Ch. 46 - Lords of the Dance – A Quintdrabble

(this, with some tweaks, turned into part of a chapter of Ten Thousand Years Will Not Suffice)

“Come, little brother. Let us show these poor excuses for dancers how this is supposed to be done!”

With that he grabbed Faramir’s forearm and hauled him to his feet. Faramir grinned. Both men drew their swords from their scabbards and placed them on the ground; they removed their scabbards and then their tunics and shirts. Bare-chested, they moved into the circle that formed for them. Suddenly, stillness filled the night air. The stars themselves seemed to pause in their flight. The tension was palpable. Everyone knew this was a contest, for, though great was the love brother for brother, great also was the love of competition. The men started singing, accompanied by a slow steady clapping; they knew they were in for a treat. The brothers smiled and started circling their swords and each other. Slowly, they moved to the dance. The men’s clapping grew faster. The brothers’ feet flew, hands held high in the air one moment, then reaching for their swords in the next. The clapping spurred both brothers’ feet into faster movement. Laughter was warm upon Faramir’s face, but Boromir’s, though a smile covered it, showed deep concentration. Faramir danced much better Boromir knew, but at speed, none could match him. As the clapping got faster and stronger, shouts roared from men caught up in the excitement that was before them. Suddenly, Faramir stumbled and fell backwards. Hoots of laughter went up from the men, but a look of consternation covered Boromir’s face. He growled at the men who immediately ceased their taunting. Faramir started to get up, but Boromir was quickly at his side with his arm outstretched.

“Forgive me, brother. I should have stopped moments ago.”

Faramir smiled and clapped Boromir on the shoulder as he was pulled upright. “That was fun. You always did best me when the dance raised its speed, though perhaps…”

“None dance as gracefully as you, little brother,” Boromir interrupted. “Any great brute can move his feet quickly. It takes skills to move them well. I am sorry!” He hugged him fiercely and with great pride. The men strode forward and pounded them both on their backs congratulating them.

But then silence shattered the moment. The men quickly parted and Denethor stood before them. An embarrassed smile spread across Boromir’s face as he moved to greet his father.

“So, I send you on patrol and what do I find?” The scowl hid the twinkle in his eye. “You won, of course?”

“Only because you tripped Faramir!” One of the bolder men shouted out.

Faramir grinned as Boromir was teased. Then, he saw Denethor’s scowl. “He did not! Father, I tripped.”

Boromir turned and stared hard at Faramir. “Father knows I would not trip you.” For a moment, all the joy left Boromir’s face and uncharacteristic uncertainty crossed the older man’s face. “You know I would not trip you?”

Consternation filled Faramir’s face. “I would not believe it of you.’

”Then it is settled,” Denethor interrupted. “The match is Boromir’s!”