis momentarily averted, Faramir closed his eyes in relief. He did not think his brother would be so cruel, not when Boromir had brought him half the books in here as well as his homework, but he did appreciate his tutor’s concern. The less appreciated lessons would keep until his head cleared.
“Well?” Boromir peered over his shoulder at the letter.
“I think I can handle this,” Faramir said, offering his brother a wan smile and placing the letter aside before Boromir could read it.
“If you say so.” The elder brother backed circumspectly away from the sheaf of papers he had brought in, as if afraid that the assignments might be as communicable as Faramir’s flu.
Rating: G
Pairing:(if there are any) Faramir/tiredness, with a side order of Boromir/homework avoidance
Summary: Faramir tries to look on the positive side to being out of the world.
Warning:(if there are any) May be a bit on the AU side, though there's nothing out and out contradicting canon. Tolkien's characters.
Setting the book reluctantly aside, he coughed into his sleeve, being as careful as he could not to get anything on those precious words. This was the only benefit to being ill, Faramir decided: time to read his favorite stories without having to worry about lessons or practice. While he was immersed in his books, his influenza seemed a mere distraction, like some problem happening to someone else on another world. Boromir frequently became restless when confined to a sickroom, but as long as Faramir was not lacking in reading material, the younger boy was content enough to conserve his strength for more important things. He would return to the rigors of Middle-earth soon enough; for now, his fevered brain was content to drift amongst the distant stars.
Arda, however, had a way of rudely interrupting Faramir’s lazy voyage. In a word: Boromir. In several words, Boromir, carrying an unwieldy stack of papers, many of which were suspiciously blank but for a line or two in what looked very much like their tutor’s handwriting. Faramir blinked slowly, rubbed the grit from his eyes, and blinked again as his brother set them down atop Faramir’s stack of books. “Your Sindarin lessons?” Faramir asked.
“No, these are all yours,” Boromir said. He seemed to take entirely too much joy out of surrendering the homework to Faramir.
“Mmph.” Normally, Faramir enjoyed such lessons: the liquid sounds of the words, the beauty of the letter strokes, the puzzle of the translation, the art of choosing the right well-turned phrase, - but all of that seemed beyond his reach at the moment. He was unsure that his overheated brain could manage much more than the primers he had learned at his mother’s side. And his dripping nose and sore throat would hardly help Faramir’s concentration.
Boromir ruffled his little brother’s limp hair. “It won’t be so bad. Maybe I’ll even be able to help you.”
“Unlikely,” Faramir muttered in Sindarin. Boromir had his talents, but studying outside his interests was not amongst them. Needless to say, elvish languages did not rank high upon Boromir’s lists of hobbies.
“I asked Master Corusael to keep it simple. I told him you weren’t up to full strength yet,” Boromir said defensively, recognizing his brother’s tone, if not the mumbled word.
Faramir blew his nose and grimly perused the topmost assignment. Maybe his brother was right. And maybe the king would return. Boromir and their tutor had drastically different concepts of “simple.” Normally, this did not daunt Faramir too much, but today, the stack of paper looked awfully tall, when compared to the pile of used handkerchiefs next to his bed.
Dear Faramir, he read, do try to get some rest. I have included copies of some of your brother’s latest lessons. The remedial practices shall help keep your skills sharp, if you can fit them in, and you shall know if Boromir attempts to foist any of his assignments upon you, as shall I. Highest regards, Corusael.
Crisis momentarily averted, Faramir closed his eyes in relief. He did not think his brother would be so cruel, not when Boromir had brought him half the books in here as well as his homework, but he did appreciate his tutor’s concern. The less appreciated lessons would keep until his head cleared.
“Well?” Boromir peered over his shoulder at the letter.
“I think I can handle this,” Faramir said, offering his brother a wan smile and placing the letter aside before Boromir could read it.
“If you say so.” The elder brother backed circumspectly away from the sheaf of papers he had brought in, as if afraid that the assignments might be as communicable as Faramir’s flu.