#apparently i am unable to stay away from angst even when writing stupid fluffy childhood shenanigans

[frodo-with-glasses]

Tree, Boromir and Faramir

There aren't many trees in Minas Tirith. There's the White Tree, of course, but from boyhood it was drilled into Boromir and Faramir that the White Tree was sacred, and even during their rowdy games of Swords or Elves or Guard and Robber in the courtyard, they always stayed far away from the guards and the fountain and the old tree.

Just outside the city wasn't much good, either. The Pelennor Fields stretched for miles outside the city walls, with the low grasses and tussocks being the only green thing visible as far as the eye could see; most of the buildings in Minas Tirith were made of stone, and the ones that did incorporate wood were built with logs imported from other parts of the kingdom. Trees usually came to Minas Tirith as naked, straight logs on carts drawn by stout horses.

That's why a real, live, standing tree was such a treat.

On the rare occasions that Denethor had business outside of Minas Tirith, Faramir and Boromir would nag and beg their father incessantly to take them with him. Often times, there was some excuse why they couldn't come; "you must stay here and attend to your studies", "the road will be dangerous", "this is a simple business matter, and there will be no time for two young lads to stay and frolic". But sometimes—sometimes, on a miracle—he would agree.

Faramir was only a boy when he saw the forest for the first time, and he fell in love in an instant. The smells, the colors, the variety of life, the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves. Boromir's heart was still with the City, and he was dubious of the mud and the fallen leaves that could conceal animal droppings. But the moment he heard a voice call his name from above, and looked up, and found his little brother grinning down at him from his perch on a stout tree limb several feet over his head, the contest had begun.

The rules were simple, and immediately understood: whoever could climb the highest was the winner. Faramir had been sitting in an oak; Boromir heaved himself up into a maple; Faramir scrambled almost all the way to the top of a tall fir, so high that the branches were thin and swayed alarmingly underneath him.

Boromir thought he'd found a winning tree—many large limbs, starting near the ground and spiraling upwards around the trunk far up to the canopy—but the moment he leaped up to hang on one small, bare, leafless limb, it cracked in his hands, and the dead wood snapped off the tree and came crashing down.

Boromir had the good sense to let go as soon as he heard the crack, but it was a long way to fall. A moment after his boots thumped onto the leaves on the forest floor—and the impact shot up his legs and made his knees shaky—he felt a heavy blow to his shoulder and collapsed face-down. The limb fell, and its dry twigs and fingers snapped all at once with a CRASH.

"Boromir!" Hurried footsteps, and heavy breathing, broke the silence that followed. "Boromir!" Faramir had shimmied hastily down from his perch, and was running to his brother.

Boromir groaned, and grimaced, and pushed into the dirt with his hands and sat up. His shoulder was sore, and he rubbed it gingerly as he leaned against the tree and tried to catch his breath.

"Are you all right?" Faramir had skidded to a halt in front of him, and now looked at him with wide eyes and trembling hands.

Boromir saw the fear and worry in his little brother's face, and wanting to dispel it with laughter, he mustered a smile. "Of course!" he said. "I did not fall very far."

"It seemed so to me," said Faramir. "You are hurt; I can see it. We should have been more cautious. Father will be furious if he learns of this."

"I am not hurt," Boromir repeated, although he had to cover a wince as he sat up straighter. "And Father does not need to know."

Faramir hesitated. "If you are certain."

"I am certain. Although," he said slowly, "I do not wish to climb any more trees. I do not think they have taken a liking to me."

That got Faramir to laugh, and he stood up straighter. "You jest! Trees here do not have the gift of thought; the likes of those can be found only in the stories of old, or in lands far away. Yet if these could think, I'm sure they would find you heavy. Have caution, or you shall get yourself killed."

"Who is heavy?" Boromir scooped a pine cone from the forest floor and threw it at him, laughing, as Faramir ran away.

For just a moment, Boromir was alone, and he took the chance to press his aching shoulder and hiss through his teeth. He wouldn't let Faramir see him like this. He didn't want him to worry. But for just a moment, he leaned against the trunk of a great tree, caught his breath, and sourly plucked out a small twig from where it had stuck into his jacket.

WORD ASK GAME!