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Taste of His Own Medicine (G) Print

Written by RubyElf

16 December 2010 | 813 words

Title: Taste of His Own Medicine
Author: RubyElf
Rating: G
Characters: Boromir, Faramir, Aragorn, Arwen
Warnings: Waste of perfectly good baking products
Summary: Apparently, revenge isn’t always sweet. In fact, seems that sometimes it doesn’t taste very good at all.

Series includes Defenseless, Bright Ideas, Taste of His Own Medicine, Escalation, Best Served Cold, and Truce.

“Well, we can’t just let him get away with it,” Boromir said, thumping his mug of ale down on Faramir’s table.

“I don’t see why not,” Faramir said, moving his ale out of reach of Boromir’s annoyance.

“I don’t appreciate being made to look like a fool,” Boromir muttered.

“I’ve been making you look like a fool since we were old enough to talk,” Faramir said mildly.

Boromir glared at him. “And I ought to have beaten you senseless for it.”

“So what did you have in mind for revenge?” Faramir asked, leaning back in his chair. “A beating probably isn’t an option… he is the king, after all, and if you wouldn’t hurt your troublesome little brother after everything he did, you’re certainly not going to hurt someone you’ve been…”

Boromir gave him a sharp glance and Faramir stopped talking.

“Besides,” Boromir said. “It’s about time he gets what he deserves. He’s been thinking much too highly of himself after all the trouble he’s caused the past month.”

Faramir grinned. “What did you have in mind, brother?”

After three days, Boromir’s plan to give Aragorn “a taste of his own medicine” plan was off to an appallingly bad start, which was exactly what Faramir had expected, but hadn’t thought it wise to mention. On the first night both brothers had made sure to be seated at the dinner table before Aragorn and Arwen arrived, and Boromir waited eagerly for Aragorn to leap out of his seat when his posterior encountered the rather sharp bits of wood that had been inserted under the fabric of the seat cushion. Aragorn, however, settled into his chair without so much as a wince. His guest, a counselor from Rohan and close friend of √Čomer’s who had been given a place of honor at the king’s side for dinner, was not as fortunate, and he bounded out of his seat with a pained yelp, prompting much confusion as everyone else attempted to determine what he was shouting about. The brothers were watching the chaos when Aragorn’s voice spoke softly over their shoulders.

“Chairs do get moved about occasionally as the table is set, you know.”

Boromir stormed off without eating.

Considering his disapproval of snakes in general, Boromir was more than pleased with himself when he managed to capture one in the gardens, although he insisted Faramir be the one to carry it in his shirt when they sneaked into the king’s rooms the next afternoon. The expected racket never occurred, and Boromir assumed that the creature hadn’t been discovered yet, but the next morning Arwen thanked them both very sweetly for the charming new pet, informing them that Aragorn had named it after Pippin.

The bucket of greenish pond mud that was intended for Aragorn’s favorite reading chair never made it that far; when Boromir pushed to door to the king’s rooms open, the large basket of flour that had been precariously perched on the shelf above the door came cascading down, leaving both men completely blanketed in the fine powder for their walk back through the city to the baths.

The brothers went to considerable effort to sneak into the kitchen and swap the bottle of wine that had been set aside for the king for dinner with an identical bottle full of red vinegar, but Aragorn not only drank his wine with obvious enjoyment; he commented on its fine quality and proposed a toast to the brothers and their latest military successes. Boromir would have liked to escape, but all eyes were now on him; he managed to keep his face from turning red until one of the serving girls appeared between him and Faramir and poured them both glasses of wine for the toast. Faramir smelled his and winced.

“Brother, this is…”

“I know, I know,” Boromir hissed.

“Drink up, gentlemen!” Aragorn said proudly, raising his glass.

After a long moment of watching them sputter and try not to make faces as they sipped at the sour contents of their glasses, Aragorn finally took pity on them and drew the attention of the dinner guests to one of the lovely tapestries on the wall, giving both of them a chance to hurriedly empty their glasses under the table. Arwen smiled at them knowingly across the table over the rim of her own glass.

“My dear boys, you know that my husband loves you both dearly… but if you want to pull something over on him, you’re going to have to try much harder.”

Continue to Escalation

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