Disclaimer: Tolkien’s patent – Kortirion’s just tinkering with the prototypes.
He was uncomfortable; heavy clothing stuck to his back and thighs, sweat trickled down his nose, wiped away impatiently with one hand. The afternoon sky was clouded grey, sullen with unreleased summer storms; greyer still, the two pigeons roosting side by side on the wall. In his mind’s eye he recalled plump pigeons skewered over a camp-fire and the companionable heat from the man beside him as they ate, later, becoming more than mere companions seeking warmth.
Familiar hands on his shoulders broke his reverie.
“Come, Gondor awaits her king.”
On impulse, Aragorn kissed his Steward lightly.
Surprised, Boromir blushed.