Barred from joining in the ball-game, for fear they would be crushed by the throng, Arin and his friends cast about for another sport.
Gimli had made a small cart for Eldarion to ride in. He had outgrown it and it lay neglected in a corner, but with a length of stout rope to steer by Arin was soon careering down the gravel paths in the Steward's garden, stopping only by digging in his heels in a shower of stone chippings. The boys spent hours taking turns, pushing one another down the short track. Before Arin knew quite how the word had spread, 'carties' were the passion of the moment.
It was as well that it was winter - soon there was hardly a barrow left in the city with a front wheel and square apple baskets were become a unit of currency, but more, groups of friends began to vie for supremacy with the fastest cartie and all discovered that steep paved streets were more conducive to speed than soft gravel.
The first time that two of the speeding chariots had swept past the guards at the sixth level gate, the men had first stared open-mouthed and then cheered them on. The first cartie to make a run down through three levels was a thing of legend, even if the driver had been roundly chastised for having his baby sister in the basket behind him, but no-one in authority had foreseen the likelihood or indeed the impact of six carts careering through a crowded market.
The boys were 'really, really sorry, but if the donkey hadn't made Arin swerve and that merchant had piled his wares quite into the roadway.'
Employing all the dignity of his office, whilst endeavouring to keep a straight face, Boromir surveyed the miscreants before him, with bandaged heads and knees and torn clothes, several spattered with what the Healers had assured him was beetroot juice.
At their age, he thought, I was in the practice ring with a half-size blade, wondering if I would ever be man enough to wield the real thing. At their age, Gondor was close to starving and we had not the strength at the end of the day to play. A shuffling of feet from the small crowd of onlookers, brought him to a recognition of his clear duty.
The offending machines were confiscated, the damages totted up and costs divided between the boys' families and since they clearly had too much energy and too little self-control for the peace of the realm, they would be handed over for a time to the charge of the Rangers to be taught self-discipline - and so many other exciting-sounding things that the boys were equally hard-pressed not to grin back at their benefactor.
And so Minas Tirith returned to a dignified calm, broken only one night, quite inexplicably, by the thundering of wheels rushing past in a burst of laughter and what one dame swore was the King's voice shouting "Whoa!" - which was quite useless.
Summary: Going downhill fast...
Rated: G
Categories: LOTR FPS Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: No
Word count: 505 Read: 880
Published: 29 Jul 2009 Updated: 29 Jul 2009
Story Notes:
DISCLAIMER: "These characters originate with their copyright holders. I borrow them for entertainment, not profit."