Post by Admin on Jan 1, 2021 16:33:32 GMT
Author: Altariel
Ranking: 1st place
Theme: Point of View
Summary: The Steward and his sons work to ensure that a vote goes as they need it to.
Characters: Faramir, Boromir and Denethor
Rating: M
Warning: One occurrence of coarse language
Minas Tirith, 3013 TA
“You want me to do what?”
The Steward and the Steward’s heir, having cornered the youngest member of their family within moments of his arrival into the hall, had the decency to look embarrassed.
“We need you to speak to Lord Minardil—” said Boromir.
“I followed that part,” said his brother. “It was what came next that I surely misheard.”
“And we’d like you to, well, encourage him…”
“Are you sure, brother,” said Faramir frostily, “that ‘encourage’ is the precise word you’re looking for?”
“All right, we’d like you to—”
“Because I think,” said his younger brother, “that the word is ‘threaten’.”
There was a pause. Their father cleared his throat. “I do not ask this lightly.”
“Thank you for that, at least,” said his younger son.
“But we do need him to be brought into line,” said Denethor.
“Before the vote,” said Boromir.
“And you think a thinly veiled threat about the nature of his dealings with the daughter of Lord Aldamir is the way to achieve this? Because I think it is a stupid idea—”
“Don’t look at me,” muttered Boromir.
“Whereas I,” said his father, “think it is worth a try.”
There was a pause. “Why should this fall to me, exactly?” said Faramir.
“Father can’t afford to offend him.” Boromir said.
“And you, brother?”
“Well, I can’t either. You’re hardly ever here. Also, you’re better at this kind of thing than I am. You do that face…”
“What face—?”
Boromir glanced at their father. “I mean, you’re more convincingly sinister.”
“Thank you.”
“You’ll have my sincerest gratitude,” said Denethor, somehow making it sound like an omen.
Faramir eyed them both. “Oh, very well,” he muttered. “What am I supposed to say?”
“We’ll leave that in your capable hands.”
They watched him go. They watched him approach Minardil and strike up a conversation. They watched Minardil turn his back and walk away. And they watched him return.
“I told you it was a stupid idea,” he said, and went off to take his cousin for a spin around the floor.
***
“What,” said Boromir, about a quarter-of-an-hour later, when they reconvened, “do we do now?”
“Blackmail was no use,” said Faramir, acidly. “How about bribery?”
“That,” said his father, “is not a bad idea.”
“I was joking—”
But his father and brother were already comparing notes and muttering. What can we offer him? Is there something he needs? What about a reduction on the river tax?
“That’ll do,” said Boromir, and strode off across the room. He was back before the current dance had ended. “That… backfired.”
Their father hissed under his breath.
“I’m running out of ideas,” said his heir.
“Have you thought of simply asking him?” Faramir said. “Politely, I mean?”
His closest family looked at him as if he had taken leave of his senses.
“Well, what harm could it do?” said Faramir.
His closest family looked at each thoughtfully.
“Our problem now,” Faramir went on, “is that we’re running short of envoys. He thinks I’m a thoroughgoing bastard, and he thinks you’re an incompetent fool. Who is there left that we can send?”
“You’re enjoying yourself too much,” said his brother.
“Well, I’m hardly ever here,” Faramir reminded him. “Of course, after all this, we need someone prepared to approach him with humility. Someone able to deploy considerable charm.”
They both turned to look at their father, who held up his hands to stop them, and, with a sigh, went on his way. His sons watched him approach Minardil. They watched them talk. Eventually, they watched as Minardil smiled, laughed, and shook their father’s hand.
“See,” said Faramir. “He just wanted to feel loved.”
Their father returned. “It… worked,” he said, and frowned.
“Thank fuck for that,” said the older son, with considerable relief.
“You are both entirely welcome,” said the second son, and went in search of something to eat.
Ranking: 1st place
Theme: Point of View
Summary: The Steward and his sons work to ensure that a vote goes as they need it to.
Characters: Faramir, Boromir and Denethor
Rating: M
Warning: One occurrence of coarse language
Minas Tirith, 3013 TA
“You want me to do what?”
The Steward and the Steward’s heir, having cornered the youngest member of their family within moments of his arrival into the hall, had the decency to look embarrassed.
“We need you to speak to Lord Minardil—” said Boromir.
“I followed that part,” said his brother. “It was what came next that I surely misheard.”
“And we’d like you to, well, encourage him…”
“Are you sure, brother,” said Faramir frostily, “that ‘encourage’ is the precise word you’re looking for?”
“All right, we’d like you to—”
“Because I think,” said his younger brother, “that the word is ‘threaten’.”
There was a pause. Their father cleared his throat. “I do not ask this lightly.”
“Thank you for that, at least,” said his younger son.
“But we do need him to be brought into line,” said Denethor.
“Before the vote,” said Boromir.
“And you think a thinly veiled threat about the nature of his dealings with the daughter of Lord Aldamir is the way to achieve this? Because I think it is a stupid idea—”
“Don’t look at me,” muttered Boromir.
“Whereas I,” said his father, “think it is worth a try.”
There was a pause. “Why should this fall to me, exactly?” said Faramir.
“Father can’t afford to offend him.” Boromir said.
“And you, brother?”
“Well, I can’t either. You’re hardly ever here. Also, you’re better at this kind of thing than I am. You do that face…”
“What face—?”
Boromir glanced at their father. “I mean, you’re more convincingly sinister.”
“Thank you.”
“You’ll have my sincerest gratitude,” said Denethor, somehow making it sound like an omen.
Faramir eyed them both. “Oh, very well,” he muttered. “What am I supposed to say?”
“We’ll leave that in your capable hands.”
They watched him go. They watched him approach Minardil and strike up a conversation. They watched Minardil turn his back and walk away. And they watched him return.
“I told you it was a stupid idea,” he said, and went off to take his cousin for a spin around the floor.
***
“What,” said Boromir, about a quarter-of-an-hour later, when they reconvened, “do we do now?”
“Blackmail was no use,” said Faramir, acidly. “How about bribery?”
“That,” said his father, “is not a bad idea.”
“I was joking—”
But his father and brother were already comparing notes and muttering. What can we offer him? Is there something he needs? What about a reduction on the river tax?
“That’ll do,” said Boromir, and strode off across the room. He was back before the current dance had ended. “That… backfired.”
Their father hissed under his breath.
“I’m running out of ideas,” said his heir.
“Have you thought of simply asking him?” Faramir said. “Politely, I mean?”
His closest family looked at him as if he had taken leave of his senses.
“Well, what harm could it do?” said Faramir.
His closest family looked at each thoughtfully.
“Our problem now,” Faramir went on, “is that we’re running short of envoys. He thinks I’m a thoroughgoing bastard, and he thinks you’re an incompetent fool. Who is there left that we can send?”
“You’re enjoying yourself too much,” said his brother.
“Well, I’m hardly ever here,” Faramir reminded him. “Of course, after all this, we need someone prepared to approach him with humility. Someone able to deploy considerable charm.”
They both turned to look at their father, who held up his hands to stop them, and, with a sigh, went on his way. His sons watched him approach Minardil. They watched them talk. Eventually, they watched as Minardil smiled, laughed, and shook their father’s hand.
“See,” said Faramir. “He just wanted to feel loved.”
Their father returned. “It… worked,” he said, and frowned.
“Thank fuck for that,” said the older son, with considerable relief.
“You are both entirely welcome,” said the second son, and went in search of something to eat.