I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying. – John Masefield – Sea Fever.
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With grateful thanks to Virtuella.
The August sun beat down remorselessly upon the small group of riders travelling along the coastal road. Aragorn and Faramir had long since removed their cloaks, and given their guards permission to do likewise, but they were still sweltering in the heat of the afternoon.
The constant glimpses of the sea from the road only served to make matters worse. After the troubles in Linhir and their frosty reception, they were not greatly looking forward to the rest of their trip. Still, duty demanded that Aragorn visit all parts of his realm while at least Prince Imrahil would welcome them.
“We are not due to arrive in Belfalas until nightfall,” said Aragorn. “Maybe we could rest awhile?”
“Looking at the sea without being able to bathe in it would only make me hotter,” sighed Faramir, who rode alongside his lord.
Aragorn echoed his Steward's sigh. Even if they were not both naturally reticent men, a king could hardly bathe in full view of every passing subject. The royal dignity had to be maintained at all times.
The party rode onwards until they approached a curve in the road. A little way ahead some trees promised much welcome shade.
“Look!” exclaimed Faramir. “That secluded cove would be perfect for a quick swim. The currents are not dangerous in these parts and we could not be observed from the road.”
Aragorn surveyed their surroundings. Faramir was right. A narrow path led down to the beach, while the trees screened the road. He called the company to a halt. ”Rest the horses awhile beneath the shade of the trees,” he said. “Lord Faramir and I wish to refresh ourselves in the water. Take it in turns to see no one approaches.” The King dismounted from Roheryn, handing the stallion's reins to the nearest guard. He paused only to grab a towel and change of linens from his pack, before he hastened down the track leading to the sea with Faramir.
As soon as they set foot on the beach, the two men joyfully pulled off their boots and stockings. The sand felt delightfully cool beneath their feet. The salty tang of the air and aroma of seaweed immediately refreshed their spirits. Leaving a trail of scattered garments in their wake, they undressed down to their drawers and plunged into the inviting waves.
“This is bliss!” Aragorn exclaimed as he immersed himself. He felt as free as the gulls that circled overhead.
“Mmm,” was Faramir's only reply.
The two swam until they felt cooled and refreshed. Reluctantly, they left the water and then started to gather up their clothing.
“I have never known you fail to fold your garments before when going swimming!” Aragorn remarked.
“Obviously your bad influence has rubbed off on me!” Faramir retorted. He dried himself and donned his breeches. Skilfully, he dodged a playful blow from his sovereign.
“You were simply too hot to care!” Aragorn laughed while he pulled his shirt over his head. “If only we could stay here on the beach a while longer, but it would be irresponsible to leave the men waiting “
“We could always tell them to come and swim too if they wish,” said Faramir. “The horses would enjoy the water as well.”
“As ever you are wise, mellon nîn!” Aragorn grinned. Without bothering to don his boots and stockings, he went to call to the guards.
***
An hour or so later, the once peaceful cove was filled with men and horses frolicking in the waves. A little apart from them two figures lay drowsing in the sun. Faramir lazily opened his eyes and dug his toes deeper in the warm sand. He studied the position of the sun. It was not yet starting to sink over the horizon, so they could linger here a little longer. Belfalas could wait. The sea had gladdened his heart and he felt far more confident that they would be made welcome. He closed his eyes again and went back to sleep beside his softly snoring lord.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Friday, June 26, 2009
Man of Many Faces
Man of Many Faces by Linda Hoyland
Title– The Hands of a Healer
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Gilraen
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
“Naneth has a headache and needs to rest,” Gilraen told her small son who stared at her wide-eyed. She buried her aching head in the pillow as his nurse led him away.
“Estel make naneth better.”
Gilraen woke from an uneasy slumber to find her child pressing a handkerchief filled with crushed leaves against her forehead. She recognised a familiar scent.
“Did Master Elrond tell you to choose these leaves?”
“No, they called to Estel.”
Even as her pain started to ease, a thrill coursed through Gilraen. The child recognized athelas. He would be a great healer, and maybe more.
A/N. written for the Tolkien Weekly Prompt “Athelas.”
Title: Empty Handed
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Halbarad
Rating: G
Warnings: none
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Halbarad emerged from amongst the trees, shaking his head. “Not so much as a rabbit,” he said grimly.
“I had no better luck.” Aragorn pulled his cloak more closely around his shoulders and stamped his feet to keep warm. ”I fear for the children. They suffer most at times of famine.”
“Even the weather is against us!” exclaimed Halbarad when the leaden skies opened. At first odd snowflakes drifted down, but soon they fell in flurries. There would be no further hunting today.
“We shall have to seek food from Master Elrond,” said Aragorn. ”I cannot let my people starve.”
A/N. written for the Tolkien Weekly Prompt “Famine.”
Title: Respite
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Halbarad
Rating: G
Warnings: none
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Sweat trickled down his face. Aragorn paused to wipe his brow.
"We have reached the river," said Halbarad.
The weary Ranger quickened his pace. At the water's edge he knelt, cupped his hands and drank deep.
Halbarad gazed longingly at the river's smooth surface. "Dare we?" he enquired.
"Why not? We should be safe here. A bath would feel good."
Aragorn was already peeling off his travel stained garments and casting them on the bank. Halbarad did likewise.
Laughingly the Rangers dived into the river, splashing and ducking one another like heedless children, their cares cast aside with their clothing.
A/N. written for the Tolkien Weekly Prompt “Water.”
Title: Apprehension
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn,
Warnings: none
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Aragorn flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his tunic for perhaps the tenth time. Apprehensively he rehearsed the words of the ceremony in his head. He dared not; must not make any mistakes on such an important occasion. A wedding was the greatest day of a man's life, or so it was said.
The bride appeared, lovely and pale, clad in blue and leaning upon her father's arm.
The nervous groom took his place beside her.
Aragorn cleared his throat and began, "It is my honour and privilege as chieftain to join you, Halbarad, and you, Elwen in wedlock."
A/N. written for the Tolkien Weekly Prompt “Wedding.”
Title – Alone at the Feast
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn,Halbarad,OFC
Rating: G
Warnings: none
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
With 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.
“You have a fine boy!”
The celebrations had begun as soon as the midwife announced the glad tidings. Wine flowed freely while an ox was killed and roasted, so that all might share the new father’s joy.
An old man struck up a tune on a fiddle and couples began to dance.
“Come, Aragorn! ”cried Halbarad seeing the Chieftain stood apart. “You joined us in wedlock, now you must be amongst the first to meet my son!”
Aragorn forced a smile, not wishing to dampen his friend’s joy. Would his heart’s desire ever be granted, that he too might rejoice?
A/N. Written for the "Feast " Challenge at Tolkien Weekly.
Title – No Common Soldier
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Denethor
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer - 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 Raksha
Thorongil sang softly as he polished his gear, a rapt expression on his face.
“I am surprised that you know this song.”
Denethor’s words startled him out of his reverie.
”I have known it since childhood,” Thorongil said simply.
“The words are remembered only by scholars and those of high lineage here in Gondor,” Denethor said coldly. “What common soldier would know “The Lay of Lúthien?”
“It is different in the North."
“It surprises me that those living in such a desolate land would study lore,” said Denethor.
“Much about the North would surprise you,” said Thorongil, resuming his song.
A/N.Written for the "Song" challenge on "Tolkien Weekly."
Title – Empty Places
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer - 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 Raksha
Empty places
This was his moment of triumph; the moment of which he had dreamt since he came to manhood. The crown weighed heavy on the newly crowned Elessar’s head, while the robes felt unfamiliar. He knew, though, they would grow more familiar as time passed.
The food was sumptuous; the plates finer even than those at Rivendell. Minstrels played sweetly, singing of the new King's great deeds
Lords and ladies, warriors and craftsmen, Elves and Hobbits were seated at the table. Yet Aragorn saw only the empty spaces left by those who had fallen ere this coronation feast could be held.
A/N .Written for the "Feast" challenge on "Tolkien Weekly."
Title: Fit For a King
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Faramir
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With grateful thanks to Raksha
Fit for a King?
“Would you join me for a drink this evening?” The recently crowned Elessar asked Faramir.
“Thank you, sire, I am honoured,” said Faramir.
Flanked by guards, the two men descended to a tavern on the fifth level.
“How may I serve my lords?” enquired the innkeeper. “I have the finest wines from Dorwinion to Lossarnach.”
“A glass of Dorwinion, please” said Faramir.
“And a tankard of beer for me, please,” said Aragorn. "Do you have Dragon's Breath?
Faramir stared open mouthed. Farmers and other common folk favoured Dragon’s Breath. It seemed he had much to learn about his new lord.
A/N .Written for the "Beer" challenge on "Tolkien Weekly
Title: Finest Vintage
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Arwen, Elrond
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With grateful thanks to Raksha
Aragorn thoughtfully sipped his glass of wine. It was one of Rivendell’s finest, a rare vintage that Master Elrond only brought out on special occasions.
Aragorn had enjoyed the sharp, sweet taste on many memorable days. Despite Elrond’s sorrow at his daughter’s choice, the wine had toasted Aragorn’s homecoming after his great deeds in Rohan and Gondor. The same vintage had celebrated Frodo’s recovery.
Today brought the culmination of Aragorn’s long years of waiting as he celebrated his union with Arwen. The wine was even better than he recalled, but the kisses that awaited him would be sweeter by far.
A/N .Written for the "Wine" challenge on "Tolkien Weekly.
Title: Sweeter than Wine
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Arwen
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With grateful thanks to Raksha.
Aragorn had tasted many fine wines. Master Elrond’s cellar was renowned amongst all those of the Free Peoples who possessed a discerning palate. The Rangers knew many a recipe to coax a fine wine from such humble fruits as the elderberry. While the Rohirrim cared little for the juice of the grape, their mead was a drink fit to offer the Valar! When Aragorn arrived in Gondor, he found Ecthelion’s cellar contained some of the finest wines in Arda. Yes, Aragorn had enjoyed many a good wine, but no taste was sweeter and headier than the kisses of his bride.
A/N. Written for the "Wine" challenge on "Tolkien Weekly
Title – Crown of Thorns
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn/Arwen
Rating: PG
Warnings: minor injury
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
The roses bloomed early in Gondor, a profusion of blossoms in pink and white, and released a headier perfume than those in the North. Or did he just fancy it so, now that he could gather them freely for his beloved?
Ignoring the gardeners’ scandalised expressions, Aragorn carefully selected the finest blooms for his Queen. It was the least he could do for the one who had given him her all.
A sharp pain pierced his finger. He glanced down and saw the droplet of crimson blood. The roses were fair indeed, but each stem bore cruel thorns in plenty.
A/N.This was written for the "Roses" Prompt on "Tolkien Weekly".
Title - A Feast of Lemons
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn/Arwen
Rating: G
Warnings: none
With thanks to Raksha.
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
A Feast of Lemons
All the guests of the King and Queen of Gondor were enjoying a sumptuous feast; all that is; save the Variag envoy, who appeared most ill at ease.
The lords and ladies tittered behind their hands as he visiblystruggled to select the proper cutlery.
Then came the fish course; Anduin trout garnished with thin pieces of lemon. Unsure how to proceed, the envoy ate the sour slices of fruit, much to the mirth of his dining companions.
Aragorn Elessar glared. He put a slice of lemon into his own mouth, as did Arwen Undómiel. Embarrassed, the guests fell silent.
A/N. This was written for the prompt “Embarrassment” at “Tolkien Weekly.”
Title – Cruel Torment
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Faramir
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Cruel Torment
This torment is far worse than fighting an army of Orcs: countless wordy speeches from worthy lords to listen to patiently; then the ambassadors bring gifts, each more hideous than the last. I endeavour to look pleased with cloaks made of peacock feathers and hideous gem encrusted trinkets.
The worst ordeal is yet to come: a twelve-course banquet of which I am expected to heartily partake while listening to minstrels loudly praising my worthy deeds. Would that that I could be out performing some!
Faramir smiles and whispers in my ear. ”Birthdays come but once a year, my lord!”
A/N .Written for the "Birthday" challenge on "Tolkien Weekly.
Title – Bitter Sweet
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Faramir
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Bitter Sweet
“More mead, my lords?”
Faramir held out his drinking horn to be refilled. Aragorn shook his head.
“I thought you liked mead?” The Steward asked his friend.
“I do, but one horn-full is enough when it is this strong!”
“Mead strong? It was not when Éowyn and I were married.”
“That is because a bridegroom is expected to remain alert!” Aragorn chuckled.
***
”Éomer awaits us for breakfast!” Aragorn declared the next morning.
Faramir groggily opened his eyes. ”The sun is too bright, my head aches!" He groaned.
“Even honey taken in excess can leave a bitter taste,” said Aragorn smugly.
A/N .Written for the "Mead" challenge on "Tolkien Weekly.
Title – Beyond Compare
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Eldarion
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Beyond Compare
When Aragorn was an infant, the fairest sight on Arda was his mother’s smile; when he was a boy; his greatest treasure was his favourite pony; as a young man; Arwen’s beautiful eyes.
Later, the plains of Rohan had seemed fair; but lovelier still was the White City he hoped to rule. In time, such wonders paled, and nothing then seemed fairer than Imladris with his loved ones' smiles welcoming him home.
Aragorn had seen many wonders, but this sight was the greatest of all. His infant son’s milk smeared face was beyond doubt the greatest treasure that Arda held.
A/N. Written for the "Milk" challenge on "Tolkien Weekly.
Man of Many Faces by Linda Hoyland
Title– The Hands of a Healer
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Gilraen
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
“Naneth has a headache and needs to rest,” Gilraen told her small son who stared at her wide-eyed. She buried her aching head in the pillow as his nurse led him away.
“Estel make naneth better.”
Gilraen woke from an uneasy slumber to find her child pressing a handkerchief filled with crushed leaves against her forehead. She recognised a familiar scent.
“Did Master Elrond tell you to choose these leaves?”
“No, they called to Estel.”
Even as her pain started to ease, a thrill coursed through Gilraen. The child recognized athelas. He would be a great healer, and maybe more.
A/N. written for the Tolkien Weekly Prompt “Athelas.”
Title: Empty Handed
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Halbarad
Rating: G
Warnings: none
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Halbarad emerged from amongst the trees, shaking his head. “Not so much as a rabbit,” he said grimly.
“I had no better luck.” Aragorn pulled his cloak more closely around his shoulders and stamped his feet to keep warm. ”I fear for the children. They suffer most at times of famine.”
“Even the weather is against us!” exclaimed Halbarad when the leaden skies opened. At first odd snowflakes drifted down, but soon they fell in flurries. There would be no further hunting today.
“We shall have to seek food from Master Elrond,” said Aragorn. ”I cannot let my people starve.”
A/N. written for the Tolkien Weekly Prompt “Famine.”
Title: Respite
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Halbarad
Rating: G
Warnings: none
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Sweat trickled down his face. Aragorn paused to wipe his brow.
"We have reached the river," said Halbarad.
The weary Ranger quickened his pace. At the water's edge he knelt, cupped his hands and drank deep.
Halbarad gazed longingly at the river's smooth surface. "Dare we?" he enquired.
"Why not? We should be safe here. A bath would feel good."
Aragorn was already peeling off his travel stained garments and casting them on the bank. Halbarad did likewise.
Laughingly the Rangers dived into the river, splashing and ducking one another like heedless children, their cares cast aside with their clothing.
A/N. written for the Tolkien Weekly Prompt “Water.”
Title: Apprehension
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn,
Warnings: none
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Aragorn flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his tunic for perhaps the tenth time. Apprehensively he rehearsed the words of the ceremony in his head. He dared not; must not make any mistakes on such an important occasion. A wedding was the greatest day of a man's life, or so it was said.
The bride appeared, lovely and pale, clad in blue and leaning upon her father's arm.
The nervous groom took his place beside her.
Aragorn cleared his throat and began, "It is my honour and privilege as chieftain to join you, Halbarad, and you, Elwen in wedlock."
A/N. written for the Tolkien Weekly Prompt “Wedding.”
Title – Alone at the Feast
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn,Halbarad,OFC
Rating: G
Warnings: none
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
With 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.
“You have a fine boy!”
The celebrations had begun as soon as the midwife announced the glad tidings. Wine flowed freely while an ox was killed and roasted, so that all might share the new father’s joy.
An old man struck up a tune on a fiddle and couples began to dance.
“Come, Aragorn! ”cried Halbarad seeing the Chieftain stood apart. “You joined us in wedlock, now you must be amongst the first to meet my son!”
Aragorn forced a smile, not wishing to dampen his friend’s joy. Would his heart’s desire ever be granted, that he too might rejoice?
A/N. Written for the "Feast " Challenge at Tolkien Weekly.
Title – No Common Soldier
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Denethor
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer - 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 Raksha
Thorongil sang softly as he polished his gear, a rapt expression on his face.
“I am surprised that you know this song.”
Denethor’s words startled him out of his reverie.
”I have known it since childhood,” Thorongil said simply.
“The words are remembered only by scholars and those of high lineage here in Gondor,” Denethor said coldly. “What common soldier would know “The Lay of Lúthien?”
“It is different in the North."
“It surprises me that those living in such a desolate land would study lore,” said Denethor.
“Much about the North would surprise you,” said Thorongil, resuming his song.
A/N.Written for the "Song" challenge on "Tolkien Weekly."
Title – Empty Places
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer - 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 Raksha
Empty places
This was his moment of triumph; the moment of which he had dreamt since he came to manhood. The crown weighed heavy on the newly crowned Elessar’s head, while the robes felt unfamiliar. He knew, though, they would grow more familiar as time passed.
The food was sumptuous; the plates finer even than those at Rivendell. Minstrels played sweetly, singing of the new King's great deeds
Lords and ladies, warriors and craftsmen, Elves and Hobbits were seated at the table. Yet Aragorn saw only the empty spaces left by those who had fallen ere this coronation feast could be held.
A/N .Written for the "Feast" challenge on "Tolkien Weekly."
Title: Fit For a King
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Faramir
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With grateful thanks to Raksha
Fit for a King?
“Would you join me for a drink this evening?” The recently crowned Elessar asked Faramir.
“Thank you, sire, I am honoured,” said Faramir.
Flanked by guards, the two men descended to a tavern on the fifth level.
“How may I serve my lords?” enquired the innkeeper. “I have the finest wines from Dorwinion to Lossarnach.”
“A glass of Dorwinion, please” said Faramir.
“And a tankard of beer for me, please,” said Aragorn. "Do you have Dragon's Breath?
Faramir stared open mouthed. Farmers and other common folk favoured Dragon’s Breath. It seemed he had much to learn about his new lord.
A/N .Written for the "Beer" challenge on "Tolkien Weekly
Title: Finest Vintage
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Arwen, Elrond
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With grateful thanks to Raksha
Aragorn thoughtfully sipped his glass of wine. It was one of Rivendell’s finest, a rare vintage that Master Elrond only brought out on special occasions.
Aragorn had enjoyed the sharp, sweet taste on many memorable days. Despite Elrond’s sorrow at his daughter’s choice, the wine had toasted Aragorn’s homecoming after his great deeds in Rohan and Gondor. The same vintage had celebrated Frodo’s recovery.
Today brought the culmination of Aragorn’s long years of waiting as he celebrated his union with Arwen. The wine was even better than he recalled, but the kisses that awaited him would be sweeter by far.
A/N .Written for the "Wine" challenge on "Tolkien Weekly.
Title: Sweeter than Wine
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Arwen
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
With grateful thanks to Raksha.
Aragorn had tasted many fine wines. Master Elrond’s cellar was renowned amongst all those of the Free Peoples who possessed a discerning palate. The Rangers knew many a recipe to coax a fine wine from such humble fruits as the elderberry. While the Rohirrim cared little for the juice of the grape, their mead was a drink fit to offer the Valar! When Aragorn arrived in Gondor, he found Ecthelion’s cellar contained some of the finest wines in Arda. Yes, Aragorn had enjoyed many a good wine, but no taste was sweeter and headier than the kisses of his bride.
A/N. Written for the "Wine" challenge on "Tolkien Weekly
Title – Crown of Thorns
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn/Arwen
Rating: PG
Warnings: minor injury
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
The roses bloomed early in Gondor, a profusion of blossoms in pink and white, and released a headier perfume than those in the North. Or did he just fancy it so, now that he could gather them freely for his beloved?
Ignoring the gardeners’ scandalised expressions, Aragorn carefully selected the finest blooms for his Queen. It was the least he could do for the one who had given him her all.
A sharp pain pierced his finger. He glanced down and saw the droplet of crimson blood. The roses were fair indeed, but each stem bore cruel thorns in plenty.
A/N.This was written for the "Roses" Prompt on "Tolkien Weekly".
Title - A Feast of Lemons
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn/Arwen
Rating: G
Warnings: none
With thanks to Raksha.
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
A Feast of Lemons
All the guests of the King and Queen of Gondor were enjoying a sumptuous feast; all that is; save the Variag envoy, who appeared most ill at ease.
The lords and ladies tittered behind their hands as he visiblystruggled to select the proper cutlery.
Then came the fish course; Anduin trout garnished with thin pieces of lemon. Unsure how to proceed, the envoy ate the sour slices of fruit, much to the mirth of his dining companions.
Aragorn Elessar glared. He put a slice of lemon into his own mouth, as did Arwen Undómiel. Embarrassed, the guests fell silent.
A/N. This was written for the prompt “Embarrassment” at “Tolkien Weekly.”
Title – Cruel Torment
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Faramir
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Cruel Torment
This torment is far worse than fighting an army of Orcs: countless wordy speeches from worthy lords to listen to patiently; then the ambassadors bring gifts, each more hideous than the last. I endeavour to look pleased with cloaks made of peacock feathers and hideous gem encrusted trinkets.
The worst ordeal is yet to come: a twelve-course banquet of which I am expected to heartily partake while listening to minstrels loudly praising my worthy deeds. Would that that I could be out performing some!
Faramir smiles and whispers in my ear. ”Birthdays come but once a year, my lord!”
A/N .Written for the "Birthday" challenge on "Tolkien Weekly.
Title – Bitter Sweet
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Faramir
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Bitter Sweet
“More mead, my lords?”
Faramir held out his drinking horn to be refilled. Aragorn shook his head.
“I thought you liked mead?” The Steward asked his friend.
“I do, but one horn-full is enough when it is this strong!”
“Mead strong? It was not when Éowyn and I were married.”
“That is because a bridegroom is expected to remain alert!” Aragorn chuckled.
***
”Éomer awaits us for breakfast!” Aragorn declared the next morning.
Faramir groggily opened his eyes. ”The sun is too bright, my head aches!" He groaned.
“Even honey taken in excess can leave a bitter taste,” said Aragorn smugly.
A/N .Written for the "Mead" challenge on "Tolkien Weekly.
Title – Beyond Compare
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Eldarion
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Beyond Compare
When Aragorn was an infant, the fairest sight on Arda was his mother’s smile; when he was a boy; his greatest treasure was his favourite pony; as a young man; Arwen’s beautiful eyes.
Later, the plains of Rohan had seemed fair; but lovelier still was the White City he hoped to rule. In time, such wonders paled, and nothing then seemed fairer than Imladris with his loved ones' smiles welcoming him home.
Aragorn had seen many wonders, but this sight was the greatest of all. His infant son’s milk smeared face was beyond doubt the greatest treasure that Arda held.
A/N. Written for the "Milk" challenge on "Tolkien Weekly.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
The words of kindness are more healing to a drooping heart than balm or honey. - Sarah Fielding (1710–1768), The Adventures of David Simple.
A re-
living of ebbing dreams as morning ocean
returns to us ...
Denise Levertov (b. 1923), Anglo–U.S. poet. “The Tide.”
These Characters are the property of the Estate of J. R. R Tolkien and New Line Cinema. This story has been written for pleasure and no profit has or will be made from it.
With grateful thanks to Raksha for all her much appreciated help.
Faramir sighed in his sleep and nestled his head more comfortably against his friend‘s shoulder.
Aragorn's thoughts turned towards the angry farmers. He was relieved to have reached an agreement with them, though he knew not what would happen when he returned to work in the fields. He had held many duties in his long life, but apart from enjoying watching the Elves bring in the harvest at Rivendell when he was a child, he had little experience of farm work. Surely it could not be too difficult, though? He had attempted and mastered many tasks in his long life, and this would be surely be easy compared with most of them. Then how long would it take for Faramir to recover? Would he be lucid or distressed when he awoke? Unable to answer any of these troubling questions, Aragorn finally dozed.
Despite his exhaustion, the King's slumber was fitful. Faramir shifted and shivered in his arms, occasionally moaning in his sleep. Aragorn was cold and uncomfortable. Only when Faramir stopped shivering, and the King could feel a strong and steady heartbeat vibrating against his own, did he finally dare to fall into a deep exhausted sleep.
When Aragorn awoke again, the sun was already high in the sky. Faramir was still sleeping peacefully. He carefully untied the thong that had he had bound from Faramir's wrist to his own, and arose. Anxiously, he felt Faramir’s forehead for signs of fever. He was relieved to find the fever had abated, though the younger man looked pale and drawn following his ordeal.
Aragorn had learned a bitter lesson in the terrible moments when he believed Faramir dead. He knew now that whatever happened, to lose Faramir would be akin to losing part of his own soul. Never again would he seek to send him from his side. He was fortunate indeed to have been granted another chance to treat Faramir as a beloved son. Aragorn shuddered to recall the months when he had he had treated Faramir so ignominiously, like a servant cast out of favour. Small wonder that he had failed to recover from his imprisonment! Exiling Faramir had hurt them both in equal measure.
Loth as he was to leave his friend, the King had to see to his own needs. He rummaged in his pack and took out a towel, clean shirt, socks, and drawers.
Careful to remain within earshot, though it was unlikely Faramir would awaken until he called him; Aragorn went into the shelter of the trees then hastened down to the river to bathe. He undressed down his drawers and had a very quick swim, washing away the dried sweat and traces of detritus from Faramir’s wound. He noted ruefully that a colourful array of bruises adorned his body from where Faramir had deliriously lashed out at him. Still dripping, he wrapped himself in his towel, gathered up his clothes and returned to Faramir’s side, where he dried himself and swiftly dressed.
Though it seemed a pity to disturb the younger man, Aragorn deemed it was time now to awaken him. The sooner that Faramir took refreshment and had his injuries were tended, the better. He hesitated, wondering whether he should use his abilities to try to erase the memories of Faramir's delirium of the previous night from his friend’s mind. No, Faramir was not a distressed Hobbit, but a warrior, a courageous and intelligent man who had braved the Nazgûl's attack; he would not shrink from such knowledge. Besides, it would probably cause Faramir more anguish to only guess at what had occurred. The gaps in Aragorn's own memories when he had been drugged or feverish were not a burden he would wish on another. Aragorn knelt beside Faramir and placed a hand on his brow. ”Wake up, ion nîn!” he commanded, gently but firmly.
The Steward stirred, blinked and opened his eyes, only to quickly shut them again against the light.
“How do you fare?” Aragorn asked quietly.
Faramir struggled to sit up then fell back again as waves of dizziness and nausea engulfed him.
“Easy now, tell me exactly how you feel and I will aid you.”
“Thank you,” Faramir said weakly, unable even to nod his head. ”I fear I fare ill.” He forced himself to focus his gaze upon the King. “My head aches,” he croaked. “My ribs feel as if a mûmak had stomped upon them, and my back smarts. What happened? I had such dark dreams!”
“You were bitten by a spider, one akin to Shelob, I think,” Aragorn explained.
Faramir groaned. “Is that why my head spins so much?” he enquired, sinking back on the bedroll. “I feel sick!”
“It will pass,” Aragorn soothed, trying to settle him more comfortably. “Just lie still for a few moments, and take my hands. I only wish I had some ginger for you.”
Faramir gripped Aragorn’s outstretched hands like a drowning mariner would clutch a scrap of driftwood, then shut his eyes again. Aragorn held Faramir's hands for a moment, suffusing him with a wave of warmth and energy. The King then pressed his thumbs hard on Faramir’s wrists, using a technique that Lord Elrond had taught him to ease nausea when no medicines were available. He pulled back the blankets and held his hands a few inches above Faramir’s ribs and stomach where he sensed Faramir was hurting the most. The Steward lay quietly content to let those wonderful healing hands work their magic. The worse of the pain and discomfort abated.
After a few minutes had passed, Faramir dared to open his eyes again, and met the concerned gaze of his King. “I will tend you further later,” Aragorn said. “Try to swallow a little water.” He uncorked his freshly filled water bottle.
Faramir attempted once more to sit up, and this time succeeded with Aragorn's aid. He managed to swallow a few sips of the proffered drink. His expression became increasingly bewildered. “Why am I only half dressed and my shirt unlaced?” he asked in bewilderment. “Oh no, I remember now! I thought it was but an evil dream!”
“What do you remember?” Aragorn asked gently.
“I was running through the field naked and a group of angry men and women were after me!” Faramir replied, flushing scarlet. "The shame of it! How shall I ever be able to live with the disgrace? I, the Steward of Gondor, to have been seen in so disgraceful a state! I am destroyed! How could I do such a thing? They must have thought I was a drunkard or a lunatic!” He buried his face in his hands, shaking with distress.
“Peace ion nîn!” Aragorn placed a comforting arm around him. “The corn was high enough to shield your body from their eyes until I reached you. I covered you with a blanket before the farmers arrived. You were feverish and had wandered off while I slept.”
“You are certain I was not naked before them?” Faramir persisted anxiously, burying his head against the King’s shoulder and seeking solace in the comfortingly familiar scent of athelas and fresh herbs, which seemed especially strong today.
“I was the only one to see you completely unclothed,” Aragorn reassured him. “Do trouble yourself over the matter. I dressed you as quickly as I could, though you resisted my efforts quite fiercely, hence your partial state of undress. I gave up as soon as you were decent enough to behold.”
“I did not wish to dress?” Faramir sounded incredulous. “But I hate being unclothed!”
“I know that well,” Aragorn said wryly. “After all, you do look far better with your clothes on than without them. The farmers would have agreed, though I am not sure about their wives. I think the women were disappointed that I had you decently covered before they could get a good look at you! The men were concerned more with the damage to their crops than your curious lack of attire.”
“We will never hear the last of it!” Faramir groaned. “The Steward of the Realm found rampaging through a field of crops wearing only a blanket! All of Gondor will take me for an immodest drunkard with no respect for property either, or worse, a madman like my father.” Aragorn felt the younger man shiver.
“Peace, Faramir, they know not who we are,” said Aragorn quickly. “I told them we were a father and son from the City on leave from the army, and enjoying a hunting trip together. They will never guess the truth.” He deemed it best to wait until Faramir was less distressed before telling him of the bargain he had made with the farmers. “You are not mad, it was merely the effects of the spider venom combined with your fever.”
“But Frodo did not act thus. I seem to have less resilience to the poison than a Hobbit!” Faramir fretted. “Samwise told me that Frodo was back on his feet within a few hours of being bitten by Shelob and he did not lose his wits as I did!”
“Your heart was beating very fast when you were attacked, so more of the venom would have circulated in your body,” Aragorn explained. “I did not pour Orc brew down your throat, so the poison’s effects are slower to wear off. It is better to let your body expel it naturally. It was appalling what they did to Frodo. They could have choked him. Then by interrupting the body’ natural healing processes, the potion permanently damaged Frodo’s heath. Hobbits usually recover far more swiftly than Men from injuries. Have no fear, mellon nîn, you will feel better in a few hours, and in a day or two be fully recovered. Now that Sauron is no more, his creatures’ power wanes quickly. Once the wound closes it will be as if it never happened.” Aragorn again grasped Faramir’s hands and looked him straight in the eye.
“If you say so...” Faramir managed a weak smile, but his eyes were troubled. He rubbed his aching head, trying to comprehend everything that had happened.
“Let me ease your head!” Aragorn held his hand above Faramir’s aching brow.
The Steward closed his eyes and sighed as the pain subsided. When he opened his eyes again, he felt much better. It was then he noticed the bruise on Aragorn’s face.
“What happened to you?” he enquired, hoping the horrible suspicion he felt would prove false.
“I um, knocked myself,” Aragorn replied evasively.
“Or was it not I who hit you?” Faramir asked dejectedly, his eyes on his King.
“You thought your raiment full of crawling creatures and objected to my insistence that you clothe yourself,” Aragorn informed him. “Do not trouble yourself about it. It is not painful. It was my own fault for not sending you sleep sooner.”
“So I laid violent hands upon you once more," Faramir said in a low, sad voice. “I struck my liege lord.”
“We are far from the court and at present I would be as a father and a Healer to you,” Aragorn replied. “All Healers occasionally receive a few blows from confused patients. You probably mistook me for a spider or an Orc, given the dark dreams such foul venom conjures up. Think no more of it. I am far more concerned about having a cup of tea! Do you feel you could drink some now?”
Faramir nodded mutely, then wished he had not as his head started to spin once more.
“Lie down again,” Aragorn advised, “It will pass as the day wears on.”
“But I need to get up!” Faramir protested.
“Come on then!” Aragorn knelt beside him. “Put your hands on my shoulders!” he instructed.
Thus supported, Faramir found he could stand up, albeit rather shakily. Aragorn led him to the cover of the trees. Faramir tried to hide his misery at the humiliation of needing assistance.
“There is no need to feel uncomfortable,” Aragorn assured him. “You had to do everything for me but a few months since. Sadly, I expressed no gratitude for my great good fortune at having a friend who treated me always with dignity and kindness. Do not see shame where there is none, as I foolishly did.”
“It is not easy to feel helpless as a babe when one is accustomed to independence,” said Faramir, sinking again on the bedroll when they returned to their campsite.
”I know that all too well,” Aragorn replied ruefully. He threw more logs on the fire as he spoke. “I need to leave you to fetch water. And please do not let any more spiders bite you while my back is turned! I do not wish for such a fright again, nor to have to dress one so reluctant twice. You struggled worse than Eldarion does when he does not wish to be put into clean clothing!”
The Steward managed a weak grin at what he knew was good-natured teasing.
While the King was gone, Faramir desperately tried to recollect his jumbled thoughts and remember exactly what had happened. He had been sitting by the riverbank and had felt a sharp pain between his shoulder blades. Then darkness had taken him, a thick and heavy darkness punctuated by terrifying flashes of clarity. Faramir had been aware of his surroundings, but unable to move or speak.
Aragorn had been there. The King had stayed constantly at his side, murmuring words of comfort and reassurance, chafing his hands and bathing his face as if aware of Faramir's confusion and fear. Horrified, Faramir then realised that Aragorn did know how Faramir had felt. Aragorn must have had the same awareness when he had been paralysed with the venom himself. Fore Aragorn, though, there had been none to offer comfort, and reassure him that he would not be buried alive!
Faramir remembered the certainty, as sensation had returned, that his skin was covered in crawling insects. He had torn off his clothes, heedless of decorum for the first time in his adult life, intent only on ridding himself of the vile creatures. He remembered angry raised voices shouting at him and a sea of strange faces. All he could remember after that was feeling increasingly unwell and someone at his side caring for him. Aragorn was a true friend indeed. But just how much damage had he caused when he had blundered naked into the field?
“You remembered it all.” Faramir stated when Aragorn return returned with the water.
“Remembered what, mellon nîn?” Aragorn asked puzzled.
“That I drugged you with spider venom,” Faramir confessed miserably.
“I realised that it was the spider venom that enabled you to convince the rebels that I was dead. Before last night, I could not understand how you extricated me from that den of torment. Why did you not tell me before?” Aragorn did not sound angry. He busied himself putting the water on to boil.
“I could not; I did not think you would understand. I saw to it that you were paralysed, taken for dead!”
“I should have been more understanding long ago,” Aragorn said apologetically. “Perhaps you would have felt able to confide in me if I had been? I suspect that a need to bare your soul, as well as a fear of crawling creatures, was behind what happened last night. You were very distressed before you were bitten. Maybe it would help if you told me about using the venom.”
“It pains me too much,” Faramir replied, refusing to meet Aragorn's eyes.
“I know,” Aragorn said gently. He knew it seemed cruel to press Faramir in his weakened condition, yet felt certain his recovery would be swifter were his heart unburdened.
Faramir hesitated. If he told any more, the newfound bond between them could shatter once more.
“You need to tell me all,” Aragorn’s voice was kindly, but its note of command was unmistakable.
A re-
living of ebbing dreams as morning ocean
returns to us ...
Denise Levertov (b. 1923), Anglo–U.S. poet. “The Tide.”
These Characters are the property of the Estate of J. R. R Tolkien and New Line Cinema. This story has been written for pleasure and no profit has or will be made from it.
With grateful thanks to Raksha for all her much appreciated help.
Faramir sighed in his sleep and nestled his head more comfortably against his friend‘s shoulder.
Aragorn's thoughts turned towards the angry farmers. He was relieved to have reached an agreement with them, though he knew not what would happen when he returned to work in the fields. He had held many duties in his long life, but apart from enjoying watching the Elves bring in the harvest at Rivendell when he was a child, he had little experience of farm work. Surely it could not be too difficult, though? He had attempted and mastered many tasks in his long life, and this would be surely be easy compared with most of them. Then how long would it take for Faramir to recover? Would he be lucid or distressed when he awoke? Unable to answer any of these troubling questions, Aragorn finally dozed.
Despite his exhaustion, the King's slumber was fitful. Faramir shifted and shivered in his arms, occasionally moaning in his sleep. Aragorn was cold and uncomfortable. Only when Faramir stopped shivering, and the King could feel a strong and steady heartbeat vibrating against his own, did he finally dare to fall into a deep exhausted sleep.
When Aragorn awoke again, the sun was already high in the sky. Faramir was still sleeping peacefully. He carefully untied the thong that had he had bound from Faramir's wrist to his own, and arose. Anxiously, he felt Faramir’s forehead for signs of fever. He was relieved to find the fever had abated, though the younger man looked pale and drawn following his ordeal.
Aragorn had learned a bitter lesson in the terrible moments when he believed Faramir dead. He knew now that whatever happened, to lose Faramir would be akin to losing part of his own soul. Never again would he seek to send him from his side. He was fortunate indeed to have been granted another chance to treat Faramir as a beloved son. Aragorn shuddered to recall the months when he had he had treated Faramir so ignominiously, like a servant cast out of favour. Small wonder that he had failed to recover from his imprisonment! Exiling Faramir had hurt them both in equal measure.
Loth as he was to leave his friend, the King had to see to his own needs. He rummaged in his pack and took out a towel, clean shirt, socks, and drawers.
Careful to remain within earshot, though it was unlikely Faramir would awaken until he called him; Aragorn went into the shelter of the trees then hastened down to the river to bathe. He undressed down his drawers and had a very quick swim, washing away the dried sweat and traces of detritus from Faramir’s wound. He noted ruefully that a colourful array of bruises adorned his body from where Faramir had deliriously lashed out at him. Still dripping, he wrapped himself in his towel, gathered up his clothes and returned to Faramir’s side, where he dried himself and swiftly dressed.
Though it seemed a pity to disturb the younger man, Aragorn deemed it was time now to awaken him. The sooner that Faramir took refreshment and had his injuries were tended, the better. He hesitated, wondering whether he should use his abilities to try to erase the memories of Faramir's delirium of the previous night from his friend’s mind. No, Faramir was not a distressed Hobbit, but a warrior, a courageous and intelligent man who had braved the Nazgûl's attack; he would not shrink from such knowledge. Besides, it would probably cause Faramir more anguish to only guess at what had occurred. The gaps in Aragorn's own memories when he had been drugged or feverish were not a burden he would wish on another. Aragorn knelt beside Faramir and placed a hand on his brow. ”Wake up, ion nîn!” he commanded, gently but firmly.
The Steward stirred, blinked and opened his eyes, only to quickly shut them again against the light.
“How do you fare?” Aragorn asked quietly.
Faramir struggled to sit up then fell back again as waves of dizziness and nausea engulfed him.
“Easy now, tell me exactly how you feel and I will aid you.”
“Thank you,” Faramir said weakly, unable even to nod his head. ”I fear I fare ill.” He forced himself to focus his gaze upon the King. “My head aches,” he croaked. “My ribs feel as if a mûmak had stomped upon them, and my back smarts. What happened? I had such dark dreams!”
“You were bitten by a spider, one akin to Shelob, I think,” Aragorn explained.
Faramir groaned. “Is that why my head spins so much?” he enquired, sinking back on the bedroll. “I feel sick!”
“It will pass,” Aragorn soothed, trying to settle him more comfortably. “Just lie still for a few moments, and take my hands. I only wish I had some ginger for you.”
Faramir gripped Aragorn’s outstretched hands like a drowning mariner would clutch a scrap of driftwood, then shut his eyes again. Aragorn held Faramir's hands for a moment, suffusing him with a wave of warmth and energy. The King then pressed his thumbs hard on Faramir’s wrists, using a technique that Lord Elrond had taught him to ease nausea when no medicines were available. He pulled back the blankets and held his hands a few inches above Faramir’s ribs and stomach where he sensed Faramir was hurting the most. The Steward lay quietly content to let those wonderful healing hands work their magic. The worse of the pain and discomfort abated.
After a few minutes had passed, Faramir dared to open his eyes again, and met the concerned gaze of his King. “I will tend you further later,” Aragorn said. “Try to swallow a little water.” He uncorked his freshly filled water bottle.
Faramir attempted once more to sit up, and this time succeeded with Aragorn's aid. He managed to swallow a few sips of the proffered drink. His expression became increasingly bewildered. “Why am I only half dressed and my shirt unlaced?” he asked in bewilderment. “Oh no, I remember now! I thought it was but an evil dream!”
“What do you remember?” Aragorn asked gently.
“I was running through the field naked and a group of angry men and women were after me!” Faramir replied, flushing scarlet. "The shame of it! How shall I ever be able to live with the disgrace? I, the Steward of Gondor, to have been seen in so disgraceful a state! I am destroyed! How could I do such a thing? They must have thought I was a drunkard or a lunatic!” He buried his face in his hands, shaking with distress.
“Peace ion nîn!” Aragorn placed a comforting arm around him. “The corn was high enough to shield your body from their eyes until I reached you. I covered you with a blanket before the farmers arrived. You were feverish and had wandered off while I slept.”
“You are certain I was not naked before them?” Faramir persisted anxiously, burying his head against the King’s shoulder and seeking solace in the comfortingly familiar scent of athelas and fresh herbs, which seemed especially strong today.
“I was the only one to see you completely unclothed,” Aragorn reassured him. “Do trouble yourself over the matter. I dressed you as quickly as I could, though you resisted my efforts quite fiercely, hence your partial state of undress. I gave up as soon as you were decent enough to behold.”
“I did not wish to dress?” Faramir sounded incredulous. “But I hate being unclothed!”
“I know that well,” Aragorn said wryly. “After all, you do look far better with your clothes on than without them. The farmers would have agreed, though I am not sure about their wives. I think the women were disappointed that I had you decently covered before they could get a good look at you! The men were concerned more with the damage to their crops than your curious lack of attire.”
“We will never hear the last of it!” Faramir groaned. “The Steward of the Realm found rampaging through a field of crops wearing only a blanket! All of Gondor will take me for an immodest drunkard with no respect for property either, or worse, a madman like my father.” Aragorn felt the younger man shiver.
“Peace, Faramir, they know not who we are,” said Aragorn quickly. “I told them we were a father and son from the City on leave from the army, and enjoying a hunting trip together. They will never guess the truth.” He deemed it best to wait until Faramir was less distressed before telling him of the bargain he had made with the farmers. “You are not mad, it was merely the effects of the spider venom combined with your fever.”
“But Frodo did not act thus. I seem to have less resilience to the poison than a Hobbit!” Faramir fretted. “Samwise told me that Frodo was back on his feet within a few hours of being bitten by Shelob and he did not lose his wits as I did!”
“Your heart was beating very fast when you were attacked, so more of the venom would have circulated in your body,” Aragorn explained. “I did not pour Orc brew down your throat, so the poison’s effects are slower to wear off. It is better to let your body expel it naturally. It was appalling what they did to Frodo. They could have choked him. Then by interrupting the body’ natural healing processes, the potion permanently damaged Frodo’s heath. Hobbits usually recover far more swiftly than Men from injuries. Have no fear, mellon nîn, you will feel better in a few hours, and in a day or two be fully recovered. Now that Sauron is no more, his creatures’ power wanes quickly. Once the wound closes it will be as if it never happened.” Aragorn again grasped Faramir’s hands and looked him straight in the eye.
“If you say so...” Faramir managed a weak smile, but his eyes were troubled. He rubbed his aching head, trying to comprehend everything that had happened.
“Let me ease your head!” Aragorn held his hand above Faramir’s aching brow.
The Steward closed his eyes and sighed as the pain subsided. When he opened his eyes again, he felt much better. It was then he noticed the bruise on Aragorn’s face.
“What happened to you?” he enquired, hoping the horrible suspicion he felt would prove false.
“I um, knocked myself,” Aragorn replied evasively.
“Or was it not I who hit you?” Faramir asked dejectedly, his eyes on his King.
“You thought your raiment full of crawling creatures and objected to my insistence that you clothe yourself,” Aragorn informed him. “Do not trouble yourself about it. It is not painful. It was my own fault for not sending you sleep sooner.”
“So I laid violent hands upon you once more," Faramir said in a low, sad voice. “I struck my liege lord.”
“We are far from the court and at present I would be as a father and a Healer to you,” Aragorn replied. “All Healers occasionally receive a few blows from confused patients. You probably mistook me for a spider or an Orc, given the dark dreams such foul venom conjures up. Think no more of it. I am far more concerned about having a cup of tea! Do you feel you could drink some now?”
Faramir nodded mutely, then wished he had not as his head started to spin once more.
“Lie down again,” Aragorn advised, “It will pass as the day wears on.”
“But I need to get up!” Faramir protested.
“Come on then!” Aragorn knelt beside him. “Put your hands on my shoulders!” he instructed.
Thus supported, Faramir found he could stand up, albeit rather shakily. Aragorn led him to the cover of the trees. Faramir tried to hide his misery at the humiliation of needing assistance.
“There is no need to feel uncomfortable,” Aragorn assured him. “You had to do everything for me but a few months since. Sadly, I expressed no gratitude for my great good fortune at having a friend who treated me always with dignity and kindness. Do not see shame where there is none, as I foolishly did.”
“It is not easy to feel helpless as a babe when one is accustomed to independence,” said Faramir, sinking again on the bedroll when they returned to their campsite.
”I know that all too well,” Aragorn replied ruefully. He threw more logs on the fire as he spoke. “I need to leave you to fetch water. And please do not let any more spiders bite you while my back is turned! I do not wish for such a fright again, nor to have to dress one so reluctant twice. You struggled worse than Eldarion does when he does not wish to be put into clean clothing!”
The Steward managed a weak grin at what he knew was good-natured teasing.
While the King was gone, Faramir desperately tried to recollect his jumbled thoughts and remember exactly what had happened. He had been sitting by the riverbank and had felt a sharp pain between his shoulder blades. Then darkness had taken him, a thick and heavy darkness punctuated by terrifying flashes of clarity. Faramir had been aware of his surroundings, but unable to move or speak.
Aragorn had been there. The King had stayed constantly at his side, murmuring words of comfort and reassurance, chafing his hands and bathing his face as if aware of Faramir's confusion and fear. Horrified, Faramir then realised that Aragorn did know how Faramir had felt. Aragorn must have had the same awareness when he had been paralysed with the venom himself. Fore Aragorn, though, there had been none to offer comfort, and reassure him that he would not be buried alive!
Faramir remembered the certainty, as sensation had returned, that his skin was covered in crawling insects. He had torn off his clothes, heedless of decorum for the first time in his adult life, intent only on ridding himself of the vile creatures. He remembered angry raised voices shouting at him and a sea of strange faces. All he could remember after that was feeling increasingly unwell and someone at his side caring for him. Aragorn was a true friend indeed. But just how much damage had he caused when he had blundered naked into the field?
“You remembered it all.” Faramir stated when Aragorn return returned with the water.
“Remembered what, mellon nîn?” Aragorn asked puzzled.
“That I drugged you with spider venom,” Faramir confessed miserably.
“I realised that it was the spider venom that enabled you to convince the rebels that I was dead. Before last night, I could not understand how you extricated me from that den of torment. Why did you not tell me before?” Aragorn did not sound angry. He busied himself putting the water on to boil.
“I could not; I did not think you would understand. I saw to it that you were paralysed, taken for dead!”
“I should have been more understanding long ago,” Aragorn said apologetically. “Perhaps you would have felt able to confide in me if I had been? I suspect that a need to bare your soul, as well as a fear of crawling creatures, was behind what happened last night. You were very distressed before you were bitten. Maybe it would help if you told me about using the venom.”
“It pains me too much,” Faramir replied, refusing to meet Aragorn's eyes.
“I know,” Aragorn said gently. He knew it seemed cruel to press Faramir in his weakened condition, yet felt certain his recovery would be swifter were his heart unburdened.
Faramir hesitated. If he told any more, the newfound bond between them could shatter once more.
“You need to tell me all,” Aragorn’s voice was kindly, but its note of command was unmistakable.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
And judgement is turned away backward, and justice standeth afar off: for truth is fallen in the street, and equity cannot enter.- Isaiah 59.14 – The Bible
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain
And judgement is turned away backward, and justice standeth afar off: for truth is fallen in the street, and equity cannot enter.- Isaiah 59.14 – The Bible
With thanks to Raksha
At Faramir’s insistence, Aragorn sent two guards on ahead when they arrived at Linhir. After some debate the King and Steward had decided to first visit the troubled region, and then make their way along the coast, visiting the towns and villages until they reached Dol Amroth where they planned to spend a few days with Prince Imrahil before returning home.
The guards soon came back with a report that the tax rebels were to being punished that very day in the town square, but everything was under control as the Lord of Lamedon’s retainers were preventing any trouble.
“We will enter the town quietly,” said Aragorn. “I should like to see how young Lord Mardil keeps order.”
“Is that wise?” cautioned Faramir. ”I know the young man is loyal, but his late father’s supporters may be behind the disturbances. Maybe we should wait until later?”
“If there is trouble in my realm, I need to understand exactly what is wrong,” Aragorn insisted. "It is not as if our wives and children are with us. We are warriors who can protect ourselves."
Pulling their hoods around their faces, the small group rode into Linhir. The entire population appeared to be assembled before the pillory. A battered and bloodied man was being dragged to the side by two burly retainers, while two more dragged a young man, seemingly just come of age to take his place. The first man was roughly shoved onto a heap of rotten vegetables at the side.
A soldier beat a solemn roll on a drum and a man richly dressed in heavily embroidered brocade stepped forward. “Bring the second prisoner forward!” he cried. “Hador son of Valacar, you are charged with refusing to pay your taxes and your punishment is to stand for an hour in the pillory where you will be whipped with twenty five lashes while the good townsfolk may throw what they please at you!”
“The taxes ain’t fair!” the young man protested sullenly. ”Why should we toil all day, and then go hungry, all on account of some King that we don’t even know is real, or but a figment of old tales!”
“Prepare him!” said Brandir roughly. Two soldiers secured the boy in the pillory, while a third drew his dagger and cut the lad’s shirt from his back. A burly man brandishing a whip came forward, cracking it menacingly.
“That man cannot be Lord Mardil,” said Faramir. “Mardil is not yet one and twenty, while this man is at least fifty!”
“You must be a stranger to these parts,” said a man who had overheard the Steward’s remark. “Lord Mardil is away fighting on the borders of Harad. He has left his Steward, Brandir in charge in his place. Lord Mardil is a nice enough lad, but his steward...”He spat upon the ground.
Suddenly a woman appeared from amongst the crowd and threw herself in front of the boy. She thrust a leather bag towards Brandir.” I have the taxes owed, my lord,” she said. ”Please take the money and spare my son! My husband is in no fit state to work,” she gestured towards the man lying on the rubbish. ”If my son cannot work either, the harvest will be spoiled and we will starve!"
Brandir smiled and reached for the money, which he pocketed, pushing the woman aside. He smiled grimly. ”The debt is paid, but the punishment still stands!” He gestured with the man with the whip to proceed. The whip cracked and swished through the air. The youth screamed in pain. His mother collapsed sobbing at Brandir’s feet. The steward ignored her.
“Hold! That is enough!” Aragorn stepped forward with Faramir beside him. The guards formed a protective cluster around their King..
“And who might you be?” Brandir enquired haughtily.
“Your King, Aragorn Elessar Telcontar, “ said Aragorn, drawing Andúril and showing the renowned blade to the assembly.” The man has paid his debts, so under the law he goes free. And even had he not paid his debts; the punishment is hard labour, not flogging.”
Brandir shrugged. ”Very well, my lord,” he said bowing low. “Since those that rioted could not be found, we sought to make an example of these three to maintain order.”
“And what sort of justice is that?” demanded Faramir.
“And who might you be?” asked Brandir.
“I am Lord Faramir, Steward of Gondor and loyal servant of the King,” said Faramir.
“It was much better when your father ruled, lad,” said a very old woman from amongst the crowd cried. ”Taxes were much lower then!”
”Let it be known that I will countenance no dissent in my name! My fealty is to King Elessar,” Faramir replied sternly.
“Good people,” cried Aragorn, turning to address them. ”I know times are hard, but the tithes are needed to rebuild our land, and see that none go hungry.”
“Tithe indeed!” sniffed the old woman. ”The tax has trebled at your command!” The rest of the crowd murmured their agreement.
A sudden realisation dawned on Aragorn. Mardil’s Steward was taxing the people at extortionate rates, and blaming the King for the increases, while he pocketed the money himself. He turned to face Brandir, but the man was trying to slip away amidst the throng., while his men had already made good their escape. ”Seize him!” he called the guards, who hurried to carry out his orders.
“Good people, I shall endeavour to right the wrongs done to you!” Aragorn promised.
A handful cheered, while the majority looked indifferent. The King turned to the woman who had tried to protect her son, who was helping her bloodied husband off the rubbish heap, assisted by the lad, whose back was disfigured by an angry weal. ”Mistress, permit me to aid your kinsfolk,” said Aragorn. “I am a healer.”
“I can look after my own well enough, lord,” said the woman. ”We don’t need no help.”
Aragorn looked at her for a long moment. “I will send officials from the City to take charge here,” he said. “Any overpaid taxes will be returned to you. ”With that, he turned and walked away.
After finding a suitable escort of former soldiers to escort Brandir to the City for trial, Aragorn departed the town. A handful of children regarded him curiously, while two women and one old man said thank you. Otherwise the people watched him leave in silence. Heavy of heart, he rode onwards.
“You have done your best,” said Faramir, bringing his mount alongside Aragorn’s. “I fear some people cannot recognise a pearl before their very eyes.”
“It is as much my fault as theirs,” Aragorn said morosely. ”I should have taken more heed of what was happening in my realm.”
“Next time you come this way they will strew your path with flowers,” said Faramir.
“I wonder,” said the King, urging Roheryn forward.
A/N.
Mardil is mentioned in “Web of Treason”. He is the young son of one of the lords who plotted against Aragorn,who was allowed to keep his lands as he was serving as a loyal soldier to the King at the time.
I am pleased to be continuing posting my stories here again. I've been taking a break to complete a challenge which required me to write 31 prompts for “Back to Middle Earth Month”. You can read them on my LJ
http://lindahoyland.livejournal.com/tag/back+to+middle-+earth+month
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain
And judgement is turned away backward, and justice standeth afar off: for truth is fallen in the street, and equity cannot enter.- Isaiah 59.14 – The Bible
With thanks to Raksha
At Faramir’s insistence, Aragorn sent two guards on ahead when they arrived at Linhir. After some debate the King and Steward had decided to first visit the troubled region, and then make their way along the coast, visiting the towns and villages until they reached Dol Amroth where they planned to spend a few days with Prince Imrahil before returning home.
The guards soon came back with a report that the tax rebels were to being punished that very day in the town square, but everything was under control as the Lord of Lamedon’s retainers were preventing any trouble.
“We will enter the town quietly,” said Aragorn. “I should like to see how young Lord Mardil keeps order.”
“Is that wise?” cautioned Faramir. ”I know the young man is loyal, but his late father’s supporters may be behind the disturbances. Maybe we should wait until later?”
“If there is trouble in my realm, I need to understand exactly what is wrong,” Aragorn insisted. "It is not as if our wives and children are with us. We are warriors who can protect ourselves."
Pulling their hoods around their faces, the small group rode into Linhir. The entire population appeared to be assembled before the pillory. A battered and bloodied man was being dragged to the side by two burly retainers, while two more dragged a young man, seemingly just come of age to take his place. The first man was roughly shoved onto a heap of rotten vegetables at the side.
A soldier beat a solemn roll on a drum and a man richly dressed in heavily embroidered brocade stepped forward. “Bring the second prisoner forward!” he cried. “Hador son of Valacar, you are charged with refusing to pay your taxes and your punishment is to stand for an hour in the pillory where you will be whipped with twenty five lashes while the good townsfolk may throw what they please at you!”
“The taxes ain’t fair!” the young man protested sullenly. ”Why should we toil all day, and then go hungry, all on account of some King that we don’t even know is real, or but a figment of old tales!”
“Prepare him!” said Brandir roughly. Two soldiers secured the boy in the pillory, while a third drew his dagger and cut the lad’s shirt from his back. A burly man brandishing a whip came forward, cracking it menacingly.
“That man cannot be Lord Mardil,” said Faramir. “Mardil is not yet one and twenty, while this man is at least fifty!”
“You must be a stranger to these parts,” said a man who had overheard the Steward’s remark. “Lord Mardil is away fighting on the borders of Harad. He has left his Steward, Brandir in charge in his place. Lord Mardil is a nice enough lad, but his steward...”He spat upon the ground.
Suddenly a woman appeared from amongst the crowd and threw herself in front of the boy. She thrust a leather bag towards Brandir.” I have the taxes owed, my lord,” she said. ”Please take the money and spare my son! My husband is in no fit state to work,” she gestured towards the man lying on the rubbish. ”If my son cannot work either, the harvest will be spoiled and we will starve!"
Brandir smiled and reached for the money, which he pocketed, pushing the woman aside. He smiled grimly. ”The debt is paid, but the punishment still stands!” He gestured with the man with the whip to proceed. The whip cracked and swished through the air. The youth screamed in pain. His mother collapsed sobbing at Brandir’s feet. The steward ignored her.
“Hold! That is enough!” Aragorn stepped forward with Faramir beside him. The guards formed a protective cluster around their King..
“And who might you be?” Brandir enquired haughtily.
“Your King, Aragorn Elessar Telcontar, “ said Aragorn, drawing Andúril and showing the renowned blade to the assembly.” The man has paid his debts, so under the law he goes free. And even had he not paid his debts; the punishment is hard labour, not flogging.”
Brandir shrugged. ”Very well, my lord,” he said bowing low. “Since those that rioted could not be found, we sought to make an example of these three to maintain order.”
“And what sort of justice is that?” demanded Faramir.
“And who might you be?” asked Brandir.
“I am Lord Faramir, Steward of Gondor and loyal servant of the King,” said Faramir.
“It was much better when your father ruled, lad,” said a very old woman from amongst the crowd cried. ”Taxes were much lower then!”
”Let it be known that I will countenance no dissent in my name! My fealty is to King Elessar,” Faramir replied sternly.
“Good people,” cried Aragorn, turning to address them. ”I know times are hard, but the tithes are needed to rebuild our land, and see that none go hungry.”
“Tithe indeed!” sniffed the old woman. ”The tax has trebled at your command!” The rest of the crowd murmured their agreement.
A sudden realisation dawned on Aragorn. Mardil’s Steward was taxing the people at extortionate rates, and blaming the King for the increases, while he pocketed the money himself. He turned to face Brandir, but the man was trying to slip away amidst the throng., while his men had already made good their escape. ”Seize him!” he called the guards, who hurried to carry out his orders.
“Good people, I shall endeavour to right the wrongs done to you!” Aragorn promised.
A handful cheered, while the majority looked indifferent. The King turned to the woman who had tried to protect her son, who was helping her bloodied husband off the rubbish heap, assisted by the lad, whose back was disfigured by an angry weal. ”Mistress, permit me to aid your kinsfolk,” said Aragorn. “I am a healer.”
“I can look after my own well enough, lord,” said the woman. ”We don’t need no help.”
Aragorn looked at her for a long moment. “I will send officials from the City to take charge here,” he said. “Any overpaid taxes will be returned to you. ”With that, he turned and walked away.
After finding a suitable escort of former soldiers to escort Brandir to the City for trial, Aragorn departed the town. A handful of children regarded him curiously, while two women and one old man said thank you. Otherwise the people watched him leave in silence. Heavy of heart, he rode onwards.
“You have done your best,” said Faramir, bringing his mount alongside Aragorn’s. “I fear some people cannot recognise a pearl before their very eyes.”
“It is as much my fault as theirs,” Aragorn said morosely. ”I should have taken more heed of what was happening in my realm.”
“Next time you come this way they will strew your path with flowers,” said Faramir.
“I wonder,” said the King, urging Roheryn forward.
A/N.
Mardil is mentioned in “Web of Treason”. He is the young son of one of the lords who plotted against Aragorn,who was allowed to keep his lands as he was serving as a loyal soldier to the King at the time.
I am pleased to be continuing posting my stories here again. I've been taking a break to complete a challenge which required me to write 31 prompts for “Back to Middle Earth Month”. You can read them on my LJ
http://lindahoyland.livejournal.com/tag/back+to+middle-+earth+month
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