5. Strong Men (triple drabble) - by Dwimordene
"My thanks," Boromir replied, taking a swig from it. He was shivering still, though he had changed out of his wet clothes. But though dry, he was hardly warm, and weary already from the effort to clear a path off of Caradhras, even shivers were exhausting. The liquor burned pleasantly, and he took another sip ere handing it off to his companion, who was also huddled, chilled, in his cloak. Aragorn took a long pull at the flask ere giving it to Legolas, who immediately passed it to the hobbits.
Boromir, watching, frowned. "You ran up that drift?" he asked suddenly. Legolas nodded. "Twice?"
"And it never occurred to you to tunnel part of the way back?"
A mischievous glint shone in the elf's eyes. "Well, 'tis as I said: for ploughing snow, look to strong Men, whereas for going upon it—"
He was interrupted by a fistful of snow flung straight at his head, and then a booted foot lashed out, hooked about Legolas' ankle, and jerked back. Down he went, to land on his rump in a patch of snow. Everyone froze; Boromir glanced in some surprise at Aragorn, who called over to Gimli:
"Would you pass that back, please?"
And when the dwarf wordlessly approached and returned the flask, Aragorn took one more sip, then rose and proferred it to Legolas, who was brushing himself off. "And now that you are, indeed, upon it, you might as well join us strong Men and drink," the Ranger said pleasantly. There was a long, uncertain moment of silence among the Fellowship, ere Boromir's hearty laughter broke it.
"King's justice," he declared, raising an imaginary glass. And eyeing Aragorn particularly: "Your health, sire!"
A/N: Happy birthday to both Gwynnyd and Linaewen!
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