Hunting the Dragon
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate.
With thanks to Raksha.
"Brave Beren killed the wicked monster, Carcharoth. They all lived happily ever afterwards,” Aragorn told his son.
“Truly?” asked Eldarion. “There were no more monsters in the kingdom?”
“Not one,” Aragorn said firmly. “It is time to sleep now, ion nîn. I will tell you another story tomorrow.” He bent and tucked the covers around the little boy.
“Where is Smaug?” Eldarion asked sleepily.
Aragorn glanced around the room. He could see no sign of Eldarion’s favourite toy. “Is he not in bed with you?” the King asked, feeling under the covers. There was only a wriggling small boy there. Aragorn sighed. Doubtless, the toy was on the floor under the bed. Dropping on his hands and knees, he prepared to investigate. He found a ball, some marbles, and a half eaten cake, not to mention a great deal of dust. Of Smaug there was no sign.
Sneezing, Aragorn got to his feet, determining to have a stern word with the maid who was supposed to clean Eldarion’s room each morning. “Smaug is not there,” he told his son. “You will have to sleep with another toy tonight. What about Shadowfax?” The King picked up Eldarion’s toy horse from a shelf as he spoke.
“I don’t want Shadowfax! I want Smaug!” Eldarion’s lower lip began to tremble.
“Don’t cry, ion nîn, ada will find him for you,” Aragorn said reassuringly, repressing an inner groan. Arwen was attending an important meeting of the Weavers Guild and he had blithely assured her that he could settle Eldarion to sleep before she returned. “Your nanny will sit with you while I find your toy,” Aragorn told his son after vainly searching the rest of the room.
After checking with the woman that she had not seen the toy, Aragorn went in search of his friend and Steward. Faramir was good at solving problems and would surely know what to do. The Steward was fortunately in the Citadel to attend a Council Meeting upon the morrow.
“I wondered if you might know, since you grew up in the City, which craftsman made Smaug?” Aragorn asked after telling his friend his dilemma. “I thought we could tell the man we urgently required another dragon.”
“Have you forgotten, mellon nîn, that the toy was a birthday gift for Eldarion from King Thranduil?” said Faramir.
Aragorn buried his face in his hands. He could hardly send a messenger to Eryn Lasgalen to return with a new toy that night.
“A toy dragon cannot have flown too far,” Faramir said hopefully. ”We will just have to hunt for it in all the places where Eldarion has been this day. The guards and servants can assist us.”
Soon Aragorn’s apartments were in an uproar as every cushion was moved, every chair looked under, and every cupboard turned out. The cook even looked in the ovens, while the Master of Hounds searched the kennels. High and low they searched, but there was no sign of Smaug.
“Whatever is going on?” Arwen answered, entering with two of her ladies.
“Eldarion has lost his favourite toy, vanimelda, and cannot go to sleep without it!” Aragorn explained. “We have hunted everywhere in vain!”
“Have you tried the Great Hall?” asked Arwen.
“Eldarion does not go in there!” Aragorn protested.
“Don’t you remember anything?” chided the Queen. “I brought him in to see you in your crown and robes this morning after you had judged the prisoners.”
“Of course!” said Aragorn. ”I have had such a busy day that this morning's judgments seemed to have passed a long time ago!”
King, Queen and Steward made their way to the Great Hall. There on the throne, grinning at them with finely carved jaws, sat Smaug.
Aragorn grabbed the toy and bore it in triumph to his son’s bedchamber only to find the child sleeping peacefully with his chubby fingers clasped around Shadowfax.
“I gave Master Eldarion his toy horse and told him to go to sleep,” said the nanny in reply to Aragorn’s query. “Good as gold, he was!”
King and Queen exchanged a rueful glance before placing Smaug on the bed and tiptoeing from the room.
“Eldarion was fast asleep clutching his toy horse!” Aragorn informed Faramir who was waiting outside. “Thank you for helping me search for Smaug.”
“I know how much a favourite toy means to a child,” said Faramir. “ I truly loved my wooden horse and a brightly covered picture book when I was Eldarion’s age.”
“I had a set of carved Elven warriors that I would play with until the colours wore away,” said Aragorn. “And then there was my favourite wooden sword....”
“Come and join us for dinner, Faramir,” said Arwen. “You can both tell me more about your favourite toys while we eat.”
“An excellent suggestion,” smiled Aragorn and after we have eaten I must show you the latest books I have acquired for the royal library."
Faramir’s eyes lit up with childlike joy.
Arwen suppressed a smile. It seemed that little boys never truly grew up.
A/N This is a longer version of a ficlet originally written for the AA Prompt. “Hunt”
This ficlet is complete in itself, but will be continued with a companion story.
A Tale of Telcontar.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Sunday, May 17, 2009
A Day at the Houses
The physician must not only be the healer, but often the consoler - Harriot K. Hunt
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With thanks to Virtuella and Raksha
Humming softly to himself, Aragorn, flanked by two guards, made his way to the Houses of Healing for his weekly visit. Out of all his duties, healing gave him the greatest satisfaction. Not only was it an opportunity to help his subjects, but also to meet them and learn about their joys and sorrows.
Dame Idril, a plump and pleasant faced woman in her middle years, who cared for many of the women and children, met him at the door, a troubled expression on her face. “I am glad you are here, my lord,” she said. “A woman was brought in with a high fever yesterday. She is very agitated and in great distress.”
“Athelas should help her,” said Aragorn and followed the woman in what had become a familiar routine as she ordered a servant to bring some hot water.
Within the hour, the sick woman was sleeping peacefully, her mind calmed and the fever abated by the athelas and Aragorn’s healing touch.
“Who else requires my help today?” Aragorn asked.
“Old Finnwyn is much troubled by painful ulcers on her legs, but I have no idea if she will see you or not,” said Idril. “She is quite a character!”
“Why not ask her?” Aragorn suggested.
He followed Idril to Finnwyn’s room and waited outside the door.
“No, it isn’t proper, having a man in my room, it isn’t!” shouted an old woman’s voice from within.
“He is the King and a great healer too,” Idril reasoned.
“Well, he’s still a man, and I am not having a man in my bedroom,” Finnwyn said firmly. “I’ll box his ears if dares come near my bed, king or not!”
Idril emerged from the room and closed the door behind her. ”I fear the lady says no,” she replied.
Aragorn smiled wryly. ”She is not the first patient to refuse my help, and it is her right. I will send you some Elven salves which should aid her.”
Just then, Aragorn’s friend and fellow healer, Aedred, appeared. ”Pardon me, Mistress Idril,” he said, “but the Warden would welcome the King’s help in treating a man with a badly fractured leg. Poppy juice is not easing his pain.”
Aragorn followed the Rohirric healer to a room where the Warden, Tarostar, was trying to set a broken limb. Two assistants held down the writhing and screaming patient. Aragorn hastened to the bedside and gripped the man’s hand, laying his other hand on the sweat soaked brow. ”Easy, now, easy!” he said in a compelling yet soothing tone. He then closed his eyes and held his hands a few inches about the injured leg.
The patient’s breathing eased as the pain lessened. “Thank you," he whispered. He managed a faint smile. Aragorn then sent him into a healing slumber while his injury was treated.
“Thank you, my lord,” said Tarostar. “It should be a simple matter to set the broken bone now.”
“There is another patient I will take you to see,” said Aedred. ”One Amras, who was until recently apprenticed to a carpenter until he was dismissed for idleness. He is troubled by pains in his limbs, which render him unable to walk, and none here can find the cause. Master Tarostar has examined him, as have I. You are our last hope of determining his malady!”
“I am certain if anything serious ailed him, you would have found it,” said Aragorn. ”Nevertheless, I will see what I can do.”
Amras started to moan quietly as Aragorn and Aedred entered the room, and when Aragorn examined him, he screamed louder than the patient with the broken leg. Aragorn held his hands a few inches above the man’s limbs and frowned at his findings. ”This is a strange malady indeed, Master Aedred,” he said, winking at the Rohirric healer. ”The only way we can help this poor fellow is to amputate all his limbs, which I suggest we do immediately!”
With a loud cry of alarm, Amras leapt from the bed and grabbed his clothes. Still wearing his nightshirt, he fled from the room.
Aedred burst out laughing. ”One of your most miraculous cures yet, my lord!” he chuckled. ”We suspected he was in search of free bed and board, but had no way of proving it!”
“I could sense his limbs were sound” said Aragorn and grinned. ”Of course he had no way of knowing that. I doubt he will trouble you again unless a genuine malady afflicts him! Now who else do you want me to see?”
“I think that is all for today as -” Aedred was unable to finish the sentence because he was interrupted by a servant telling him that a youth had been admitted.
“You are welcome to come with me if you have the time, my lord,” said the healer as he bustled off to see his next patient.
“I am always happy to assist you,” said Aragorn, easily outpacing his companion.
They found the boy, who appeared to be about seventeen years of age, lying on a bed looking rather pale and clutching his chest.
“What happened, lad?” Aragorn asked kindly.
“I went to visit my sweetheart and we were just exchanging a kiss.” The boy flashed scarlet.
“Only a kiss?” Aedred asked sternly.
“I swear it was, master,” said the boy. ”Her brother objected, though, as he came back from market at just the wrong moment. He punched me and I fell against a table.”
“Let me have a look and see what the damage is,” said Aragorn, while Aedred helped the unhappy boy to remove his tunic and shirt and covered him with a blanket. ”Now where does it hurt?”
“Here,” said the boy, gesturing to the ribs on his left side.
“I fear you have two cracked ribs, lad,” said Aragorn as he skilfully examined the youth. “I will ease your pain as best I can, but you will have to rest while they heal. And resting includes not visiting young ladies with protective brothers!”
“Yes, Master Healer,” said the boy who obviously did not recognise the King, though he looked puzzled when Aragorn eased his pain by holding his hands a few inches above the injury before applying a salve made from comfrey leaves.
“You can stay here overnight,” said Aedred. “You ought to be able to go home tomorrow. I will fetch you a nightshirt to wear.”
He left the room, accompanied by Aragorn.
“I think he will be well, but send for me if he has any difficulty breathing during the night,” said Aragorn.
“Injuries like this must seem very mundane for a healer who has healed the Black Breath and terrible battle wounds,” Aedred remarked.
“How much better things are, though,” said the King. “A few years ago, a boy of this age would be fighting orcs. I have seen far younger ones die among the Northern Dúnedain fighting for their lives and everything they hold dear. I would prefer by far to be tending the victims of love rather than war.”
The physician must not only be the healer, but often the consoler - Harriot K. Hunt
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With thanks to Virtuella and Raksha
Humming softly to himself, Aragorn, flanked by two guards, made his way to the Houses of Healing for his weekly visit. Out of all his duties, healing gave him the greatest satisfaction. Not only was it an opportunity to help his subjects, but also to meet them and learn about their joys and sorrows.
Dame Idril, a plump and pleasant faced woman in her middle years, who cared for many of the women and children, met him at the door, a troubled expression on her face. “I am glad you are here, my lord,” she said. “A woman was brought in with a high fever yesterday. She is very agitated and in great distress.”
“Athelas should help her,” said Aragorn and followed the woman in what had become a familiar routine as she ordered a servant to bring some hot water.
Within the hour, the sick woman was sleeping peacefully, her mind calmed and the fever abated by the athelas and Aragorn’s healing touch.
“Who else requires my help today?” Aragorn asked.
“Old Finnwyn is much troubled by painful ulcers on her legs, but I have no idea if she will see you or not,” said Idril. “She is quite a character!”
“Why not ask her?” Aragorn suggested.
He followed Idril to Finnwyn’s room and waited outside the door.
“No, it isn’t proper, having a man in my room, it isn’t!” shouted an old woman’s voice from within.
“He is the King and a great healer too,” Idril reasoned.
“Well, he’s still a man, and I am not having a man in my bedroom,” Finnwyn said firmly. “I’ll box his ears if dares come near my bed, king or not!”
Idril emerged from the room and closed the door behind her. ”I fear the lady says no,” she replied.
Aragorn smiled wryly. ”She is not the first patient to refuse my help, and it is her right. I will send you some Elven salves which should aid her.”
Just then, Aragorn’s friend and fellow healer, Aedred, appeared. ”Pardon me, Mistress Idril,” he said, “but the Warden would welcome the King’s help in treating a man with a badly fractured leg. Poppy juice is not easing his pain.”
Aragorn followed the Rohirric healer to a room where the Warden, Tarostar, was trying to set a broken limb. Two assistants held down the writhing and screaming patient. Aragorn hastened to the bedside and gripped the man’s hand, laying his other hand on the sweat soaked brow. ”Easy, now, easy!” he said in a compelling yet soothing tone. He then closed his eyes and held his hands a few inches about the injured leg.
The patient’s breathing eased as the pain lessened. “Thank you," he whispered. He managed a faint smile. Aragorn then sent him into a healing slumber while his injury was treated.
“Thank you, my lord,” said Tarostar. “It should be a simple matter to set the broken bone now.”
“There is another patient I will take you to see,” said Aedred. ”One Amras, who was until recently apprenticed to a carpenter until he was dismissed for idleness. He is troubled by pains in his limbs, which render him unable to walk, and none here can find the cause. Master Tarostar has examined him, as have I. You are our last hope of determining his malady!”
“I am certain if anything serious ailed him, you would have found it,” said Aragorn. ”Nevertheless, I will see what I can do.”
Amras started to moan quietly as Aragorn and Aedred entered the room, and when Aragorn examined him, he screamed louder than the patient with the broken leg. Aragorn held his hands a few inches above the man’s limbs and frowned at his findings. ”This is a strange malady indeed, Master Aedred,” he said, winking at the Rohirric healer. ”The only way we can help this poor fellow is to amputate all his limbs, which I suggest we do immediately!”
With a loud cry of alarm, Amras leapt from the bed and grabbed his clothes. Still wearing his nightshirt, he fled from the room.
Aedred burst out laughing. ”One of your most miraculous cures yet, my lord!” he chuckled. ”We suspected he was in search of free bed and board, but had no way of proving it!”
“I could sense his limbs were sound” said Aragorn and grinned. ”Of course he had no way of knowing that. I doubt he will trouble you again unless a genuine malady afflicts him! Now who else do you want me to see?”
“I think that is all for today as -” Aedred was unable to finish the sentence because he was interrupted by a servant telling him that a youth had been admitted.
“You are welcome to come with me if you have the time, my lord,” said the healer as he bustled off to see his next patient.
“I am always happy to assist you,” said Aragorn, easily outpacing his companion.
They found the boy, who appeared to be about seventeen years of age, lying on a bed looking rather pale and clutching his chest.
“What happened, lad?” Aragorn asked kindly.
“I went to visit my sweetheart and we were just exchanging a kiss.” The boy flashed scarlet.
“Only a kiss?” Aedred asked sternly.
“I swear it was, master,” said the boy. ”Her brother objected, though, as he came back from market at just the wrong moment. He punched me and I fell against a table.”
“Let me have a look and see what the damage is,” said Aragorn, while Aedred helped the unhappy boy to remove his tunic and shirt and covered him with a blanket. ”Now where does it hurt?”
“Here,” said the boy, gesturing to the ribs on his left side.
“I fear you have two cracked ribs, lad,” said Aragorn as he skilfully examined the youth. “I will ease your pain as best I can, but you will have to rest while they heal. And resting includes not visiting young ladies with protective brothers!”
“Yes, Master Healer,” said the boy who obviously did not recognise the King, though he looked puzzled when Aragorn eased his pain by holding his hands a few inches above the injury before applying a salve made from comfrey leaves.
“You can stay here overnight,” said Aedred. “You ought to be able to go home tomorrow. I will fetch you a nightshirt to wear.”
He left the room, accompanied by Aragorn.
“I think he will be well, but send for me if he has any difficulty breathing during the night,” said Aragorn.
“Injuries like this must seem very mundane for a healer who has healed the Black Breath and terrible battle wounds,” Aedred remarked.
“How much better things are, though,” said the King. “A few years ago, a boy of this age would be fighting orcs. I have seen far younger ones die among the Northern Dúnedain fighting for their lives and everything they hold dear. I would prefer by far to be tending the victims of love rather than war.”
Saturday, May 02, 2009
Alphabet of Arda
Alphabet of Arda by Linda Hoyland
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Alphabet of Arda
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate.No profit has been,nor will be made from this story.
A = Antagonistic Arwen or a Hundred Rampaging Orcs?
A quartet of drabbles jointly written with Raksha the Demon for the Antagonistic Arwen challenge in the There and Back Again LJ community
I.
“Can you imagine the pair, brother?” asked Rúmil of Orophin, newly returned from Lórien’s borders. “The Lady’s grand-daughter choosing a mortal wanderer, on Cerin Amroth itself!”
“A pity.” Orophin answered. “Undómiel could have wed any Elf, yet will lower herself to a Man‘s bed. Strange tastes must run in her Peredhel blood.”
“Lower?” A chill voice spoke. They turned and beheld the Evenstar herself, in a pale cold fury. “You speak ignorance. Perhaps you might speak again, with more care.”
Later, the brothers agreed that they would prefer tracking a hundred rampaging Orcs to raising the ire of Arwen Undómiel.
II.
“You wounded my husband!”
Éomer had meant to mumble some excuse, but he could not. The Queen’s eyes seemed to pierce the depths of his soul. “We were sparring and I was careless,” he confessed.” My folly grieves me deeply.”
Arwen slowly rose from her chair. He quailed before her piercing gaze. How could one so fair be so terrible? Yet, was she not kinswoman to the Sorceress of the Golden Wood? Far rather would he face a hundred rampaging Orcs than this woman’s wrath. For a moment, she glared at him, then swept purposefully from the room.
Éomer shuddered.
III
“What have you done to him?” Arwen Undómiel stood tall and fell, eyes blazing silver fire. Though Faramir had long withstood his father‘s withering stare, he was unused to such wrath in Aragorn’s gentle Queen. He would rather face a hundred rampaging Orcs, for at least he knew how to fight them.
Faramir rose shakily. “My lady, the King is merely resting. We finished the trade agreement…”
The King in question grinned cheerily, cup in hand. “Vanimelda! Drink with us! ’Tis-it is a new batch of Dorwinion.”
“So I see,” she said, her face softening. “Well, let us celebrate together.”
IV
“How could you, Estel?” Arwen glared at her husband while contemplating her bedraggled son. “You both look as if you had been dragged through a hedge backwards”
“We were,” Aragorn admitted wryly. ”I was showing him how Rangers concealed themselves.”
“His tunic, which I embroidered, is ruined!”
Aragorn quailed. He would rather face a hundred rampaging Orcs than his angry wife.” I am sorry, beloved, the work of your hands is wondrous fair, but is this son we made together not fairer still?”
“It is your bedtime, Eldarion.” Arwen’s expression suggested she would not be angry for long. “Estel, come!”
A/N Drabbles I & III written by Raksha,Drabbles 11 and IV by Linda
Icons by Elanordh
B = Bathing Boromir
With grateful thanks to Raksha
Room Service
“Your towels, sir,”
“Bring them in.”
Somewhat timidly, the maid entered.
Boromir, lounging in the largest tub the inn could provide, seemed unperturbed by her presence.
The girl knew she should avert her eyes, yet could not help but steal a glance at the firmly muscled chest and broad shoulders of the Steward’s heir.
“Hand me one, please.”
She did so, turning to leave as he rose from the water, oddly reluctant to do so.
“Your supper is being prepared, my lord,” she said.
He smiled at her. “Why not stay and eat with me?”
Blushing, she nodded her assent.
Last Service
Aragorn gazed sadly at his fallen comrade. They had not been close friends. Many had been the disagreements between them. How could it be otherwise for two great warriors, born to lead Gondor when only one could rule?
Yet Aragorn’s grief was sincere. He had respected Boromir’s courage and prowess. He remembered him as a babe in arms, the darling of his proud parents.
Aragorn tore a strip from his shirt and soaked it in the river. With it he gently bathed the dead man’s face, washing away the blood and grime.
It was the last service he could render.
Icons by Fileg
C - like certain circumstances in the Citadel
Written for the "There and Back" challenge.
With thanks to Raksha.
At the doors of the Houses
“Have you heard Ioreth’s words? The King has returned!” “Impossible! The siege must have turned her wits!” “She saw it with her own eyes. He saved Lord Faramir from the Black Breath with his healing hands. So shall the rightful king be known, it is said.” “Look there he is! See the green stone he bears.“ “Lord Elfstone, my son lies close to death!” “Lord Elfstone, save my brother, please!”
“These are certainly momentous circumstances for all the city, from the Citadel to the Gates if the King truly has returned after so long.”
Intrigued, the crowd followed Aragorn.
Icon by Fileg
This is based of the following passage from "The Return of the King."
At the doors of the Houses many were already gathered to see Aragorn, and they followed after him; and when at last he had supped, men came and prayed that he would heal their kinsmen or their friends whose lives were in peril through hurt or wound, or who lay under the Black Shadow. And Aragorn arose and went out, and he sent for the sons of Elrond, and together they laboured far into the night. And word went through the City: ‘The King is come again indeed.’ And they named him Elfstone, because of the green stone that he wore, and so the name which it was foretold at his birth that he should bear was chosen for him by his own people.
D= A very dirty Dragon
An Unexpected Puddle
“Give it back!” demanded Eldarion.
His sister scampered through the gardens clutching his favourite toy. "I want it! “ she cried.
“It’s mine!” Eldarion made a grab for his treasure.
Angered, Farawyn threw it with all her might. It landed with a splash in a muddy puddle.
“No, look what you’ve done!” Eldarion exclaimed, wading in to retrieve his toy, oblivious of the mud staining his boots and breeches.
“Children, behave!” admonished their nanny; arriving on the scene
“Farawyn has ruined Smaug!” Eldarion wailed.
“Nonsense, soap and water can wash even a very dirty dragon clean!” nanny quickly reassured them.
E - like an evil Elrond
Harsh Healing
This is a sequel to "Odious Orcs". It is a parody,AU and not meant to be taken seriously.
“You are injured yet again? ”
“Legolas was tortured by Orcs, then fell from a tree and broke his ankle,” explained Aragorn.
“And what of you, my son? “ Elrond enquired, raising his eyebrows and regarding Aragorn, who was covered in blood.
“ I was shot by an arrow,” Aragorn explained.
“I will heal your hurts,” said Elrond, causing the friends to sigh with relief.
“Thank you, we can go on our hunting trip tomorrow, then!” smiled Aragorn.
“No, you shall not. I plan to lock you in the infirmary for the next month!” Elrond said with an evil grin.
And a more serious take ......
Consent
“I have told Aragorn he may have your hand in marriage,
Arwen’s face lit up.
“When he is King of both Gondor and Arnor,” Elrond continued.
Arwen’s eyes blazed. ”Ada, you cannot! That is cruel, that is evil! He is mortal, his days are not like ours.”
“Precisely, my child. You need time to reflect on your choice. Aragorn is great amongst Men, but he is still destined to die.”
“I have given him my heart and would know bliss as his wife!”
“Remember you have chosen a hard path,” Elrond replied. “Your doom will be bitter at the ending.”
Icons by fileg
F = Like a Fearful Faramir
Choosing
He had dreamed of the coming of the King, envisioned the dead tree blossoming and imagined Gondor renewed.
Now the King was here, greater by far than he had imagined, victor over Sauron, commander of the Army of the Dead and blessed with healing hands, those hands, which combined with words of kindness, had restored Faramir’s life.
His heart welcomed Aragorn. His head had doubts.
He recalled his father's scornful voice, calling him a wizard's pupil, comparing him to his brother. Denethor said Boromir would never put his trust in strangers.
Faramir made his choice. He would welcome his King.
Hoping
He had not been born to be Steward, far less to relinquish the Office of his longfathers
Was he right to do this, renounce the care of Gondor to this almost unknown heir of Isildur? What if the man proved a tyrant?
Yet, his foresight told him, he was right to yield. Had Aragorn not saved his life, even though he could have barred his path to the throne?
His new lord approached. His piercing yet kindly gaze met Faramir’s .He knew then that he could trust this new King
All fears forgotten, Faramir knelt and proffered the White Rod
Waiting
Faramir paced the room for the hundredth time.
“Try not to worry, mellon nîn, she is strong and the midwife is skilled,” Aragorn soothed, getting up from his seat and placing a reassuring hand on Faramir’s shoulder.
“I know but much can go wrong,” Faramir fretted. ”It is taking so long!”
A scream pierced the air, followed by a high-pitched wail. Faramir shuddered and buried his face in his hands.
Arwen entered the room, a broad smile on her face.” You have a fine son, and Éowyn is well,” she announced.
Faramir’s fears evaporated like mist under a rising sun.
A/N When I write, I imagine Faramir with dark hair,grey eyes and carven features, like Aragorn
Icons by Fileg
G = Like a Gasping Galadriel
Glimpse of Glory
He would yield it so easily?
Measureless might was within her grasp!
Lothlórien need not fail. Her fair Realm could endure as long as Arda lasted.
The Mallorns would even bloom in winter. Blossoms would spring up wherever she trod. Elanor and niphredil would flourish in every field. Cerin Amroth would be the centre of a vast kingdom.
She could widen her borders; all would bow before her, the beautiful and terrible Queen!
Galadriel gasped; if she took it, she would swiftly fall as low as Sauron.
Suddenly, the glorious vision faded. She smiled wistfully at Frodo and remained Galadriel
H = Like a Hale Halbarad
Hail and Farewell
I was glad to be granted a last moment with one who was like a brother.
Despite his pain, he smiled, grasping my hand. I remembered our first meeting, he was yet hale, a man already in his prime, when I was but a gangling youth. Initial reserve soon turned to close friendship. He saved my life many times. Alas, I could not save his.
“Do not grieve,” he whispered. ”I foresaw this ending. I die content. You will triumph, Envinyatar!”
He sighed and breathes his last. Silently, he moved beyond this world.
Alas, Halbarad! The victory was dearly bought.
I - like inspiring Ilúvatar.
The Bower
Arwen sat in her bower surrounded by the fairest blossoms. She sang sweetly to herself, while working at her embroidery. Beside her Eldarion sat on a blanket, playing with his toys.
Unobserved, Aragorn entered the garden and stood watching his wife and son, his heart filled with love at the fair sight they presented.
Surely the music of the Ainur could not have sounded so beautiful as Arwen’s song? Yet was it not itself part of that music? Had Ilúvatar inspired every note, or had the creation in turn inspired the creator?
Only Ilúvatar knew the answer to his question.
icon by elanordh
J- like juggling the jewels of Fëanor.
All in a Day's Work
Aragorn sat down at his desk and began working on the stack of paperwork that governing the Reunited Kingdom entailed. It was important the treaty with Harad should be finalised today.
The door opened and a small head peeped through. ”Ada, will you play with me?”
“Later, Eldarion, when I have finished my work.
A few minutes later the door opened again, this time to admit his wife.
“Estel, I am waiting for you to come to lunch.”
“Of course, vanimelda, as soon as I have read these documents.”
Aragorn sighed; being King was like juggling the jewels of Fëanor!
icon by fileg
K = Like Kissing the King of Númenor
Kissing Hope
He had looked like an Elven lord when I first beheld him again, or even the King of Men he was born to be.
Now he comes to take his leave of me, humbly attired again in his worn raiment.
He takes my hand. “I do not know what may befall ere we see each other again," he sighs.
“You are my Estel and I have hope you will prevail," I tell him.
His lips meet mine, a touch both tender and ardent. Were he King of Númenor, his kisses could not be sweeter.
King or Ranger, I love him.
Kissing Hands
He sits high upon the throne, mighty and glorious. The Sea of Kings of Old must have looked thus in their prime.
I wonder if even at the height of its splendour, was any King of Númenor more lordly.
The greatest in Gondor wait in line to pledge their fealty to Aragorn Elessar. As Steward it falls first to me, to kneel and kiss his hand.
I could have been in his place, save on a lowlier seat. It troubles me not.
I know now what my dream foretold; not destruction, but that Númenor would rise again from the depths.
icons by fileg
L= Like the Legacy of Legolas
Enduring Legacy
With grateful thanks to Raksha
Land that was once desolate now bloomed. Shoots sprang from the saplings planted over what was once laid waste.
Flowers blossomed profusely amongst the verdant grasses.
Elves sang as they lovingly tended the young trees.
“You have worked marvels here, my friend,” said Aragorn, looking around him. “The land flourishes again under your watchful care. Gondor needs Elves to help restore the bounty she once enjoyed.”
“This is my legacy, “ said Legolas. “When I am gone, I hope folk will walk here and remember the Firstborn. These trees will outlast many generations of Men.”
Overhead, the gulls screamed mournfully.
icon by fileg
M = Like Marrying Merry
A puzzlement
With thanks to Raksha
“You wish to wed the Steward of Gondor?” Éomer sounded incredulous. ”The last time I saw you, sister, you were in love with Aragorn and would consider no other!”
“That was but a young maid’s fancy,” Éowyn replied. ”I have found true love now. Faramir is the right man for me. Marrying Aragorn would be as absurd as marrying Merry. I love them both as friends and sword - brothers, but could never consider joining in wedlock with either.”
Éomer shook his head in bewilderment. He would never comprehend women, even if he had a Númenorean lifespan in which to try.
icon by fileg
N = Like Nimble Nimrodel
With thanks to Raksha
A Playful Puppy
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. With thanks to Raksha.
Aragorn smiled indulgently while Eldarion raced around the garden with his new puppy, a birthday gift from Faramir and Éowyn.
Eldarion threw a stick, which the pup swiftly retrieved, no matter in which direction the boy threw it. Gracefully, she leapt and chased and dived, always one step ahead of the young prince.
“The Nimrodel herself could hardly be more nimble,” Arwen observed, joining her husband on the bench. “Have you chosen a name for her yet, Eldarion? “ she called.
“Nimrodel is pretty, I will call her that,” he replied.
The pup wagged her tail as if in approval.
icon by Raksha
O - like an Ornery Oromë.
Unhappy Hunting
“I must be loosing my old Ranger skills,” Faramir lamented. “I have failed to catch anything.”
“So have I.” Aragorn joined his friend in the forest clearing.
“How our wives will tease us!” groaned Aragorn. “I wanted to show Arwen I was still as skilled a hunter and tracker as in my youth.”
“Maybe it was not a good idea to promise to provide a deer for the banquet,” the Steward said dolefully. “I thought Oromë would smile on us, since we kill only for need, not pleasure.”
Aragorn grimaced ruefully. “Perhaps he simply awoke in an ill mood today.”
icon by NiRi
P = Like a Pink Pippin
With thanks to Raksha
A pastry for Pippin
Have this, it’s freshly baked!” Bergil pressed a pastry into Pippin’s hand.
The Hobbit hesitated. ”Well, I shouldn’t really, I’m on duty.”
“No one will know. Besides, you look hungry.”
“I am, they don’t seem to know about elevenses here!”
Pippin could no longer resist and took a large mouthful.
Just then, Aragorn, followed by a crowd of lords, emerged from the Hall.
Pippin deftly concealed the pastry, swallowed quickly and started to cough.
“Are you quite well, Sir Peregrin?” enquired the King.
“I’m in the pink, thank you, Strider,” the Hobbit replied, flushing.
Aragorn winked knowingly and moved on.
icon by NiRi
Q - like a querulous Quickbeam
Co-written with Raksha
Lament for the lost
"Alas for the Ents, to have lost all trace of their wives!” exclaimed Aragorn with the pity only a recent bridegroom could feel. He fingered the keys thoughtfully. ”Might they now return?”
“I met Quickbeam and his wife, Silverbark, long before Numenor fell," Galadriel recounted. "She was fair as a Mallorn in springtime. But they quarrelled often, being of different tempers. When she sang to the wind, he would have her be silent. After she left, Quickbeam sang of his loss, hoping that the winds would carry his regret to her. Now he has grown querulous, and sings no more."
icon by Nerwende
R - Like a Radiant Radagast
With thanks to Raksha.
Radiance
Oblivious that he was observed, the boy gazed enraptured at the robin perched on a branch mere inches away from his face.
Only when its mate called from the far site of the garden, did the bird fly away.
“Mithrandir!” the boy rose to his feet. “It is good to see you again, but why are you smiling so?”
“You reminded me of an old friend then, Faramir,” the wizard said. “ Radagast alone could be so radiant in the company of wild things as you are. He would sit enthralled, surrounded by birds and beasts; taming them by his presence.”
icon by iconsfromhome
S like a Sordid Sauron
Phoenix Rising
Head bowed, the young Steward picked this way through the rubble. Mithrandir had advised against it, yet he felt he must see where his father had died. He swallowed hard. It was such a sordid way for a great lord to perish.
“It was Sauron’s doing. He destroyed your father’s mind.”
Faramir started at the King’s voice. “How can you be so certain, my lord?” he enquired.
“I too, encountered the Dark Lord in the palantír. Merry later told me that it seemed I had aged twenty years in one night. It was a bitter struggle, ere I bent it to my will.”
“You triumphed, though, unlike my father.”
“Do not forget that I am Isildur’s heir. I used the stone but once,” Aragorn said gently.
“Alas, that my father ever touched the cursed stone!” Faramir said bitterly. ”Our House now lies in ruin, our honour shattered like these walls.”
“I think not,” Aragorn replied, placing a comforting hand on the distressed young Steward’s shoulder. ”Your father acted unwisely, yet ‘twas out of love for Gondor and her people. Sauron’s sordid schemes did not prevail.”
“You restored our hope,” said Faramir.
“Together we will build Gondor anew,” the King smiled.
icon by nerwende
T - Like a Turgid Turgon
Unwillingly to school
Your tutor tells me you have not been paying attention,” Faramir said sternly.
“I hate history!” Elboron grumbled. ”Nothing but turgid prose about long dead people! What do they matter now?”
Faramir picked up the book studied it. ”These people were your longfathers, Turgon, your great-great grandfather, for example, saw Sauron again take up residence again in Mordor.
“They are still dull,” Elboron protested.
“Had Turgon not lived, you would not be here today,” Faramir informed him dryly.
“Truly?”
“Yes, truly, think on that, ion nîn.”
“Perhaps he is not so turgid after all.” Elboron finally settled with his book.
U - Like Unsavoury Urges in Umbar
Temptation
With thanks to Raksha
Want some company, traveller?"
The man, who was elsewhere called Thorongil, looked up from his drink to meet the girl's eyes. She was pretty for a tavern pleasure-woman, still young with clear skin and lustrous black hair, which reminded him of Arwen's.
Arwen! How he ached for her presence.
"Does she not please you?" The innkeeper's voice interrupted his reverie. The girl's eyes widened with fear. Thorongil knew she would be punished if he rejected her.
"She pleases me." He tossed the man a coin.
The girl led him by the hand towards the stalls at the back. The cries of pleasure from behind the curtains left no doubt as to the nature of the customers' gratification.
"Come!" She slowly started to unfasten her robe, revealing shapely curves beneath it. Swiftly, Thorongil averted his eyes.
He sat stiffly on the edge of the bed. "I must go now," he told his companion.
"I thought you wanted pleasure?"
What man does not? Thorongil thought. But one alone can satisfy me.
"There is no need for shyness." She sat down beside him. Suddenly, she was kissing him, her full sensuous mouth pressing against his own. Her hands fumbled with Thorongil's robe. Her silken tresses fell across his face. They smelt of jasmine.
He was a man. She was a woman and a fair one.
Thorongil hastily rose to his feet. "My friends await me," he lied. "I will tell your master you pleased me greatly."
"I do not understand."
"I cannot give myself to you. I must prove worthy of my heart's desire."
He stumbled out into the street; eager to put this place and its unsavoury temptations behind him. The sooner he could leave Umbar the better.
If he could not be joined with Arwen, he would remain forever alone.
Icon specially created for me by Fileg
V = Like Visiting Varda
With grateful thanks to Raksha.
The characters are the property of the Tolkien estate.
Soaring to the Stars
He kissed her. At first tenderly, almost as if he feared she might break; then with increasing ardour when she responded with a passion equal to his own.
His arms entwined around her. She nestled into his embrace, revelling in his arms both gentle and strong. Lovingly, he stroked her tender skin.
“Arwen, vanimelda!” he whispered, his voice husky with desire.
Gladly she surrendered, giving her all and in giving; receiving bliss.
She had anticipated this moment for so long, but could never have imagined its sheer rapture. Soaring to the stars visiting Varda's domain could not bring more joy.
icon by Fileg
W = Like Wet Wargs
A Narrow Escape
Run!” cried Aragorn. “We are outnumbered; make for the bridge!"
Halbarad followed in haste, hoping the three wargs would not dare pursue them.
The bridge was a makeshift affair, little more than two rotting planks, which threatened to give way and tumble the men into the raging waters.
“They follow!” Halbarad cried as both men reached the other shore.
Aragorn dislodged a rock and aimed it at the rickety timbers, hoping to weaken them.
The wargs followed. Unable to bear their weight, the planks splintered and snapped.
Aragorn and Halbarad made good their escape, leaving the wet wargs far behind.
icon elea
X - like excruciating exertions
on the way to that crucial cross
on the mouldering map.
Explorers
“Ada, I’m tired,” wailed Farawyn.
“Girls always complain!” retorted Eldarion.
“It is not far now according to the plan. Come, Farawyn, I will carry you. Eldarion, you take the map. Be careful, it is very old!” Aragorn scooped up his little daughter in his arms, realising her short legs could carry her no further.
The children, always fascinated by their father’s tales of summoning the Army of the Dead, were eager to see where he had emerged from the mountain.
They proceeded in silence for a while. Aragorn called a halt to study the map when he found no trace of the doorway under the mountain.
“We are lost, I fear,” he conceded.
“Naneth said you were the greatest tracker on Arda!” Eldarion said reproachfully.
Farawyn burst into tears.
“I have endured many long and arduous wanderings during my life,” their father told them. “This is but a minor setback. It was dark when I was last here and I was weary.“ He studied the map again, then looked around him. ”Now I remember! We should have turned left half a league ago.”
The children brightened and there was a new spring in Eldarion’s steps when he followed his father. Farawyn contentedly tightened her chubby arms around him.
“Here we are,” announced Aragorn after a short walk.
“Let me down, Ada!”
“The ghosts will get you!” Eldarion warned.
“I released them long ere you were born,” Aragorn reassured the little girl.
“I’m not scared with you, ada,” said Farawyn. “I’m an explorer now, overcoming exhausting exertions just like you used to!”
Aragorn laughed, then lovingly embraced both children. Together with his fair Arwen, they were the true destination of all his arduous journeys.
icon vana_tuiva
Y - like a yawning Yavanna.
Harvest
The King and Queen sat upon makeshift thrones erected on the Pelennor, watching the Harvest celebrations .It had been a good year and the people had assembled to give thanks to Yavanna for her bounty.
Children danced and presented offerings of sheaves of grain and baskets of fruit and flowers.
Aragorn and Arwen smiled enjoying the obvious happiness of their young subjects.
Then came the speeches. One by one the farmers rose and detailed their crop yields and their gratitude to the Valar for the fruitfulness of the land.
Aragorn’s eyelids began to droop. Arwen surreptitiously nudged him back to full wakefulness. “Try to look interested, beloved,” she chided.
“I am doing my best, but these speeches!” the King grumbled.
“If you are bored, you think how poor Yavanna must be yawning having to listen to them throughout Arda!” the Queen responded. ”You have to preside over but one celebration!”
“Then I must be grateful,” Aragorn replied.
When the next speech was concluded, the King rose from his seat and said in a loud voice. “People of Gondor, my brothers and sisters. Let us rejoice today. Freed from the shadow, our beloved land is bountifully blessed! Yavanna be praised!”
icon ladyelleth
Z - like zooming around Zirakzigil.
Co written with Raksha.
This, I think was the hardest of the lot. After a fruitless struggle to make something out of this prompt, Raksha and I worked on it together and she came up with this, which was based on my original idea.
But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.
Wings of Eagles
Isaiah 40:31
The ravens had marked the Battle of the Peak. Fierce flared the flames when wizard and Balrog zoomed ‘round Zirak-zigil in celestial combat.
Vultures and crows watched the wizard die. Yet they kept their distance, for he was more than mortal, and they refused to rend the flesh of one from the West. They squawked and cawed in surprise when he returned, and flew away in the light of his awakening.
The lord of the Eagles came last to Zirik-zigil, sent by Galadriel, gliding down the air on great wings that gleamed in the wintry sun. He screamed his joy when he sighted his old friend, for Gandalf still lived.
Gwaihir took up the naked wizard as gently as he would grasp one of his own newborn chicks. Back to Caras Galadon he gladly bore his burden. Around the Windlord flew many birds, shield and sigil to the new-made White Wizard: Falcons, hawks, wedges of winter-roaming geese, and finally, an exultation of trilling larks to trumpet the return of Gandalf the White.
The Eagle bowed his head to the Lady, and she thanked him for his strength and speed. “Tell your brothers,” Galadriel said; “That the tide shall yet turn.”
A/N
wedge of geese came from the Collective Nouns List found from researching Terms of Venery at Wikipedia.com:
exultation of larks came from my own memory of the term being one of the Terms of Venery.
This was my original uninspired effort.
Gwaihir willingly bore his burden. Lighter than a feather he seemed, clothed only in the sun’s rays.
The Lady of the Golden Wood had sent him hither. Fierce flickered the flames when wizard and Balrog were zooming around zirakzigil, locked in celestial combat.
Happy was I that the Valar spared their servant. No mortal man but Maiar he.
Higher we rose above the clouds. The frail body seemed aglow, as if the Balrog burned away all earthly essences.
Gladly Galadriel greeted us; the wisest of women bade me tell my brothers that the tide was turning. I played my part.
Alphabet of Arda by Linda Hoyland
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Alphabet of Arda
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate.No profit has been,nor will be made from this story.
A = Antagonistic Arwen or a Hundred Rampaging Orcs?
A quartet of drabbles jointly written with Raksha the Demon for the Antagonistic Arwen challenge in the There and Back Again LJ community
I.
“Can you imagine the pair, brother?” asked Rúmil of Orophin, newly returned from Lórien’s borders. “The Lady’s grand-daughter choosing a mortal wanderer, on Cerin Amroth itself!”
“A pity.” Orophin answered. “Undómiel could have wed any Elf, yet will lower herself to a Man‘s bed. Strange tastes must run in her Peredhel blood.”
“Lower?” A chill voice spoke. They turned and beheld the Evenstar herself, in a pale cold fury. “You speak ignorance. Perhaps you might speak again, with more care.”
Later, the brothers agreed that they would prefer tracking a hundred rampaging Orcs to raising the ire of Arwen Undómiel.
II.
“You wounded my husband!”
Éomer had meant to mumble some excuse, but he could not. The Queen’s eyes seemed to pierce the depths of his soul. “We were sparring and I was careless,” he confessed.” My folly grieves me deeply.”
Arwen slowly rose from her chair. He quailed before her piercing gaze. How could one so fair be so terrible? Yet, was she not kinswoman to the Sorceress of the Golden Wood? Far rather would he face a hundred rampaging Orcs than this woman’s wrath. For a moment, she glared at him, then swept purposefully from the room.
Éomer shuddered.
III
“What have you done to him?” Arwen Undómiel stood tall and fell, eyes blazing silver fire. Though Faramir had long withstood his father‘s withering stare, he was unused to such wrath in Aragorn’s gentle Queen. He would rather face a hundred rampaging Orcs, for at least he knew how to fight them.
Faramir rose shakily. “My lady, the King is merely resting. We finished the trade agreement…”
The King in question grinned cheerily, cup in hand. “Vanimelda! Drink with us! ’Tis-it is a new batch of Dorwinion.”
“So I see,” she said, her face softening. “Well, let us celebrate together.”
IV
“How could you, Estel?” Arwen glared at her husband while contemplating her bedraggled son. “You both look as if you had been dragged through a hedge backwards”
“We were,” Aragorn admitted wryly. ”I was showing him how Rangers concealed themselves.”
“His tunic, which I embroidered, is ruined!”
Aragorn quailed. He would rather face a hundred rampaging Orcs than his angry wife.” I am sorry, beloved, the work of your hands is wondrous fair, but is this son we made together not fairer still?”
“It is your bedtime, Eldarion.” Arwen’s expression suggested she would not be angry for long. “Estel, come!”
A/N Drabbles I & III written by Raksha,Drabbles 11 and IV by Linda
Icons by Elanordh
B = Bathing Boromir
With grateful thanks to Raksha
Room Service
“Your towels, sir,”
“Bring them in.”
Somewhat timidly, the maid entered.
Boromir, lounging in the largest tub the inn could provide, seemed unperturbed by her presence.
The girl knew she should avert her eyes, yet could not help but steal a glance at the firmly muscled chest and broad shoulders of the Steward’s heir.
“Hand me one, please.”
She did so, turning to leave as he rose from the water, oddly reluctant to do so.
“Your supper is being prepared, my lord,” she said.
He smiled at her. “Why not stay and eat with me?”
Blushing, she nodded her assent.
Last Service
Aragorn gazed sadly at his fallen comrade. They had not been close friends. Many had been the disagreements between them. How could it be otherwise for two great warriors, born to lead Gondor when only one could rule?
Yet Aragorn’s grief was sincere. He had respected Boromir’s courage and prowess. He remembered him as a babe in arms, the darling of his proud parents.
Aragorn tore a strip from his shirt and soaked it in the river. With it he gently bathed the dead man’s face, washing away the blood and grime.
It was the last service he could render.
Icons by Fileg
C - like certain circumstances in the Citadel
Written for the "There and Back" challenge.
With thanks to Raksha.
At the doors of the Houses
“Have you heard Ioreth’s words? The King has returned!” “Impossible! The siege must have turned her wits!” “She saw it with her own eyes. He saved Lord Faramir from the Black Breath with his healing hands. So shall the rightful king be known, it is said.” “Look there he is! See the green stone he bears.“ “Lord Elfstone, my son lies close to death!” “Lord Elfstone, save my brother, please!”
“These are certainly momentous circumstances for all the city, from the Citadel to the Gates if the King truly has returned after so long.”
Intrigued, the crowd followed Aragorn.
Icon by Fileg
This is based of the following passage from "The Return of the King."
At the doors of the Houses many were already gathered to see Aragorn, and they followed after him; and when at last he had supped, men came and prayed that he would heal their kinsmen or their friends whose lives were in peril through hurt or wound, or who lay under the Black Shadow. And Aragorn arose and went out, and he sent for the sons of Elrond, and together they laboured far into the night. And word went through the City: ‘The King is come again indeed.’ And they named him Elfstone, because of the green stone that he wore, and so the name which it was foretold at his birth that he should bear was chosen for him by his own people.
D= A very dirty Dragon
An Unexpected Puddle
“Give it back!” demanded Eldarion.
His sister scampered through the gardens clutching his favourite toy. "I want it! “ she cried.
“It’s mine!” Eldarion made a grab for his treasure.
Angered, Farawyn threw it with all her might. It landed with a splash in a muddy puddle.
“No, look what you’ve done!” Eldarion exclaimed, wading in to retrieve his toy, oblivious of the mud staining his boots and breeches.
“Children, behave!” admonished their nanny; arriving on the scene
“Farawyn has ruined Smaug!” Eldarion wailed.
“Nonsense, soap and water can wash even a very dirty dragon clean!” nanny quickly reassured them.
E - like an evil Elrond
Harsh Healing
This is a sequel to "Odious Orcs". It is a parody,AU and not meant to be taken seriously.
“You are injured yet again? ”
“Legolas was tortured by Orcs, then fell from a tree and broke his ankle,” explained Aragorn.
“And what of you, my son? “ Elrond enquired, raising his eyebrows and regarding Aragorn, who was covered in blood.
“ I was shot by an arrow,” Aragorn explained.
“I will heal your hurts,” said Elrond, causing the friends to sigh with relief.
“Thank you, we can go on our hunting trip tomorrow, then!” smiled Aragorn.
“No, you shall not. I plan to lock you in the infirmary for the next month!” Elrond said with an evil grin.
And a more serious take ......
Consent
“I have told Aragorn he may have your hand in marriage,
Arwen’s face lit up.
“When he is King of both Gondor and Arnor,” Elrond continued.
Arwen’s eyes blazed. ”Ada, you cannot! That is cruel, that is evil! He is mortal, his days are not like ours.”
“Precisely, my child. You need time to reflect on your choice. Aragorn is great amongst Men, but he is still destined to die.”
“I have given him my heart and would know bliss as his wife!”
“Remember you have chosen a hard path,” Elrond replied. “Your doom will be bitter at the ending.”
Icons by fileg
F = Like a Fearful Faramir
Choosing
He had dreamed of the coming of the King, envisioned the dead tree blossoming and imagined Gondor renewed.
Now the King was here, greater by far than he had imagined, victor over Sauron, commander of the Army of the Dead and blessed with healing hands, those hands, which combined with words of kindness, had restored Faramir’s life.
His heart welcomed Aragorn. His head had doubts.
He recalled his father's scornful voice, calling him a wizard's pupil, comparing him to his brother. Denethor said Boromir would never put his trust in strangers.
Faramir made his choice. He would welcome his King.
Hoping
He had not been born to be Steward, far less to relinquish the Office of his longfathers
Was he right to do this, renounce the care of Gondor to this almost unknown heir of Isildur? What if the man proved a tyrant?
Yet, his foresight told him, he was right to yield. Had Aragorn not saved his life, even though he could have barred his path to the throne?
His new lord approached. His piercing yet kindly gaze met Faramir’s .He knew then that he could trust this new King
All fears forgotten, Faramir knelt and proffered the White Rod
Waiting
Faramir paced the room for the hundredth time.
“Try not to worry, mellon nîn, she is strong and the midwife is skilled,” Aragorn soothed, getting up from his seat and placing a reassuring hand on Faramir’s shoulder.
“I know but much can go wrong,” Faramir fretted. ”It is taking so long!”
A scream pierced the air, followed by a high-pitched wail. Faramir shuddered and buried his face in his hands.
Arwen entered the room, a broad smile on her face.” You have a fine son, and Éowyn is well,” she announced.
Faramir’s fears evaporated like mist under a rising sun.
A/N When I write, I imagine Faramir with dark hair,grey eyes and carven features, like Aragorn
Icons by Fileg
G = Like a Gasping Galadriel
Glimpse of Glory
He would yield it so easily?
Measureless might was within her grasp!
Lothlórien need not fail. Her fair Realm could endure as long as Arda lasted.
The Mallorns would even bloom in winter. Blossoms would spring up wherever she trod. Elanor and niphredil would flourish in every field. Cerin Amroth would be the centre of a vast kingdom.
She could widen her borders; all would bow before her, the beautiful and terrible Queen!
Galadriel gasped; if she took it, she would swiftly fall as low as Sauron.
Suddenly, the glorious vision faded. She smiled wistfully at Frodo and remained Galadriel
H = Like a Hale Halbarad
Hail and Farewell
I was glad to be granted a last moment with one who was like a brother.
Despite his pain, he smiled, grasping my hand. I remembered our first meeting, he was yet hale, a man already in his prime, when I was but a gangling youth. Initial reserve soon turned to close friendship. He saved my life many times. Alas, I could not save his.
“Do not grieve,” he whispered. ”I foresaw this ending. I die content. You will triumph, Envinyatar!”
He sighed and breathes his last. Silently, he moved beyond this world.
Alas, Halbarad! The victory was dearly bought.
I - like inspiring Ilúvatar.
The Bower
Arwen sat in her bower surrounded by the fairest blossoms. She sang sweetly to herself, while working at her embroidery. Beside her Eldarion sat on a blanket, playing with his toys.
Unobserved, Aragorn entered the garden and stood watching his wife and son, his heart filled with love at the fair sight they presented.
Surely the music of the Ainur could not have sounded so beautiful as Arwen’s song? Yet was it not itself part of that music? Had Ilúvatar inspired every note, or had the creation in turn inspired the creator?
Only Ilúvatar knew the answer to his question.
icon by elanordh
J- like juggling the jewels of Fëanor.
All in a Day's Work
Aragorn sat down at his desk and began working on the stack of paperwork that governing the Reunited Kingdom entailed. It was important the treaty with Harad should be finalised today.
The door opened and a small head peeped through. ”Ada, will you play with me?”
“Later, Eldarion, when I have finished my work.
A few minutes later the door opened again, this time to admit his wife.
“Estel, I am waiting for you to come to lunch.”
“Of course, vanimelda, as soon as I have read these documents.”
Aragorn sighed; being King was like juggling the jewels of Fëanor!
icon by fileg
K = Like Kissing the King of Númenor
Kissing Hope
He had looked like an Elven lord when I first beheld him again, or even the King of Men he was born to be.
Now he comes to take his leave of me, humbly attired again in his worn raiment.
He takes my hand. “I do not know what may befall ere we see each other again," he sighs.
“You are my Estel and I have hope you will prevail," I tell him.
His lips meet mine, a touch both tender and ardent. Were he King of Númenor, his kisses could not be sweeter.
King or Ranger, I love him.
Kissing Hands
He sits high upon the throne, mighty and glorious. The Sea of Kings of Old must have looked thus in their prime.
I wonder if even at the height of its splendour, was any King of Númenor more lordly.
The greatest in Gondor wait in line to pledge their fealty to Aragorn Elessar. As Steward it falls first to me, to kneel and kiss his hand.
I could have been in his place, save on a lowlier seat. It troubles me not.
I know now what my dream foretold; not destruction, but that Númenor would rise again from the depths.
icons by fileg
L= Like the Legacy of Legolas
Enduring Legacy
With grateful thanks to Raksha
Land that was once desolate now bloomed. Shoots sprang from the saplings planted over what was once laid waste.
Flowers blossomed profusely amongst the verdant grasses.
Elves sang as they lovingly tended the young trees.
“You have worked marvels here, my friend,” said Aragorn, looking around him. “The land flourishes again under your watchful care. Gondor needs Elves to help restore the bounty she once enjoyed.”
“This is my legacy, “ said Legolas. “When I am gone, I hope folk will walk here and remember the Firstborn. These trees will outlast many generations of Men.”
Overhead, the gulls screamed mournfully.
icon by fileg
M = Like Marrying Merry
A puzzlement
With thanks to Raksha
“You wish to wed the Steward of Gondor?” Éomer sounded incredulous. ”The last time I saw you, sister, you were in love with Aragorn and would consider no other!”
“That was but a young maid’s fancy,” Éowyn replied. ”I have found true love now. Faramir is the right man for me. Marrying Aragorn would be as absurd as marrying Merry. I love them both as friends and sword - brothers, but could never consider joining in wedlock with either.”
Éomer shook his head in bewilderment. He would never comprehend women, even if he had a Númenorean lifespan in which to try.
icon by fileg
N = Like Nimble Nimrodel
With thanks to Raksha
A Playful Puppy
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. With thanks to Raksha.
Aragorn smiled indulgently while Eldarion raced around the garden with his new puppy, a birthday gift from Faramir and Éowyn.
Eldarion threw a stick, which the pup swiftly retrieved, no matter in which direction the boy threw it. Gracefully, she leapt and chased and dived, always one step ahead of the young prince.
“The Nimrodel herself could hardly be more nimble,” Arwen observed, joining her husband on the bench. “Have you chosen a name for her yet, Eldarion? “ she called.
“Nimrodel is pretty, I will call her that,” he replied.
The pup wagged her tail as if in approval.
icon by Raksha
O - like an Ornery Oromë.
Unhappy Hunting
“I must be loosing my old Ranger skills,” Faramir lamented. “I have failed to catch anything.”
“So have I.” Aragorn joined his friend in the forest clearing.
“How our wives will tease us!” groaned Aragorn. “I wanted to show Arwen I was still as skilled a hunter and tracker as in my youth.”
“Maybe it was not a good idea to promise to provide a deer for the banquet,” the Steward said dolefully. “I thought Oromë would smile on us, since we kill only for need, not pleasure.”
Aragorn grimaced ruefully. “Perhaps he simply awoke in an ill mood today.”
icon by NiRi
P = Like a Pink Pippin
With thanks to Raksha
A pastry for Pippin
Have this, it’s freshly baked!” Bergil pressed a pastry into Pippin’s hand.
The Hobbit hesitated. ”Well, I shouldn’t really, I’m on duty.”
“No one will know. Besides, you look hungry.”
“I am, they don’t seem to know about elevenses here!”
Pippin could no longer resist and took a large mouthful.
Just then, Aragorn, followed by a crowd of lords, emerged from the Hall.
Pippin deftly concealed the pastry, swallowed quickly and started to cough.
“Are you quite well, Sir Peregrin?” enquired the King.
“I’m in the pink, thank you, Strider,” the Hobbit replied, flushing.
Aragorn winked knowingly and moved on.
icon by NiRi
Q - like a querulous Quickbeam
Co-written with Raksha
Lament for the lost
"Alas for the Ents, to have lost all trace of their wives!” exclaimed Aragorn with the pity only a recent bridegroom could feel. He fingered the keys thoughtfully. ”Might they now return?”
“I met Quickbeam and his wife, Silverbark, long before Numenor fell," Galadriel recounted. "She was fair as a Mallorn in springtime. But they quarrelled often, being of different tempers. When she sang to the wind, he would have her be silent. After she left, Quickbeam sang of his loss, hoping that the winds would carry his regret to her. Now he has grown querulous, and sings no more."
icon by Nerwende
R - Like a Radiant Radagast
With thanks to Raksha.
Radiance
Oblivious that he was observed, the boy gazed enraptured at the robin perched on a branch mere inches away from his face.
Only when its mate called from the far site of the garden, did the bird fly away.
“Mithrandir!” the boy rose to his feet. “It is good to see you again, but why are you smiling so?”
“You reminded me of an old friend then, Faramir,” the wizard said. “ Radagast alone could be so radiant in the company of wild things as you are. He would sit enthralled, surrounded by birds and beasts; taming them by his presence.”
icon by iconsfromhome
S like a Sordid Sauron
Phoenix Rising
Head bowed, the young Steward picked this way through the rubble. Mithrandir had advised against it, yet he felt he must see where his father had died. He swallowed hard. It was such a sordid way for a great lord to perish.
“It was Sauron’s doing. He destroyed your father’s mind.”
Faramir started at the King’s voice. “How can you be so certain, my lord?” he enquired.
“I too, encountered the Dark Lord in the palantír. Merry later told me that it seemed I had aged twenty years in one night. It was a bitter struggle, ere I bent it to my will.”
“You triumphed, though, unlike my father.”
“Do not forget that I am Isildur’s heir. I used the stone but once,” Aragorn said gently.
“Alas, that my father ever touched the cursed stone!” Faramir said bitterly. ”Our House now lies in ruin, our honour shattered like these walls.”
“I think not,” Aragorn replied, placing a comforting hand on the distressed young Steward’s shoulder. ”Your father acted unwisely, yet ‘twas out of love for Gondor and her people. Sauron’s sordid schemes did not prevail.”
“You restored our hope,” said Faramir.
“Together we will build Gondor anew,” the King smiled.
icon by nerwende
T - Like a Turgid Turgon
Unwillingly to school
Your tutor tells me you have not been paying attention,” Faramir said sternly.
“I hate history!” Elboron grumbled. ”Nothing but turgid prose about long dead people! What do they matter now?”
Faramir picked up the book studied it. ”These people were your longfathers, Turgon, your great-great grandfather, for example, saw Sauron again take up residence again in Mordor.
“They are still dull,” Elboron protested.
“Had Turgon not lived, you would not be here today,” Faramir informed him dryly.
“Truly?”
“Yes, truly, think on that, ion nîn.”
“Perhaps he is not so turgid after all.” Elboron finally settled with his book.
U - Like Unsavoury Urges in Umbar
Temptation
With thanks to Raksha
Want some company, traveller?"
The man, who was elsewhere called Thorongil, looked up from his drink to meet the girl's eyes. She was pretty for a tavern pleasure-woman, still young with clear skin and lustrous black hair, which reminded him of Arwen's.
Arwen! How he ached for her presence.
"Does she not please you?" The innkeeper's voice interrupted his reverie. The girl's eyes widened with fear. Thorongil knew she would be punished if he rejected her.
"She pleases me." He tossed the man a coin.
The girl led him by the hand towards the stalls at the back. The cries of pleasure from behind the curtains left no doubt as to the nature of the customers' gratification.
"Come!" She slowly started to unfasten her robe, revealing shapely curves beneath it. Swiftly, Thorongil averted his eyes.
He sat stiffly on the edge of the bed. "I must go now," he told his companion.
"I thought you wanted pleasure?"
What man does not? Thorongil thought. But one alone can satisfy me.
"There is no need for shyness." She sat down beside him. Suddenly, she was kissing him, her full sensuous mouth pressing against his own. Her hands fumbled with Thorongil's robe. Her silken tresses fell across his face. They smelt of jasmine.
He was a man. She was a woman and a fair one.
Thorongil hastily rose to his feet. "My friends await me," he lied. "I will tell your master you pleased me greatly."
"I do not understand."
"I cannot give myself to you. I must prove worthy of my heart's desire."
He stumbled out into the street; eager to put this place and its unsavoury temptations behind him. The sooner he could leave Umbar the better.
If he could not be joined with Arwen, he would remain forever alone.
Icon specially created for me by Fileg
V = Like Visiting Varda
With grateful thanks to Raksha.
The characters are the property of the Tolkien estate.
Soaring to the Stars
He kissed her. At first tenderly, almost as if he feared she might break; then with increasing ardour when she responded with a passion equal to his own.
His arms entwined around her. She nestled into his embrace, revelling in his arms both gentle and strong. Lovingly, he stroked her tender skin.
“Arwen, vanimelda!” he whispered, his voice husky with desire.
Gladly she surrendered, giving her all and in giving; receiving bliss.
She had anticipated this moment for so long, but could never have imagined its sheer rapture. Soaring to the stars visiting Varda's domain could not bring more joy.
icon by Fileg
W = Like Wet Wargs
A Narrow Escape
Run!” cried Aragorn. “We are outnumbered; make for the bridge!"
Halbarad followed in haste, hoping the three wargs would not dare pursue them.
The bridge was a makeshift affair, little more than two rotting planks, which threatened to give way and tumble the men into the raging waters.
“They follow!” Halbarad cried as both men reached the other shore.
Aragorn dislodged a rock and aimed it at the rickety timbers, hoping to weaken them.
The wargs followed. Unable to bear their weight, the planks splintered and snapped.
Aragorn and Halbarad made good their escape, leaving the wet wargs far behind.
icon elea
X - like excruciating exertions
on the way to that crucial cross
on the mouldering map.
Explorers
“Ada, I’m tired,” wailed Farawyn.
“Girls always complain!” retorted Eldarion.
“It is not far now according to the plan. Come, Farawyn, I will carry you. Eldarion, you take the map. Be careful, it is very old!” Aragorn scooped up his little daughter in his arms, realising her short legs could carry her no further.
The children, always fascinated by their father’s tales of summoning the Army of the Dead, were eager to see where he had emerged from the mountain.
They proceeded in silence for a while. Aragorn called a halt to study the map when he found no trace of the doorway under the mountain.
“We are lost, I fear,” he conceded.
“Naneth said you were the greatest tracker on Arda!” Eldarion said reproachfully.
Farawyn burst into tears.
“I have endured many long and arduous wanderings during my life,” their father told them. “This is but a minor setback. It was dark when I was last here and I was weary.“ He studied the map again, then looked around him. ”Now I remember! We should have turned left half a league ago.”
The children brightened and there was a new spring in Eldarion’s steps when he followed his father. Farawyn contentedly tightened her chubby arms around him.
“Here we are,” announced Aragorn after a short walk.
“Let me down, Ada!”
“The ghosts will get you!” Eldarion warned.
“I released them long ere you were born,” Aragorn reassured the little girl.
“I’m not scared with you, ada,” said Farawyn. “I’m an explorer now, overcoming exhausting exertions just like you used to!”
Aragorn laughed, then lovingly embraced both children. Together with his fair Arwen, they were the true destination of all his arduous journeys.
icon vana_tuiva
Y - like a yawning Yavanna.
Harvest
The King and Queen sat upon makeshift thrones erected on the Pelennor, watching the Harvest celebrations .It had been a good year and the people had assembled to give thanks to Yavanna for her bounty.
Children danced and presented offerings of sheaves of grain and baskets of fruit and flowers.
Aragorn and Arwen smiled enjoying the obvious happiness of their young subjects.
Then came the speeches. One by one the farmers rose and detailed their crop yields and their gratitude to the Valar for the fruitfulness of the land.
Aragorn’s eyelids began to droop. Arwen surreptitiously nudged him back to full wakefulness. “Try to look interested, beloved,” she chided.
“I am doing my best, but these speeches!” the King grumbled.
“If you are bored, you think how poor Yavanna must be yawning having to listen to them throughout Arda!” the Queen responded. ”You have to preside over but one celebration!”
“Then I must be grateful,” Aragorn replied.
When the next speech was concluded, the King rose from his seat and said in a loud voice. “People of Gondor, my brothers and sisters. Let us rejoice today. Freed from the shadow, our beloved land is bountifully blessed! Yavanna be praised!”
icon ladyelleth
Z - like zooming around Zirakzigil.
Co written with Raksha.
This, I think was the hardest of the lot. After a fruitless struggle to make something out of this prompt, Raksha and I worked on it together and she came up with this, which was based on my original idea.
But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.
Wings of Eagles
Isaiah 40:31
The ravens had marked the Battle of the Peak. Fierce flared the flames when wizard and Balrog zoomed ‘round Zirak-zigil in celestial combat.
Vultures and crows watched the wizard die. Yet they kept their distance, for he was more than mortal, and they refused to rend the flesh of one from the West. They squawked and cawed in surprise when he returned, and flew away in the light of his awakening.
The lord of the Eagles came last to Zirik-zigil, sent by Galadriel, gliding down the air on great wings that gleamed in the wintry sun. He screamed his joy when he sighted his old friend, for Gandalf still lived.
Gwaihir took up the naked wizard as gently as he would grasp one of his own newborn chicks. Back to Caras Galadon he gladly bore his burden. Around the Windlord flew many birds, shield and sigil to the new-made White Wizard: Falcons, hawks, wedges of winter-roaming geese, and finally, an exultation of trilling larks to trumpet the return of Gandalf the White.
The Eagle bowed his head to the Lady, and she thanked him for his strength and speed. “Tell your brothers,” Galadriel said; “That the tide shall yet turn.”
A/N
wedge of geese came from the Collective Nouns List found from researching Terms of Venery at Wikipedia.com:
exultation of larks came from my own memory of the term being one of the Terms of Venery.
This was my original uninspired effort.
Gwaihir willingly bore his burden. Lighter than a feather he seemed, clothed only in the sun’s rays.
The Lady of the Golden Wood had sent him hither. Fierce flickered the flames when wizard and Balrog were zooming around zirakzigil, locked in celestial combat.
Happy was I that the Valar spared their servant. No mortal man but Maiar he.
Higher we rose above the clouds. The frail body seemed aglow, as if the Balrog burned away all earthly essences.
Gladly Galadriel greeted us; the wisest of women bade me tell my brothers that the tide was turning. I played my part.
Friday, May 01, 2009
Out of the depths
My soul waiteth for the Lord more than they that watch for the morning: I say, more than they that watch for the morning. - Psalm 130.6
With grateful thanks to Raksha
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Faramir rose, albeit with some stiffness, and stood astride his wounded king, sword bared and ready.
“Lord Faramir, we come in peace!”
The Steward recognised Khan Janab in the grey early morning light. The First Khan of all Harad was peering cautiously over the cliff.
“Do you think I will believe you after what your men have done to my lord!” Faramir retorted. He thought bitterly of all that Gondor suffered from the Haradrim in the Ring War: all the men and good comrades whom the Haradrim killed, not to mention the arrow that felled him. Since then, though, relations had improved and the ambassador from Harad to Gondor had even become a good friend of his, but how could he trust the Khan after all that had happened this day?
“You have every right to be angry, Lord Faramir,” said Janab calmly. “They are not my men, though, but followers of my kinsman, who would overthrow me as First Khan. Some of my warriors encountered them yesterday and brought them to me, where they were made to reveal their wicked acts against your lord. They sought to provoke war between our peoples. They have seen their last sunrise. We rode in all haste with my personal physician to see if King Elessar yet lived. See, Lord Faramir, our weapons are sheathed; we seek only to aid you. By guest-right and treaty we are bound to assure your safety. At least, let my healer see if he can aid your King! Behold, your men are with us!” he gestured behind him. Beregond came forward together with several of his men.
“He speaks the truth,” said Beregond. “When your horse returned without you last night, we set out to search for you and encountered the Khan and his men who were looking for the King.”
“I will permit the healer to come down,” said Faramir, though he kept his hand on his sword.
An old, but surprisingly agile man with a long white beard clambered down the slope.
“I am Talib, physician to Janab the Glorious, Greatest of Khans, and his father before him,” he said in heavily accented Westron. "Tell me what you know of your lord's hurts.”
“My lord was conscious when I found him,” answered Faramir, hoping this robed elder was the true physician he claimed to be. ”He told me he had been stunned when he fell, but he seemed lucid until fever overcame him. I think a wound on his chest caused the fever. I have given him water and tried to keep him warm.”
The healer knelt beside the unconscious Aragorn and swiftly examined him. “He is a very strong man. He should live with proper care,” he pronounced. “Our glorious Khan has made camp nearby. We will take your lord there, and I will tend his wounds.”
Faramir’s heart soared. His stiffness and weariness no longer troubled him.
Janab’s men swiftly constructed a litter. Faramir watched anxiously as they secured ropes around Aragorn and carefully raised him to the surface. Janab offered him a horse, but he chose instead to walk alongside Aragorn as they carried him for about a half a league.
The Khan's men carried Aragorn inside the second largest of the tents and laid him on a pile of sheepskins, then covered him with a silken sheet. Aragorn moaned softly, but did not open his eyes.
“Would you care for refreshment, Lord Faramir?” asked Janab, with the hospitality typical of his people.
“Later, thank you, my Khan, I do not wish to leave my King’s side,” said Faramir, though in truth he was very thirsty.
“You can drink some sherbet tea and remain with him,” said Janab, gesturing for a servant to bring some. “I will leave Talib now to tend your lord.”
Faramir hastily swallowed the refreshing drink. He knelt beside Aragorn while the healer cut away his ruined shirt and tunic and gently removed the makeshift bandages to reveal a deep and ugly gash across his chest. When Talik began to clean and stitch the wound. Aragorn started to struggle and cry out.
“Easy now, the healer is trying to aid you,” Faramir soothed, clasping Aragorn's restless hands in his own. “I am beside you, you are safe now.”
“That should do,” said Talib, rubbing salves and a generous amount of honey across the gash, and wrapping a bandage around it. “Our warriors' blades are smeared with a venom that induces fever, but the fact you gave your lord water and kept him warm has saved his life. The fever should gradually abate. I need to take refreshment now. Our illustrious lord has offered the use of his own body servants to wash and clothe your King in fresh garments while I am gone.”
“Thank you,” said Faramir, “but I would prefer to tend my King myself together with my captain, if you could send for him. I would be grateful if you could provide some clean garments for my lord.” Knowing Aragorn as he did, Faramir was sure the King would be far from happy to have strangers change his clothing and gossip about such matters as the whiteness of his skin compared to the Khan’s, or the length of his limbs.
Beregond was the fist to arrive. “How is the King?” he enquired anxiously.
“The healer has dressed his wound and hopes his fever will break soon,” said Faramir. “He needs changing into clean clothing now, if you will assist me?”
“Gladly, my lord,” said Beregond, beaming at the good tidings.
The Khan’s servants brought a bowl of hot water, cloths, towels, and an assortment of garments. They placed their burdens on the ground, then bowed low and departed.
Faramir and Beregond were relieved to find no other hurts on Aragorn apart from a few bruises. Soothingly telling him what they intended to do, they bathed him and salved his bruises, before clothing him in a pair of loose cotton breeches of the sort favoured by Janab’s people to wear beneath their robes. They covered Aragorn with light silken covers and pulled them up to his chin. Aragorn's eyes occasionally flickered open for a few seconds, but he accepted their ministrations without trying to struggle and sipped from a cup of water Faramir held to his lips.
Talib returned, just as Faramir was telling Beregond to seek food and rest with the other men. “You should rest too, my lord,” he counselled. “There is little more I can do for your King now, save bathe his brow and coax him to drink whenever he awakens.”
“I shall not leave him,” Faramir repeated.
Talib smiled wryly. “Perhaps you will be able to coax him to swallow my medicines then?” he said. “I can see that your lord trusts you.”
“He is not only my liege, but also my friend,” explained Faramir. “He has saved my life on more than one occasion.”
Together they sat keeping vigil at Aragorn’s bedside, bathing his brow and coaxing him to drink draughts of water and healing herbal infusions.
“The wound is draining now,” said Talib several hours later, applying more honey to it. “The fever is abating. You should rest, Lord Faramir, you are so weary, you can scarcely keep your eyes open.”
Faramir was about to protest when Aragorn opened his eyes and looked at him with recognition. ”Where am I?” he enquired. “I remember men with swords then falling and pain everywhere. My mind reached out to you. Then you were there. I think I slept. Faramir, what ails you? You look pale!”
“You were attacked by some Southron rebels,” Faramir explained clasping his lord’s hand. “You fell over the cliff edge. I feared that you were lost. I felt compelled to seek you once we had evaded our pursuers. That must have been when your mind reached out me, though I feared I could only tell your lady where you had fallen when I found you. To my joy you lived, but I could not raise you to the surface. Khan Janab came to our aid at dawn, bringing a healer with him. You are safe now, and will soon be well again.” Supporting Aragorn’s head, he held a drink to his lips. Aragorn drank deeply, and then fell into a deep sleep.
“He will recover now,” said Talib, tucking the covers more securely round his patient. He called to the servants, who entered carrying more sheepskins. Swiftly they made up a bed for Faramir beside his lord’s. Another servant brought Faramir a plate of what tasted like mutton stew, together with more of the sherbet tea. The Steward found he was surprisingly hungry now. As soon as he had eaten, he fell into a deep dreamless sleep.
“How do our guests fare?” Janab entered the tent and enquired of Talib who remained keeping watch.
“The Lord Elessar’s fever has broken,” said the healer. “The Lord Faramir is resting. They should be fit to ride home ere the next full moon.”
“I have come to admire these Men of Gondor,” said Janab.
“Indeed, most noble Khan,” said Talib. “Their loyalty to each other runs very deep. The lord Faramir loves his King as deeply as a son loves his father and even his servants are deeply devoted to their lord.”
Janab regarded the sleepers noting how even in slumber, Faramir had his hand stretched out towards Aragorn as if to protect him “Did you know, Talib, that Lord Faramir’s father ruled Gondor before Lord Elessar?” he enquired.
“No, my Khan,” I did not.”
“Most wondrous that the King allowed Lord Faramir not only to live, but to marry and beget heirs while holding high office. Even more wondrous is how Lord Faramir repays that trust. Would that my kinsmen were so loyal!” Janab murmured more to himself than Talib. “Care for them well!” he ordered and strode from the tent.
Talib checked Aragorn’s pulse again and content that his patient was on the mend settled himself on a cushion softly humming the words of an old ballad. ”Statesman, yet friend to truth! of soul sincere, In action faithful, and in honour clear; Who broke no promise, serv’d no private end, Who gain’d no title, and who lost no friend.”
The End
A/n. The “old ballad” is actually taken from a poem by Alexander Pope.
My soul waiteth for the Lord more than they that watch for the morning: I say, more than they that watch for the morning. - Psalm 130.6
With grateful thanks to Raksha
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Faramir rose, albeit with some stiffness, and stood astride his wounded king, sword bared and ready.
“Lord Faramir, we come in peace!”
The Steward recognised Khan Janab in the grey early morning light. The First Khan of all Harad was peering cautiously over the cliff.
“Do you think I will believe you after what your men have done to my lord!” Faramir retorted. He thought bitterly of all that Gondor suffered from the Haradrim in the Ring War: all the men and good comrades whom the Haradrim killed, not to mention the arrow that felled him. Since then, though, relations had improved and the ambassador from Harad to Gondor had even become a good friend of his, but how could he trust the Khan after all that had happened this day?
“You have every right to be angry, Lord Faramir,” said Janab calmly. “They are not my men, though, but followers of my kinsman, who would overthrow me as First Khan. Some of my warriors encountered them yesterday and brought them to me, where they were made to reveal their wicked acts against your lord. They sought to provoke war between our peoples. They have seen their last sunrise. We rode in all haste with my personal physician to see if King Elessar yet lived. See, Lord Faramir, our weapons are sheathed; we seek only to aid you. By guest-right and treaty we are bound to assure your safety. At least, let my healer see if he can aid your King! Behold, your men are with us!” he gestured behind him. Beregond came forward together with several of his men.
“He speaks the truth,” said Beregond. “When your horse returned without you last night, we set out to search for you and encountered the Khan and his men who were looking for the King.”
“I will permit the healer to come down,” said Faramir, though he kept his hand on his sword.
An old, but surprisingly agile man with a long white beard clambered down the slope.
“I am Talib, physician to Janab the Glorious, Greatest of Khans, and his father before him,” he said in heavily accented Westron. "Tell me what you know of your lord's hurts.”
“My lord was conscious when I found him,” answered Faramir, hoping this robed elder was the true physician he claimed to be. ”He told me he had been stunned when he fell, but he seemed lucid until fever overcame him. I think a wound on his chest caused the fever. I have given him water and tried to keep him warm.”
The healer knelt beside the unconscious Aragorn and swiftly examined him. “He is a very strong man. He should live with proper care,” he pronounced. “Our glorious Khan has made camp nearby. We will take your lord there, and I will tend his wounds.”
Faramir’s heart soared. His stiffness and weariness no longer troubled him.
Janab’s men swiftly constructed a litter. Faramir watched anxiously as they secured ropes around Aragorn and carefully raised him to the surface. Janab offered him a horse, but he chose instead to walk alongside Aragorn as they carried him for about a half a league.
The Khan's men carried Aragorn inside the second largest of the tents and laid him on a pile of sheepskins, then covered him with a silken sheet. Aragorn moaned softly, but did not open his eyes.
“Would you care for refreshment, Lord Faramir?” asked Janab, with the hospitality typical of his people.
“Later, thank you, my Khan, I do not wish to leave my King’s side,” said Faramir, though in truth he was very thirsty.
“You can drink some sherbet tea and remain with him,” said Janab, gesturing for a servant to bring some. “I will leave Talib now to tend your lord.”
Faramir hastily swallowed the refreshing drink. He knelt beside Aragorn while the healer cut away his ruined shirt and tunic and gently removed the makeshift bandages to reveal a deep and ugly gash across his chest. When Talik began to clean and stitch the wound. Aragorn started to struggle and cry out.
“Easy now, the healer is trying to aid you,” Faramir soothed, clasping Aragorn's restless hands in his own. “I am beside you, you are safe now.”
“That should do,” said Talib, rubbing salves and a generous amount of honey across the gash, and wrapping a bandage around it. “Our warriors' blades are smeared with a venom that induces fever, but the fact you gave your lord water and kept him warm has saved his life. The fever should gradually abate. I need to take refreshment now. Our illustrious lord has offered the use of his own body servants to wash and clothe your King in fresh garments while I am gone.”
“Thank you,” said Faramir, “but I would prefer to tend my King myself together with my captain, if you could send for him. I would be grateful if you could provide some clean garments for my lord.” Knowing Aragorn as he did, Faramir was sure the King would be far from happy to have strangers change his clothing and gossip about such matters as the whiteness of his skin compared to the Khan’s, or the length of his limbs.
Beregond was the fist to arrive. “How is the King?” he enquired anxiously.
“The healer has dressed his wound and hopes his fever will break soon,” said Faramir. “He needs changing into clean clothing now, if you will assist me?”
“Gladly, my lord,” said Beregond, beaming at the good tidings.
The Khan’s servants brought a bowl of hot water, cloths, towels, and an assortment of garments. They placed their burdens on the ground, then bowed low and departed.
Faramir and Beregond were relieved to find no other hurts on Aragorn apart from a few bruises. Soothingly telling him what they intended to do, they bathed him and salved his bruises, before clothing him in a pair of loose cotton breeches of the sort favoured by Janab’s people to wear beneath their robes. They covered Aragorn with light silken covers and pulled them up to his chin. Aragorn's eyes occasionally flickered open for a few seconds, but he accepted their ministrations without trying to struggle and sipped from a cup of water Faramir held to his lips.
Talib returned, just as Faramir was telling Beregond to seek food and rest with the other men. “You should rest too, my lord,” he counselled. “There is little more I can do for your King now, save bathe his brow and coax him to drink whenever he awakens.”
“I shall not leave him,” Faramir repeated.
Talib smiled wryly. “Perhaps you will be able to coax him to swallow my medicines then?” he said. “I can see that your lord trusts you.”
“He is not only my liege, but also my friend,” explained Faramir. “He has saved my life on more than one occasion.”
Together they sat keeping vigil at Aragorn’s bedside, bathing his brow and coaxing him to drink draughts of water and healing herbal infusions.
“The wound is draining now,” said Talib several hours later, applying more honey to it. “The fever is abating. You should rest, Lord Faramir, you are so weary, you can scarcely keep your eyes open.”
Faramir was about to protest when Aragorn opened his eyes and looked at him with recognition. ”Where am I?” he enquired. “I remember men with swords then falling and pain everywhere. My mind reached out to you. Then you were there. I think I slept. Faramir, what ails you? You look pale!”
“You were attacked by some Southron rebels,” Faramir explained clasping his lord’s hand. “You fell over the cliff edge. I feared that you were lost. I felt compelled to seek you once we had evaded our pursuers. That must have been when your mind reached out me, though I feared I could only tell your lady where you had fallen when I found you. To my joy you lived, but I could not raise you to the surface. Khan Janab came to our aid at dawn, bringing a healer with him. You are safe now, and will soon be well again.” Supporting Aragorn’s head, he held a drink to his lips. Aragorn drank deeply, and then fell into a deep sleep.
“He will recover now,” said Talib, tucking the covers more securely round his patient. He called to the servants, who entered carrying more sheepskins. Swiftly they made up a bed for Faramir beside his lord’s. Another servant brought Faramir a plate of what tasted like mutton stew, together with more of the sherbet tea. The Steward found he was surprisingly hungry now. As soon as he had eaten, he fell into a deep dreamless sleep.
“How do our guests fare?” Janab entered the tent and enquired of Talib who remained keeping watch.
“The Lord Elessar’s fever has broken,” said the healer. “The Lord Faramir is resting. They should be fit to ride home ere the next full moon.”
“I have come to admire these Men of Gondor,” said Janab.
“Indeed, most noble Khan,” said Talib. “Their loyalty to each other runs very deep. The lord Faramir loves his King as deeply as a son loves his father and even his servants are deeply devoted to their lord.”
Janab regarded the sleepers noting how even in slumber, Faramir had his hand stretched out towards Aragorn as if to protect him “Did you know, Talib, that Lord Faramir’s father ruled Gondor before Lord Elessar?” he enquired.
“No, my Khan,” I did not.”
“Most wondrous that the King allowed Lord Faramir not only to live, but to marry and beget heirs while holding high office. Even more wondrous is how Lord Faramir repays that trust. Would that my kinsmen were so loyal!” Janab murmured more to himself than Talib. “Care for them well!” he ordered and strode from the tent.
Talib checked Aragorn’s pulse again and content that his patient was on the mend settled himself on a cushion softly humming the words of an old ballad. ”Statesman, yet friend to truth! of soul sincere, In action faithful, and in honour clear; Who broke no promise, serv’d no private end, Who gain’d no title, and who lost no friend.”
The End
A/n. The “old ballad” is actually taken from a poem by Alexander Pope.
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