Before it was Broken
Title: Before it was Broken
Rating: G
Theme: Letters
Elements: Thank you letter
Beta: Raksha and Virtuella. With grateful thanks.
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Arwen could delay the dreaded task no longer. Eldarion was asleep, watched over by his nurse, Estel was at a meeting of the Council, she had no engagements that morning, and for once, no one was desiring an audience with the Queen of Gondor and Arnor.
Sighing, Arwen sat down at her desk and dipped the quill in the ink. She had told Estel of her dilemma over breakfast that morning, but her husband had simply laughed. “It cannot be that bad,” he had said. “A simple note of thanks will suffice.”
“But the Peredhil do not lie!” Arwen had protested. “It is truly hideous! Yet, I would not hurt the feelings of two kind and well meaning friends.”
“You excel at diplomatic skills,” Estel had assured her. Then with a kiss on her cheek and another on Eldarion’s dark curls, he was gone, leaving Arwen with the object of her nightmares.
The Queen studied the vase again. 'Hideous' was only one way to describe it. 'Garish' would be an equally apt description. About a foot tall, the vase was decorated with a clashing array of purple irises and yellow tulips, far too lavishly embellished with thick bands of gold leaf, under the rim and at the base, which overshadowed the flowers and made it glitter so brightly that it would hurt sensitive eyes to look upon it for long. Estel had told her that gold was highly prized in Southron lands .which meant that the ugly vase was a gift betokening great respect. This only added to Arwen’s dilemma. She must thank Lord Tahir and Lady Adiva properly, but how could she without lying?
Her eyes wandered across the room to where a beautiful vase of silver, inlaid with pearl, stood holding a few sprigs of evergreens. The cherished heirloom, which had belonged to her grandmother, was exactly what a vase should look like, elegant and understated, so that the eye was drawn to the greenery or flowers and not the container they stood in.
But then, the Elves had dwelled for centuries in temperate climes where abundant flowers and foliage flourished, unlike the Ambassador from Harad and his lady.
Arwen took a deep breath and began to write
My dear Lord Tahir and Lady Adiva,
It was kind of you to think of us this Mettarë
That much at least was true; the Haradrim had no similar festival, their desert clime having little variation in seasons or length of days.
How thoughtful that you should remember how much I love flowers.
Another sincere sentiment, Lady Adiva had noticed that the Queen’s sitting room was never without a vase of whatever flowers were in season. She was not to know that of all flowers Arwen liked irises and tulips the least, considering them stiff and formal. Tulips originated in Harad and were much prized there as a rarity that flourished only in the cooler highland regions. Irises, too grew in the region, and as for the hue, Arwen made no secret that purple was a favourite shade of hers. Who was to know that she much preferred the humble violet to the haughty iris?
I will think of you both whenever I behold your kind gift.
Arwen paused. Much as she would like to, she could hardly consign the vase to the back of a cupboard, or donate it to be sold for the poor. Tahir and Adiva were fairly regular visitors. But the thought of using such a monstrosity to display flowers when she had such beautiful vases made her cringe!
“Naneth!” A miniature whirlwind burst through the slightly open door as Eldarion toddled towards his mother.
“My apologies, my lady, I could not catch him!” the breathless nursemaid gasped as she vainly pursued her charge.
“He can stay with me for a while. He is almost due to be fed.” Arwen dismissed the girl with a smile. She handed her son one of the quills off her desk to play with. His chubby little legs exhausted, Eldarion started to crawl around the floor, brandishing the quill in a manner reminiscent of the way his father held Andúril.
Arwen returned to contemplating her letter, but something, maybe a mother’s instinct, caused her to look up after a few moments. Eldarion had crawled towards the table where the precious pearl inlaid silver vase stood and was about to pull off the cloth.
“No, Eldarion!” Arwen cried sternly, leaping to her feet. Reaching a decision, she called for her maid.
An hour later, and after a full and sleepy Eldarion had been returned to the nursery, Arwen returned to writing her letter. On the table a vase full of greenery still stood, but instead of her cherished heirloom, it was the gift of the Harad Ambassador and his wife. Better that she should endure this monstrosity for a time in order to still enjoy something of nature that meant so much to her kind, rather than have Eldarion shatter the heirloom that had been cherished in her family for centuries.
She picked up the quill and concluded.
The vase will most useful for my sitting room, as I love to always have flowers about me. It was just what I needed this winter.
I hope you will both visit us very soon and look forward to seeing you and hearing all the latest news about your children. Maybe your youngest would like to play with Eldarion?
Arwen smiled as she signed and sealed the letter. Maybe as a mother of five, Adiva knew that treasured processions had to be locked out of the way of lively young children and had considered something that she had not?
‘Perhaps the vase was not such a hideous gift after all?’ Arwen mused. And was not an even greater gift that former enemies could now be good friends? She gave the letter to a servant to deliver, inwardly congratulating herself that every word was true!
A/N
This story is a prequel to “The Vase that was Broken”
http://lindahoyland.yolasite.com/the-vase-that-was-broken.php
Arwen’s favourite vase is mentioned in “A Time to Reap” chapter 4.
http://lindahoyland.yolasite.com/a-time-to-reap.php
Lord Tahir and Lady Adiva appear in “Dies Irae”
http://lindahoyland.yolasite.com/dies-irae.php
Written for the LOTR Community March Challenge - Letters.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Hues of Middle-earth
Cherry Ripe
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
icon - Nerwende
The bowl of cherries stood in the centre of the table, each fruit almost glowing with ripe, juicy sweetness.
Eldarion eyed the fruit longingly. He had been told not to eat them, but they looked so tasty! How could he resist?
“Surely no one would miss just one?” the little boy asked himself.
Soon the bowl was filled only with stones while Eldarion’s fingers and mouth were crimson with the juice of the forbidden fruit.
“Eldarion!” cried his mother accusingly. “Those cherries were meant for us all to share for dessert.”
Eldarion’s face turned as red as the purloined cherries.
A Cat may look at a King
Mewing loudly, the orange cat rubbed against Aragorn’s legs as he paused to speak to some children near the Citadel.
“That’s Marmalade,” a little girl informed him. “He follows me everywhere!”
Aragorn smiled at the child and stroked her pet. The cat was a magnificent feline. It reclined on the warm stones as if it owned them, the sun gleaming on its tawny fur.
“You are like Marmalade,” said the little girl.
Aragorn was about to protest when the cat stretched and regarded him with a regal air.
Whether cat or King was more lordly would be difficult to say!
Bright as the Sun
icon - Kissmygrass
Faramir had dreamed of the wave again last night. Was Middle-earth doomed to be destroyed like Númenor of old?
The Steward wandered through the gardens trying to dispel his dark thoughts. A single primrose bloom caught his eye. Every year without fail, the dainty yellow flowers returned as heralds of spring’s return. His spirits rose.
“My Lord?”
Faramir turned and saw the Warden with a stranger. His head spun, while his heart soared. Never had he beheld a maiden so fair! The darkness, could not, would not prevail; not now a maid with sun bright hair had stolen his heart!
Into the woods
icon- Fileg
Singing softly to himself, Estel, or Aragorn, as he now knew his true name to be, wandered through Imladris’ leafy glades. The woods were ever fair, but never more so than in their fresh spring garb of verdant hue. The trees sang too, as the breeze rippled through their branches.
A maiden danced beneath the birches, moving gracefully in time to their music.
Aragorn gazed enthralled. Fairer than the Evening Star, she was both young and ancient of days. He stood abashed: young and green as a fresh sapling buffeted by the wind.
Adorned with Stars
icon - Fileg - art - Alan Lee
Faramir carefully opened the chest, hesitating before he unwrapped its contents. He lifted the cloak and held it in his arms with something like reverence.
Sometimes he fancied he could still smell his mother’s perfume on the soft blue folds, which remained unfaded, and untouched by moth, even after three long decades.
If only she could have remained by his side! Alas, his mother was as far away as the stars adorning the robe’s throat and hem.
He had met another lady, fair as the stars but closer, worthy of this mantle.
Faramir smiled. Surely Finduilas would have blessed him.
Mightier than the Sword
With grateful thanks to Raksha
A loud scream emanated from the King’s private apartments. The guards drew their swords and raced to the rescue. Whatever could be wrong? Had an intruder assaulted their lord?
Aragorn stood in the centre of his chamber, clad only in breeches, boots, a half finished shirt, and a deep scowl.
“Do stand still, Estel!” chided the Queen, brandishing a pincushion.
“You might stick another pin in me!” growled Aragorn. To think that the Haradrim had bested him, not with the sword, but with indigo silk!
Seeing their lord's fierce look, the guards hastily left the room, suppressing their laughter.
Hidden treasure
“The irises are especially beautiful this year,” said Éowyn proudly as she escorted the Queen around her garden in Ithilien. “Faramir had corms for some rare varieties sent from Harad.”
Arwen, though, seemed oblivious to the gaudy purple and yellow blooms. Her attention was caught by a patch of delicate flowers under the shade of a large oak. “I love these!” she exclaimed. “They are so pretty!”
“You prefer violets? But violets are as common as weeds. I only grow them for medicinal use.”
“They remind me of the flowers of my homeland,” said Arwen. “Small, hidden and most fair.”
After the Storm
icon- elanordh
The storm had raged fiercely all day, the torrential rain, thunder and lightening mirroring the turmoil within Arwen’s heart.
She sensed that today would either see her beloved triumph, or destroy her hopes of happiness forever, together with all that was good in Middle-earth.
Suddenly the tumult ceased. Imladris was bathed in brilliant sunlight. Sunbeams danced between the still gently falling raindrops.
Arwen laughed for sheer joy as her heart felt the darkness lift. She caught sight of a perfect rainbow resplendent in the heavens. The jewel-like hues had never seemed so fair. The darkness was past. Hope had endured.
Cherry Ripe
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
icon - Nerwende
The bowl of cherries stood in the centre of the table, each fruit almost glowing with ripe, juicy sweetness.
Eldarion eyed the fruit longingly. He had been told not to eat them, but they looked so tasty! How could he resist?
“Surely no one would miss just one?” the little boy asked himself.
Soon the bowl was filled only with stones while Eldarion’s fingers and mouth were crimson with the juice of the forbidden fruit.
“Eldarion!” cried his mother accusingly. “Those cherries were meant for us all to share for dessert.”
Eldarion’s face turned as red as the purloined cherries.
A Cat may look at a King
Mewing loudly, the orange cat rubbed against Aragorn’s legs as he paused to speak to some children near the Citadel.
“That’s Marmalade,” a little girl informed him. “He follows me everywhere!”
Aragorn smiled at the child and stroked her pet. The cat was a magnificent feline. It reclined on the warm stones as if it owned them, the sun gleaming on its tawny fur.
“You are like Marmalade,” said the little girl.
Aragorn was about to protest when the cat stretched and regarded him with a regal air.
Whether cat or King was more lordly would be difficult to say!
Bright as the Sun
icon - Kissmygrass
Faramir had dreamed of the wave again last night. Was Middle-earth doomed to be destroyed like Númenor of old?
The Steward wandered through the gardens trying to dispel his dark thoughts. A single primrose bloom caught his eye. Every year without fail, the dainty yellow flowers returned as heralds of spring’s return. His spirits rose.
“My Lord?”
Faramir turned and saw the Warden with a stranger. His head spun, while his heart soared. Never had he beheld a maiden so fair! The darkness, could not, would not prevail; not now a maid with sun bright hair had stolen his heart!
Into the woods
icon- Fileg
Singing softly to himself, Estel, or Aragorn, as he now knew his true name to be, wandered through Imladris’ leafy glades. The woods were ever fair, but never more so than in their fresh spring garb of verdant hue. The trees sang too, as the breeze rippled through their branches.
A maiden danced beneath the birches, moving gracefully in time to their music.
Aragorn gazed enthralled. Fairer than the Evening Star, she was both young and ancient of days. He stood abashed: young and green as a fresh sapling buffeted by the wind.
Adorned with Stars
icon - Fileg - art - Alan Lee
Faramir carefully opened the chest, hesitating before he unwrapped its contents. He lifted the cloak and held it in his arms with something like reverence.
Sometimes he fancied he could still smell his mother’s perfume on the soft blue folds, which remained unfaded, and untouched by moth, even after three long decades.
If only she could have remained by his side! Alas, his mother was as far away as the stars adorning the robe’s throat and hem.
He had met another lady, fair as the stars but closer, worthy of this mantle.
Faramir smiled. Surely Finduilas would have blessed him.
Mightier than the Sword
With grateful thanks to Raksha
A loud scream emanated from the King’s private apartments. The guards drew their swords and raced to the rescue. Whatever could be wrong? Had an intruder assaulted their lord?
Aragorn stood in the centre of his chamber, clad only in breeches, boots, a half finished shirt, and a deep scowl.
“Do stand still, Estel!” chided the Queen, brandishing a pincushion.
“You might stick another pin in me!” growled Aragorn. To think that the Haradrim had bested him, not with the sword, but with indigo silk!
Seeing their lord's fierce look, the guards hastily left the room, suppressing their laughter.
Hidden treasure
“The irises are especially beautiful this year,” said Éowyn proudly as she escorted the Queen around her garden in Ithilien. “Faramir had corms for some rare varieties sent from Harad.”
Arwen, though, seemed oblivious to the gaudy purple and yellow blooms. Her attention was caught by a patch of delicate flowers under the shade of a large oak. “I love these!” she exclaimed. “They are so pretty!”
“You prefer violets? But violets are as common as weeds. I only grow them for medicinal use.”
“They remind me of the flowers of my homeland,” said Arwen. “Small, hidden and most fair.”
After the Storm
icon- elanordh
The storm had raged fiercely all day, the torrential rain, thunder and lightening mirroring the turmoil within Arwen’s heart.
She sensed that today would either see her beloved triumph, or destroy her hopes of happiness forever, together with all that was good in Middle-earth.
Suddenly the tumult ceased. Imladris was bathed in brilliant sunlight. Sunbeams danced between the still gently falling raindrops.
Arwen laughed for sheer joy as her heart felt the darkness lift. She caught sight of a perfect rainbow resplendent in the heavens. The jewel-like hues had never seemed so fair. The darkness was past. Hope had endured.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
A Gift for Faramir
Summary: Faramir receives an unexpected gift.
Rating: G
Disclaimer: The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. The story was written for pleasure not profit.
With grateful thanks to Raksha.
The crisp autumn leaves crackled under Faramir’s booted feet. He smiled at the memories the sound evoked: the glad days of childhood, when he and Boromir ran and played together. ’Twas a pity that he was now too old for childish games! He was only snatching this brief respite in the crisp air because the preparations for the King’s return were making his head ache after a very busy morning.
Aragorn had been spending some time at Legolas’ Elven domain together with his Queen and his foster brothers. He had sent a message that he would call on Faramir and Éowyn on his way back to Minas Tirith. It would be good to see his lord and friend again, Faramir thought contentedly. The King had only been gone for two weeks, but Faramir had missed his companionship and their regular debates over lore and history, a subject dear to the hearts of both men.
Faramir stood looking over his lands. The fields had yielded a rich harvest and now lay fallow until the spring planting. The trees, so green in summer, now bore varied brilliant hues of orange, gold and bronze. Even all these years after the defeat of the Dark Lord, Faramir never failed to appreciate the beauty of the land at peace and give thanks for it.
The sound of leaves crackling behind him made Faramir start. Whoever could be there? He had told his guards that he wished to take a solitary walk. Faramir spun round, his hand upon his sword. There, much to his surprise stood Aragorn. And the King was not alone either. Aragorn bore a wriggling hound pup clasped firmly in his arms.
“Well met, my friend!” Aragorn exclaimed. “ I would embrace you, but as you see, my arms are rather full!”
“It is good to see you!” Faramir replied. “Forgive me, but I did not expect you until later. Éowyn is preparing a feast in your honour.” He moved forward to clasp his lord’s shoulder in greeting, and then held out his hand for the puppy to inspect. Faramir, accustomed to both the slender greyhounds of Dol Amroth and the larger, shaggier wolf-killers of the Mark, looked appreciatively on the animal. The pup was very young but would be quite big in maturity, with a good bone structure, a short and smooth grey coat, and soft eyes that fixed on his. The pup sniffed Faramir’s fingertips and began to enthusiastically lick his fingers, then his palm. “Quite a fine puppy!” he exclaimed with a laugh. “What is its name?”
“That is for you to decide, my friend,” said Aragorn. “Elladan and Elrohir have been breeding hounds from a pair that Master Elrond left behind for them. Some say they are descended from Huan himself, though their true ancestry is long lost in the mists of time. I have seen many a fine hound, but the Rivendell breed are the most loyal, intelligent dogs that ever I have known. Not only do they track all manner of dangerous creatures, but they are both the guards and playmates of children. ”
“This is a wondrous gift indeed!” said Faramir. His face was alight with joy.
“No Man deserves him more,” said Aragorn. “I could not wish for a better Steward, or a more loyal and loving friend.” He handed the pup to Faramir as he spoke. The little creature nosed and licked the Steward’s face before settling contentedly in his arms.
Later that night Faramir and Éowyn sat together on the sofa in front of a roaring fire. The children were all tucked up in bed asleep while the King and Queen and their family had departed for the City. The Lord and Lady of Ithilien sat quietly, enjoying each other’s company in the hour before bed. The puppy lay stretched across both their laps, his head pillowed in the crook of Faramir’s arm, while a gently wagging tail rewarded Éowyn’s caresses of the little creature’s flank.
“He is almost as good a gift as a horse,” Éowyn mused. “The other hounds seem to have quickly taken to him. You are a lucky man, Faramir!”
“I believe I am the most fortunate man alive,” Faramir replied planting a tender kiss on her lips. “I am blessed with you and our children; I have the best of lords, our land prospers, and now I even have an Elven hound! Could any other man be as glad as I am?”
Faramir was about to say more, but was silenced by the puppy licking his face. Its eagerly wagging tail brushed across Éowyn’s cheek. It seemed the latest addition to the family would be as contented as its lord and lady.
A/N. This story was written as a birthday gift for Raksha then revised and entered for the Teitho Contest where it was placed third.
Summary: Faramir receives an unexpected gift.
Rating: G
Disclaimer: The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. The story was written for pleasure not profit.
With grateful thanks to Raksha.
The crisp autumn leaves crackled under Faramir’s booted feet. He smiled at the memories the sound evoked: the glad days of childhood, when he and Boromir ran and played together. ’Twas a pity that he was now too old for childish games! He was only snatching this brief respite in the crisp air because the preparations for the King’s return were making his head ache after a very busy morning.
Aragorn had been spending some time at Legolas’ Elven domain together with his Queen and his foster brothers. He had sent a message that he would call on Faramir and Éowyn on his way back to Minas Tirith. It would be good to see his lord and friend again, Faramir thought contentedly. The King had only been gone for two weeks, but Faramir had missed his companionship and their regular debates over lore and history, a subject dear to the hearts of both men.
Faramir stood looking over his lands. The fields had yielded a rich harvest and now lay fallow until the spring planting. The trees, so green in summer, now bore varied brilliant hues of orange, gold and bronze. Even all these years after the defeat of the Dark Lord, Faramir never failed to appreciate the beauty of the land at peace and give thanks for it.
The sound of leaves crackling behind him made Faramir start. Whoever could be there? He had told his guards that he wished to take a solitary walk. Faramir spun round, his hand upon his sword. There, much to his surprise stood Aragorn. And the King was not alone either. Aragorn bore a wriggling hound pup clasped firmly in his arms.
“Well met, my friend!” Aragorn exclaimed. “ I would embrace you, but as you see, my arms are rather full!”
“It is good to see you!” Faramir replied. “Forgive me, but I did not expect you until later. Éowyn is preparing a feast in your honour.” He moved forward to clasp his lord’s shoulder in greeting, and then held out his hand for the puppy to inspect. Faramir, accustomed to both the slender greyhounds of Dol Amroth and the larger, shaggier wolf-killers of the Mark, looked appreciatively on the animal. The pup was very young but would be quite big in maturity, with a good bone structure, a short and smooth grey coat, and soft eyes that fixed on his. The pup sniffed Faramir’s fingertips and began to enthusiastically lick his fingers, then his palm. “Quite a fine puppy!” he exclaimed with a laugh. “What is its name?”
“That is for you to decide, my friend,” said Aragorn. “Elladan and Elrohir have been breeding hounds from a pair that Master Elrond left behind for them. Some say they are descended from Huan himself, though their true ancestry is long lost in the mists of time. I have seen many a fine hound, but the Rivendell breed are the most loyal, intelligent dogs that ever I have known. Not only do they track all manner of dangerous creatures, but they are both the guards and playmates of children. ”
“This is a wondrous gift indeed!” said Faramir. His face was alight with joy.
“No Man deserves him more,” said Aragorn. “I could not wish for a better Steward, or a more loyal and loving friend.” He handed the pup to Faramir as he spoke. The little creature nosed and licked the Steward’s face before settling contentedly in his arms.
Later that night Faramir and Éowyn sat together on the sofa in front of a roaring fire. The children were all tucked up in bed asleep while the King and Queen and their family had departed for the City. The Lord and Lady of Ithilien sat quietly, enjoying each other’s company in the hour before bed. The puppy lay stretched across both their laps, his head pillowed in the crook of Faramir’s arm, while a gently wagging tail rewarded Éowyn’s caresses of the little creature’s flank.
“He is almost as good a gift as a horse,” Éowyn mused. “The other hounds seem to have quickly taken to him. You are a lucky man, Faramir!”
“I believe I am the most fortunate man alive,” Faramir replied planting a tender kiss on her lips. “I am blessed with you and our children; I have the best of lords, our land prospers, and now I even have an Elven hound! Could any other man be as glad as I am?”
Faramir was about to say more, but was silenced by the puppy licking his face. Its eagerly wagging tail brushed across Éowyn’s cheek. It seemed the latest addition to the family would be as contented as its lord and lady.
A/N. This story was written as a birthday gift for Raksha then revised and entered for the Teitho Contest where it was placed third.
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
Let Hercules himself do what he may, The cat will mew and dog will have his day. Shakespeare - Hamlet. Act v.
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.
With grateful thanks to Raksha and Virtuella.
The late afternoon sun streamed through the windows bathing the couch where Aragorn and Faramir sat in its golden rays.
The King rose and looked out at the view of the sea. “A ship is just about to cast anchor,” he told Faramir.
“Shall we go for a walk before dinner?” Faramir sensed his friend’s restlessness.
“That is a good idea. I am stiff from being in the saddle all day,” Aragorn replied.
The two friends were enjoying spending the final days of their coastal tour with Faramir’s uncle. They were looking forward to being able to relax. Although it was an official visit, they would only be expected to attend one meeting and a formal banquet after an official tour of the town.
Their visit to the coastal regions had turned out far better than they expected. Aragorn and Faramir had not expected to be well received in Lamedon after Fontos’ involvement in the conspiracy against Aragorn, but it seemed most of the problems were caused by corrupt officials, rather than opposition to the King. They had encountered several less than worthy officers, whom they intended to see replaced, but on the whole, the rest of the region appeared peaceful, prosperous, and the people either loyal to the King, or indifferent to whoever was in charge as long as they were not oppressed and had sufficient to eat.
After warmly greeting his guests, the Prince of Dol Amroth had left them to rest, while he met with some local farmers to discuss arrangements for the harvest feast. Both men had quickly grown weary of sitting doing nothing save anticipate the fine meal that Faramir’s uncle was sure to give them.
The two men asked a maid to bring their cloaks and hastened outside after having left a message to tell Imrahil that they would be back in time for dinner.
“I would like to show you my favourite walk from when Boromir and I visited here as children,” said Faramir as he led the way towards the cliff path. “Just look at that view of the sea!”
Aragorn realised that he knew the path well from his years of service in Gondor. He found himself wholeheartedly embracing the younger man’s enthusiasm, for it was indeed a beautiful walk with sweeping views of the bay. When they reached a bench, Faramir stopped and traced his fingers tenderly across the carved stonework. “Naneth used to sit here and watch the tide going out while Boromir and I gathered shells on the beach,” he said rather wistfully. ”How I wish she could have met Éowyn and the girls, and known that you were King!”
“I know she would rejoice in your happiness,” he said. “She was a peerless lady. Had I not already given my heart to Arwen, it would have been easy to fall in love with her. I think your uncle would have welcomed the match had either of us been inclined towards it.”
“Then you would have indeed been my father!” said Faramir, pondering how his life might have turned out differently. “That is, if Yavanna had given you children, but then I suppose I might be a very different person.”
Aragorn laughed at his usually level headed Steward’s fanciful train of thought. “Had I sired you, you would not be the person that you are, and I would not have you otherwise,” he said. “Then where would I find such a worthy Steward if you were the Heir instead? I think everything turned out just as it should. We both have wedded the ladies whom we gave our hearts to, as did your father. And you have become the son of my heart, as I believe you were meant to be. You could not be dearer if I, rather than Denethor, had begotten you.” Aragorn patted his friend’s shoulder affectionately.
Faramir’s eyes lit up. The two men sat down beside each other on the bench. They gazed out to sea in companionable silence, and watched a flock of gulls that screamed and wheeled overhead.
“What was that cry?” Aragorn asked suddenly.
“It will be the gulls. They sound almost human at times. The old sailors hold that they are the souls of folk who drowned.”
“I know that story well, “ said Aragorn. “However, I would wager that was no seagull mewing. It sounded like a cat to me!”
“A cat here?” Faramir sounded far from convinced. Nevertheless, he rose to his feet and peered over the cliff edge.
“Be careful, ion nîn!” Aragorn cautioned, not wanting the one he loved as his son to plunge over the edge. He hastened to his side, and gestured to Faramir to take a step back, before peering over himself.
“Have a care!” cautioned Faramir.
“Look, down there!” cried Aragorn. He gestured towards a ledge some ten feet or so beneath them on which cowered a tiny striped kitten.
“Poor little cat!” exclaimed Faramir. “However did it come to get down there?”
“Either it wandered away from its mother or some cruel person tried to throw it into the sea at high tide, but it landed on the ledge,” Aragorn said grimly. “No matter how severely I try to punish those who ill-treat animals, it seems some still ignore my edicts. I am going down to rescue the poor creature.”
“No!” Faramir protested. “Let me climb down instead! You are the King, and I am younger than you.”
“But I am the better climber!” Aragorn retorted. “If you recall, old though I might be, it was I who had to help you climb Mount Mindolluin! Just help lower me on to the ledge, then I can soon rescue the poor kitten.” As he spoke, Aragorn removed his cloak and sword, together with the satchel of healing supplies that he carried everywhere with him.
“Please have a care!” Faramir pleaded as the King carefully lowered himself over the edge of the cliff. For a moment, Aragorn held on with his arms, and then jumped the remaining two feet or so on to the ledge.
“I am safely down,” he called to his anxious Steward who was kneeling on the edge. Aragorn cautiously turned to face the kitten, which gave a high-pitched mew of fright. Its striped fur stood on end.
“I need something to carry it in,” Aragorn called to Faramir. “Tip the healing supplies out of my satchel and hand it down to me, please.”
The Steward tipped out a supply of bandages, salves, and dried athelas leaves on to Aragorn’s cloak. “Is the kitten hurt?” he enquired.
“I can see a few minor scratches, but it does not appear to be seriously injured,” the King replied. He started to sing softly in Elvish. The kitten pricked up its ears listening, a puzzled expression on its tiny whiskery face. Swift as a hawk, Aragorn grabbed the little creature and stuffed it inside the pouch. “Easy now, little one,” he soothed. He secured the worn leather straps tightly.
“Hand it up to me!” Faramir called from above. He lay down on his belly and dangled his arms over the cliff edge, feeling for the satchel as Aragorn handed it up to him; a satchel, which now wriggled and hissed. Faramir straightened up, still clutching the satchel while Aragorn scrambled back over the cliff edge. The King looked anything but kingly. His hair resembled an unruly mop decorated with sand and bits of marram grass, his face and hands were disfigured by grazes and scratches, while his tunic was dusty and torn.
“I fear the sight of you will give my uncle quite a shock,” said Faramir, his casual words concealed the intense relief that he felt at seeing his friend safe.
“You look little better!” Aragorn retorted. ”The front of your tunic is as bad as mine! Come, we had better take this little one home swiftly. You bring my sword and healing supplies. Wrap them in my cloak.”
Much to Aragorn and Faramir’s relief, Imrahil was still occupied with the visiting farmers when they returned Ignoring the servants’ raised eyebrows at their untidy appearance, they hastened to the chambers they had been allocated. Aragorn cautiously unfastened the satchel and lifted out the kitten. He grimaced slightly at the puddle it had left. “At least it is old enough to have a chance of surviving away from its mother,” he remarked. “Hold it still while I examine it.”
The kitten mewed indignantly as Aragorn carefully checked its small body for injuries and applied salve to a few minor cuts. It regarded its rescuers soulfully out of large green eyes.
“We need to give it some milk,” said Faramir after Aragorn was satisfied that he had done all he could.
“Or better still, find a foster mother for it. Does your uncle have barn cats?”
“He keeps a fair number or rats from the harbour would overrun his storerooms,” Faramir replied.
Aragorn carefully carried the kitten towards Imrahil’s main hall. It was calmer now and purred when the King and Steward took turns to stroke its stripy fur.
Suddenly a Belfalas greyhound with fine blue-grey fur ran towards them, and gave a bark.
“Heel, Mista!” called Imrahil, emerging from his study. The dog hesitated, and then lifted her head as she sighted the King of Gondor. Then she sprang forward with amazing swiftness and leaped up upon him, trying to reach the kitten. Even when she stood upright on her two back legs, Mista's small front paws did not reach Aragorn's thighs; but the kitten took fright. To the King’s dismay, the kitten wriggled from his grasp and fell to the floor less than a foot from the dog!
“No!” he cried as Faramir made a frantic, but doomed grab for the tiny animal, which had landed safely, albeit unsteadily on its four paws. Mista immediately picked up the kitten in her jaws.
King and Steward froze in horror convinced that the dog would kill the hapless kitten.
“Leave it!” cried Imrahil.
Mista ignored him, but instead of biting the kitten, she carried it towards her basket and dropped it inside. She flopped down on her side and within moments the kitten was greedily suckling one of Mista's full teats.
“She lost her puppies and has been pining for them,” Imrahil told them.
“We found the kitten abandoned on the cliff, uncle,” said Faramir. “We were hoping that one of your barn cats might serve as a foster mother.”
“I think Mista has claimed the kitten for her own,” smiled Imrahil. “It seems I will have a new mouser once he has grown.”
Aragorn nodded. Much though he would have liked to take the kitten home with him, it would have been hard to confine it during the trip back to Minas Tirith. And even with a foster-mother to nurse it, the kitten was too young to take so long a journey.
000
“Mista seems a remarkable dog,” Aragorn remarked as the two friends prepared for dinner. “I thought your uncle’s hounds were bred solely for the chase.”
“Belfalas greyhounds are special,” said Faramir. He pulled a tunic embroidered with the swan of Dol Amroth over his head. “I can just about recall my mother’s faithful hound; we called her Mousie. She loved all animals, did my mother.”
“Then she would be proud of you today,” said Aragorn and smiled.
A/n The idea of a Belfadas greyhound belonging to Faramir’s mother is borrowed from Raksha’s “Birthday Kisses” which you can read here
.net/s/4986825/4/Tales_of_the_Third_Age
The Belfadas greyhound is actually the Italian greyhound as seen in mediaeval art.
Wishing all my readers health and happiness for 2010.
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.
With grateful thanks to Raksha and Virtuella.
The late afternoon sun streamed through the windows bathing the couch where Aragorn and Faramir sat in its golden rays.
The King rose and looked out at the view of the sea. “A ship is just about to cast anchor,” he told Faramir.
“Shall we go for a walk before dinner?” Faramir sensed his friend’s restlessness.
“That is a good idea. I am stiff from being in the saddle all day,” Aragorn replied.
The two friends were enjoying spending the final days of their coastal tour with Faramir’s uncle. They were looking forward to being able to relax. Although it was an official visit, they would only be expected to attend one meeting and a formal banquet after an official tour of the town.
Their visit to the coastal regions had turned out far better than they expected. Aragorn and Faramir had not expected to be well received in Lamedon after Fontos’ involvement in the conspiracy against Aragorn, but it seemed most of the problems were caused by corrupt officials, rather than opposition to the King. They had encountered several less than worthy officers, whom they intended to see replaced, but on the whole, the rest of the region appeared peaceful, prosperous, and the people either loyal to the King, or indifferent to whoever was in charge as long as they were not oppressed and had sufficient to eat.
After warmly greeting his guests, the Prince of Dol Amroth had left them to rest, while he met with some local farmers to discuss arrangements for the harvest feast. Both men had quickly grown weary of sitting doing nothing save anticipate the fine meal that Faramir’s uncle was sure to give them.
The two men asked a maid to bring their cloaks and hastened outside after having left a message to tell Imrahil that they would be back in time for dinner.
“I would like to show you my favourite walk from when Boromir and I visited here as children,” said Faramir as he led the way towards the cliff path. “Just look at that view of the sea!”
Aragorn realised that he knew the path well from his years of service in Gondor. He found himself wholeheartedly embracing the younger man’s enthusiasm, for it was indeed a beautiful walk with sweeping views of the bay. When they reached a bench, Faramir stopped and traced his fingers tenderly across the carved stonework. “Naneth used to sit here and watch the tide going out while Boromir and I gathered shells on the beach,” he said rather wistfully. ”How I wish she could have met Éowyn and the girls, and known that you were King!”
“I know she would rejoice in your happiness,” he said. “She was a peerless lady. Had I not already given my heart to Arwen, it would have been easy to fall in love with her. I think your uncle would have welcomed the match had either of us been inclined towards it.”
“Then you would have indeed been my father!” said Faramir, pondering how his life might have turned out differently. “That is, if Yavanna had given you children, but then I suppose I might be a very different person.”
Aragorn laughed at his usually level headed Steward’s fanciful train of thought. “Had I sired you, you would not be the person that you are, and I would not have you otherwise,” he said. “Then where would I find such a worthy Steward if you were the Heir instead? I think everything turned out just as it should. We both have wedded the ladies whom we gave our hearts to, as did your father. And you have become the son of my heart, as I believe you were meant to be. You could not be dearer if I, rather than Denethor, had begotten you.” Aragorn patted his friend’s shoulder affectionately.
Faramir’s eyes lit up. The two men sat down beside each other on the bench. They gazed out to sea in companionable silence, and watched a flock of gulls that screamed and wheeled overhead.
“What was that cry?” Aragorn asked suddenly.
“It will be the gulls. They sound almost human at times. The old sailors hold that they are the souls of folk who drowned.”
“I know that story well, “ said Aragorn. “However, I would wager that was no seagull mewing. It sounded like a cat to me!”
“A cat here?” Faramir sounded far from convinced. Nevertheless, he rose to his feet and peered over the cliff edge.
“Be careful, ion nîn!” Aragorn cautioned, not wanting the one he loved as his son to plunge over the edge. He hastened to his side, and gestured to Faramir to take a step back, before peering over himself.
“Have a care!” cautioned Faramir.
“Look, down there!” cried Aragorn. He gestured towards a ledge some ten feet or so beneath them on which cowered a tiny striped kitten.
“Poor little cat!” exclaimed Faramir. “However did it come to get down there?”
“Either it wandered away from its mother or some cruel person tried to throw it into the sea at high tide, but it landed on the ledge,” Aragorn said grimly. “No matter how severely I try to punish those who ill-treat animals, it seems some still ignore my edicts. I am going down to rescue the poor creature.”
“No!” Faramir protested. “Let me climb down instead! You are the King, and I am younger than you.”
“But I am the better climber!” Aragorn retorted. “If you recall, old though I might be, it was I who had to help you climb Mount Mindolluin! Just help lower me on to the ledge, then I can soon rescue the poor kitten.” As he spoke, Aragorn removed his cloak and sword, together with the satchel of healing supplies that he carried everywhere with him.
“Please have a care!” Faramir pleaded as the King carefully lowered himself over the edge of the cliff. For a moment, Aragorn held on with his arms, and then jumped the remaining two feet or so on to the ledge.
“I am safely down,” he called to his anxious Steward who was kneeling on the edge. Aragorn cautiously turned to face the kitten, which gave a high-pitched mew of fright. Its striped fur stood on end.
“I need something to carry it in,” Aragorn called to Faramir. “Tip the healing supplies out of my satchel and hand it down to me, please.”
The Steward tipped out a supply of bandages, salves, and dried athelas leaves on to Aragorn’s cloak. “Is the kitten hurt?” he enquired.
“I can see a few minor scratches, but it does not appear to be seriously injured,” the King replied. He started to sing softly in Elvish. The kitten pricked up its ears listening, a puzzled expression on its tiny whiskery face. Swift as a hawk, Aragorn grabbed the little creature and stuffed it inside the pouch. “Easy now, little one,” he soothed. He secured the worn leather straps tightly.
“Hand it up to me!” Faramir called from above. He lay down on his belly and dangled his arms over the cliff edge, feeling for the satchel as Aragorn handed it up to him; a satchel, which now wriggled and hissed. Faramir straightened up, still clutching the satchel while Aragorn scrambled back over the cliff edge. The King looked anything but kingly. His hair resembled an unruly mop decorated with sand and bits of marram grass, his face and hands were disfigured by grazes and scratches, while his tunic was dusty and torn.
“I fear the sight of you will give my uncle quite a shock,” said Faramir, his casual words concealed the intense relief that he felt at seeing his friend safe.
“You look little better!” Aragorn retorted. ”The front of your tunic is as bad as mine! Come, we had better take this little one home swiftly. You bring my sword and healing supplies. Wrap them in my cloak.”
Much to Aragorn and Faramir’s relief, Imrahil was still occupied with the visiting farmers when they returned Ignoring the servants’ raised eyebrows at their untidy appearance, they hastened to the chambers they had been allocated. Aragorn cautiously unfastened the satchel and lifted out the kitten. He grimaced slightly at the puddle it had left. “At least it is old enough to have a chance of surviving away from its mother,” he remarked. “Hold it still while I examine it.”
The kitten mewed indignantly as Aragorn carefully checked its small body for injuries and applied salve to a few minor cuts. It regarded its rescuers soulfully out of large green eyes.
“We need to give it some milk,” said Faramir after Aragorn was satisfied that he had done all he could.
“Or better still, find a foster mother for it. Does your uncle have barn cats?”
“He keeps a fair number or rats from the harbour would overrun his storerooms,” Faramir replied.
Aragorn carefully carried the kitten towards Imrahil’s main hall. It was calmer now and purred when the King and Steward took turns to stroke its stripy fur.
Suddenly a Belfalas greyhound with fine blue-grey fur ran towards them, and gave a bark.
“Heel, Mista!” called Imrahil, emerging from his study. The dog hesitated, and then lifted her head as she sighted the King of Gondor. Then she sprang forward with amazing swiftness and leaped up upon him, trying to reach the kitten. Even when she stood upright on her two back legs, Mista's small front paws did not reach Aragorn's thighs; but the kitten took fright. To the King’s dismay, the kitten wriggled from his grasp and fell to the floor less than a foot from the dog!
“No!” he cried as Faramir made a frantic, but doomed grab for the tiny animal, which had landed safely, albeit unsteadily on its four paws. Mista immediately picked up the kitten in her jaws.
King and Steward froze in horror convinced that the dog would kill the hapless kitten.
“Leave it!” cried Imrahil.
Mista ignored him, but instead of biting the kitten, she carried it towards her basket and dropped it inside. She flopped down on her side and within moments the kitten was greedily suckling one of Mista's full teats.
“She lost her puppies and has been pining for them,” Imrahil told them.
“We found the kitten abandoned on the cliff, uncle,” said Faramir. “We were hoping that one of your barn cats might serve as a foster mother.”
“I think Mista has claimed the kitten for her own,” smiled Imrahil. “It seems I will have a new mouser once he has grown.”
Aragorn nodded. Much though he would have liked to take the kitten home with him, it would have been hard to confine it during the trip back to Minas Tirith. And even with a foster-mother to nurse it, the kitten was too young to take so long a journey.
000
“Mista seems a remarkable dog,” Aragorn remarked as the two friends prepared for dinner. “I thought your uncle’s hounds were bred solely for the chase.”
“Belfalas greyhounds are special,” said Faramir. He pulled a tunic embroidered with the swan of Dol Amroth over his head. “I can just about recall my mother’s faithful hound; we called her Mousie. She loved all animals, did my mother.”
“Then she would be proud of you today,” said Aragorn and smiled.
A/n The idea of a Belfadas greyhound belonging to Faramir’s mother is borrowed from Raksha’s “Birthday Kisses” which you can read here
.net/s/4986825/4/Tales_of_the_Third_Age
The Belfadas greyhound is actually the Italian greyhound as seen in mediaeval art.
Wishing all my readers health and happiness for 2010.
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
Stranger at the Gates by Linda Hoyland
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.
And thou shalt rejoice in thy feast, thou, and thy son, and thy daughter, and thy manservant, and thy maidservant, and the Levite, the stranger, and the fatherless, and the widow, that are within thy gates. . - The Bible – Deuteronomy 16.13-16.
With grateful thanks to Raksha
“A traveller begs leave to see you, my lady. He claims to be of the House of Elrond, but he is no Elf!”
A stab of fear pierced Galadriel’s heart. Long had she foreseen this day, yet hoped her foresight would prove false. If she bade the intruder leave her borders maybe the danger would depart with him? But no, whatever threatened Arwen had already come to pass. Her beloved granddaughter had grown sadder and quieter these past years; while her laughter was seldom heard. Arwen had spoken of the love professed by one of her father's mortal fosterlings. But the stars had shone again, if only briefly, in Undómiel’s eyes, when she spoke of the young Man. Arwen had claimed she did not return his affections, yet there was a gentleness, a wistfulness in her voice when she spoke of Aragorn son of Arathorn that belied her certainty.
And now, it seemed that the very Dunadan had walked out of Arwen's dreams into Galadriel's own realm. She would, Galadriel decided, at least speak with the Man. Arwen had gone riding with Celeborn, she did not need to know; at least not yet.
“Bring him to me, Haldir,” she commanded and sat back in her chair, staring at the silver and green walls of the chamber without seeing them.
Within the hour Haldir returned with the traveller. When Galadriel beheld him she could have laughed. This stranger take Arwen away from her? Absurd! His clothes were torn and filthy. Galadriel struggled not to wrinkle her nose with distaste. The intruder smelled strongly of dried mud, horses, and Orcs! He walked with a limp and his face was disfigured with bruises.
“Welcome to Lothlórien, stranger,” she said. “I am Galadriel, Lady of the Golden Wood. What brings you along paths that few mortal men have ever trod?”
“I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn,” replied the stranger in perfect Sindarin with a slight accent of the North. “I was raised in the House of Elrond, and told by the Wise there that I might find shelter here if need drove me thither. I have travelled long and am sore weary after many labours. Dark creatures have pursued me almost to your gates. I beg leave to rest here for a little while.”
Galadriel said nothing but simply looked into his eyes. Unlike many: Elves as well as Men, he did not flinch from her gaze. The discomfort he must have felt was well concealed. For a moment the traveller appeared to be trying to veil his thoughts as if from long custom. He then collected himself, remembering he was amongst the Eldar. Galadriel’s mind freely probed his. She sensed above all, a noble heart, greater than any of the Secondborn for many a long generation, but one shadowed with weariness, sorrow and pain. His eyes held her attention most of all, large and grey they spoke of courage, compassion and a noble heart. Although clearly a mortal man, there was something Elvish about him, but of course, the line that Elrond fostered were his brother’s kin, like him descended from Lúthien the Fair.
“You may bide here a while,” she said. Uneasy as she might feel, the laws of hospitality demanded that she grant him food and shelter.
“I thank you, my lady,” said Aragorn. He promptly collapsed in a dead faint.
Galadriel rose from her seat, and overcoming her distaste, laid a hand upon the stranger’s brow. He did not appear feverish. She surmised he was simply exhausted. ”Send for a healer!” she ordered. “Then see he is given a bath and put to bed. And someone deal with those filthy rags he is wearing!”
As soon as the stranger had been taken away, Galadriel bade her handmaids sprinkle sweet blossoms around the chamber to freshen the air. She then walked alone to her garden and poured water into the silver bowl that was her mirror. At first the clear spring water looked as clouded as that from a muddy pond. She forced herself to calm her racing thoughts. She must know if this man was indeed the one whose coming she had foreseen. His appearance was that of a vagabond, while his heart was that of a hero. Was Arwen doomed to bind herself to this man and fade and die a mortal like Lúthien before her, forever lost to her people? Surely that could not be? Not her only granddaughter, the fair Evenstar. Galadriel smiled wryly thinking how disappointed she had been when the babe had been born with the dark hair of the Noldor, rather than silver locks of her mother or golden tresses of her grandmother. She had grown, though, to be so fair, that many wondered were she Lúthien reborn. Not only was Arwen fair, but also loving and wise.
Galadriel looked again in the mirror. This time she saw a battle raging and the stranger was leading the men to victory and being offered the Crown of Gondor by a man as like unto him as close kindred.. Then came another vision of Middle-earth, desolate under the Dark Lord’s power. Vision after vision followed of Arwen alone, desolate as frost in winter, or with the man at her side and fair children, her eyes full of laughter. It seemed that not only Arwen’s fate was tied to this man, but all of Middle-earth’s.
Heavy of heart, Galadriel wandered amongst the mallorns: she had always known that one day the Dark Lord’s increasing power might force her to leave her cherished realm, but had expected to travel with all her family to the Undying Lands where Celebrian awaited them. Now she feared that was not to be, but if she tried to protect her granddaughter from her destiny, a dark fate would befall the world of Men, while Arwen would never find happiness until the breaking of the world. Galadriel loved her granddaughter; there was only course she could now take.
***
A/N A story of Strider.
Written for the Teitho Challenge “Elven Realms”
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.
I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful—a faery’s child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild. -Keats
With grateful thanks to Raksha.
Aragorn, son of Arathorn lay pale and still upon a low bed.
“How is our guest?” Galadriel asked the attendant healer.
“He is exhausted beyond even what a tough man can bear, and he is indeed one of the strongest of mortal men I have ever seen,” said the healer. “He has dark dreams and in his sleep he speaks of the Black Land. Who knows what horrors he has witnessed?”
“Is he injured?” asked the Lady.
“Not seriously, my lady. I have uncovered but cuts, bruises and a sprained ankle. Nothing that rest and good food will not put right.”
Galadriel pulled back the blankets a few inches. The Man had the same lean, muscular build as an Elf, though at present he lacked sufficient flesh. The scars of old wounds disfigured his body, but nothing appeared to ail him that Elvish-healing arts could not swiftly remedy. Covering him again, she gently took his hand, a scratched and calloused hand, but at the same time both strong and slender.
He stirred and in a troubled sleep called out Arwen’s name. Galadriel stood looking at him for a long time
“When he awakens,” she told the healer at last. “I would have him remain here with food and drink until he is fully recovered. Treat his old wounds that they may no longer mar him.”
***
A week later Galadriel again went to visit her guest. This time, he was sitting up in a chair dressed in a loose robe. His hair had been trimmed and his beard shaved, making him look more like an Elf than ever.
“My lady.” Aragorn rose and inclined his head. “I apologise for when we last met. Orcs and Wargs had pursued me almost to your gates and my horse was slain beneath me. I fear I succumbed to weakness.”
“Lesser Men would have succumbed to the Enemy long ago,” said Galadriel. “I trust you are now recovered? I should like you to dine with me tonight.”
“Gladly would I, my lady,” said Aragorn. Alas, I have no clothing save this robe I am wearing, and even that is borrowed garb.”
“Your own clothing is being washed and mended,” said Galadriel, unwrapping a parcel that she had carried tucked beneath her arm.” I have brought fitting raiment for you” It contained fine linens together with a silver and white tunic and breeches. She then drew forth a bright gem from the folds of her gown.
“My lady!” Aragorn protested. “These garments are fit for a prince!”
“Are you not of the line of Elros Tar-Minyatur?” said Galadriel. “I would have you robed in a manner fitting of your lineage. But before we dine, I suggest that you take a walk beneath the trees. They are laden with golden flowers at this time of year. Few mortal Men have had the chance to behold them.”
“Thank you, my lady, I will indeed,” said Aragorn graciously. “How long have I been here?”
“Seven days in your reckoning,” said Galadriel.
“I had lost count. It seems time as no meaning in this Elven Realm,” said Aragorn. “It could have been a day, a week, or a month I had tarried here.”
“You must remain with us until you fully regain your strength,” said Galadriel. “I will see you at dinner.”
000
“Come walk with me beneath the trees before we dine,” Galadriel said to her granddaughter early that evening.
The two women strode arm in arm admiring the Mallorns. It was a perfect spring evening. The air smelt sweet with the many flowers. A thrush sang melodiously in the trees, while the setting sun made the blossoms gleam like burnished gold.
Suddenly a man appeared from the opposite direction, like unto an Elf Lord from the Blessed Realm itself. Arwen stopped suddenly and gazed at the approaching figure as if transfixed. He likewise did the same.
Galadriel turned and walked away. For good or ill, Arwen’s doom was decided.
The End
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.
And thou shalt rejoice in thy feast, thou, and thy son, and thy daughter, and thy manservant, and thy maidservant, and the Levite, the stranger, and the fatherless, and the widow, that are within thy gates. . - The Bible – Deuteronomy 16.13-16.
With grateful thanks to Raksha
“A traveller begs leave to see you, my lady. He claims to be of the House of Elrond, but he is no Elf!”
A stab of fear pierced Galadriel’s heart. Long had she foreseen this day, yet hoped her foresight would prove false. If she bade the intruder leave her borders maybe the danger would depart with him? But no, whatever threatened Arwen had already come to pass. Her beloved granddaughter had grown sadder and quieter these past years; while her laughter was seldom heard. Arwen had spoken of the love professed by one of her father's mortal fosterlings. But the stars had shone again, if only briefly, in Undómiel’s eyes, when she spoke of the young Man. Arwen had claimed she did not return his affections, yet there was a gentleness, a wistfulness in her voice when she spoke of Aragorn son of Arathorn that belied her certainty.
And now, it seemed that the very Dunadan had walked out of Arwen's dreams into Galadriel's own realm. She would, Galadriel decided, at least speak with the Man. Arwen had gone riding with Celeborn, she did not need to know; at least not yet.
“Bring him to me, Haldir,” she commanded and sat back in her chair, staring at the silver and green walls of the chamber without seeing them.
Within the hour Haldir returned with the traveller. When Galadriel beheld him she could have laughed. This stranger take Arwen away from her? Absurd! His clothes were torn and filthy. Galadriel struggled not to wrinkle her nose with distaste. The intruder smelled strongly of dried mud, horses, and Orcs! He walked with a limp and his face was disfigured with bruises.
“Welcome to Lothlórien, stranger,” she said. “I am Galadriel, Lady of the Golden Wood. What brings you along paths that few mortal men have ever trod?”
“I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn,” replied the stranger in perfect Sindarin with a slight accent of the North. “I was raised in the House of Elrond, and told by the Wise there that I might find shelter here if need drove me thither. I have travelled long and am sore weary after many labours. Dark creatures have pursued me almost to your gates. I beg leave to rest here for a little while.”
Galadriel said nothing but simply looked into his eyes. Unlike many: Elves as well as Men, he did not flinch from her gaze. The discomfort he must have felt was well concealed. For a moment the traveller appeared to be trying to veil his thoughts as if from long custom. He then collected himself, remembering he was amongst the Eldar. Galadriel’s mind freely probed his. She sensed above all, a noble heart, greater than any of the Secondborn for many a long generation, but one shadowed with weariness, sorrow and pain. His eyes held her attention most of all, large and grey they spoke of courage, compassion and a noble heart. Although clearly a mortal man, there was something Elvish about him, but of course, the line that Elrond fostered were his brother’s kin, like him descended from Lúthien the Fair.
“You may bide here a while,” she said. Uneasy as she might feel, the laws of hospitality demanded that she grant him food and shelter.
“I thank you, my lady,” said Aragorn. He promptly collapsed in a dead faint.
Galadriel rose from her seat, and overcoming her distaste, laid a hand upon the stranger’s brow. He did not appear feverish. She surmised he was simply exhausted. ”Send for a healer!” she ordered. “Then see he is given a bath and put to bed. And someone deal with those filthy rags he is wearing!”
As soon as the stranger had been taken away, Galadriel bade her handmaids sprinkle sweet blossoms around the chamber to freshen the air. She then walked alone to her garden and poured water into the silver bowl that was her mirror. At first the clear spring water looked as clouded as that from a muddy pond. She forced herself to calm her racing thoughts. She must know if this man was indeed the one whose coming she had foreseen. His appearance was that of a vagabond, while his heart was that of a hero. Was Arwen doomed to bind herself to this man and fade and die a mortal like Lúthien before her, forever lost to her people? Surely that could not be? Not her only granddaughter, the fair Evenstar. Galadriel smiled wryly thinking how disappointed she had been when the babe had been born with the dark hair of the Noldor, rather than silver locks of her mother or golden tresses of her grandmother. She had grown, though, to be so fair, that many wondered were she Lúthien reborn. Not only was Arwen fair, but also loving and wise.
Galadriel looked again in the mirror. This time she saw a battle raging and the stranger was leading the men to victory and being offered the Crown of Gondor by a man as like unto him as close kindred.. Then came another vision of Middle-earth, desolate under the Dark Lord’s power. Vision after vision followed of Arwen alone, desolate as frost in winter, or with the man at her side and fair children, her eyes full of laughter. It seemed that not only Arwen’s fate was tied to this man, but all of Middle-earth’s.
Heavy of heart, Galadriel wandered amongst the mallorns: she had always known that one day the Dark Lord’s increasing power might force her to leave her cherished realm, but had expected to travel with all her family to the Undying Lands where Celebrian awaited them. Now she feared that was not to be, but if she tried to protect her granddaughter from her destiny, a dark fate would befall the world of Men, while Arwen would never find happiness until the breaking of the world. Galadriel loved her granddaughter; there was only course she could now take.
***
A/N A story of Strider.
Written for the Teitho Challenge “Elven Realms”
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.
I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful—a faery’s child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild. -Keats
With grateful thanks to Raksha.
Aragorn, son of Arathorn lay pale and still upon a low bed.
“How is our guest?” Galadriel asked the attendant healer.
“He is exhausted beyond even what a tough man can bear, and he is indeed one of the strongest of mortal men I have ever seen,” said the healer. “He has dark dreams and in his sleep he speaks of the Black Land. Who knows what horrors he has witnessed?”
“Is he injured?” asked the Lady.
“Not seriously, my lady. I have uncovered but cuts, bruises and a sprained ankle. Nothing that rest and good food will not put right.”
Galadriel pulled back the blankets a few inches. The Man had the same lean, muscular build as an Elf, though at present he lacked sufficient flesh. The scars of old wounds disfigured his body, but nothing appeared to ail him that Elvish-healing arts could not swiftly remedy. Covering him again, she gently took his hand, a scratched and calloused hand, but at the same time both strong and slender.
He stirred and in a troubled sleep called out Arwen’s name. Galadriel stood looking at him for a long time
“When he awakens,” she told the healer at last. “I would have him remain here with food and drink until he is fully recovered. Treat his old wounds that they may no longer mar him.”
***
A week later Galadriel again went to visit her guest. This time, he was sitting up in a chair dressed in a loose robe. His hair had been trimmed and his beard shaved, making him look more like an Elf than ever.
“My lady.” Aragorn rose and inclined his head. “I apologise for when we last met. Orcs and Wargs had pursued me almost to your gates and my horse was slain beneath me. I fear I succumbed to weakness.”
“Lesser Men would have succumbed to the Enemy long ago,” said Galadriel. “I trust you are now recovered? I should like you to dine with me tonight.”
“Gladly would I, my lady,” said Aragorn. Alas, I have no clothing save this robe I am wearing, and even that is borrowed garb.”
“Your own clothing is being washed and mended,” said Galadriel, unwrapping a parcel that she had carried tucked beneath her arm.” I have brought fitting raiment for you” It contained fine linens together with a silver and white tunic and breeches. She then drew forth a bright gem from the folds of her gown.
“My lady!” Aragorn protested. “These garments are fit for a prince!”
“Are you not of the line of Elros Tar-Minyatur?” said Galadriel. “I would have you robed in a manner fitting of your lineage. But before we dine, I suggest that you take a walk beneath the trees. They are laden with golden flowers at this time of year. Few mortal Men have had the chance to behold them.”
“Thank you, my lady, I will indeed,” said Aragorn graciously. “How long have I been here?”
“Seven days in your reckoning,” said Galadriel.
“I had lost count. It seems time as no meaning in this Elven Realm,” said Aragorn. “It could have been a day, a week, or a month I had tarried here.”
“You must remain with us until you fully regain your strength,” said Galadriel. “I will see you at dinner.”
000
“Come walk with me beneath the trees before we dine,” Galadriel said to her granddaughter early that evening.
The two women strode arm in arm admiring the Mallorns. It was a perfect spring evening. The air smelt sweet with the many flowers. A thrush sang melodiously in the trees, while the setting sun made the blossoms gleam like burnished gold.
Suddenly a man appeared from the opposite direction, like unto an Elf Lord from the Blessed Realm itself. Arwen stopped suddenly and gazed at the approaching figure as if transfixed. He likewise did the same.
Galadriel turned and walked away. For good or ill, Arwen’s doom was decided.
The End
He that is least among you all
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been or will be made from this story.
For he that is least among you all, the same shall be great. The Bible -Luke 9-48
With grateful thanks to Virtuella.
Our people would be honoured if you were to tour our town,” said the reeve as Aragorn and Faramir emerged from the school in Belfalas.
“We should enjoy that,” Aragorn said politely.
“Tonight there will be a banquet in your honour,” the reeve continued. “Our fishermen have supplied the best of their catch. We have many varieties of sea fish as well as crab and lobster for your lordships to enjoy.”
Aragorn smiled. He was especially partial to seafood. “Your words make us hungry!” he said. “My wife will be sorry that she missed such delights.”
“Éowyn is still suspicious of seafood!” Faramir whispered as soon as the two men were alone. “I, too, am looking forward to the banquet. I wish our ladies were beside us, though.”
“So do I, but our children need them more at present,” said Aragorn. “Eldarion is running everywhere at present. Arwen fears his nurse could not catch up with him in time if there were any danger.”
“I wonder how many new words Elestelle will have learned while we are away?” Faramir mused rather wistfully.
“No doubt she will greet with a nursery song sung in Quenya!” Aragorn teased.
“She is only not quite three yet, but I think she is exceptionally gifted,” Faramir replied. “Of course, I am not impartial!”
“She is clever and advanced for her age,” Aragorn responded. “I wonder what Arwen and Eldarion are doing as we speak?”
“Éowyn will be playing in the garden with Elestelle and Elbeth, I imagine,” said Faramir, as they followed the reeve to their lodging.
000
King and Steward, together with their guards and the leading townsfolk processed along winding roads. Many people came out to greet them, some appeared simply curious, while others gaped open-mouthed. Aragorn and Faramir surmised that many of the country folk had little idea of who they were. A few older men, obviously veterans of the war, cheered the King and Steward. Aragorn thought he recognised one or two men who had ridden to the Black Gate with him and paused to speak them.
They rounded a bend in the road. Suddenly, a little girl, holding the hand of a youth of about seventeen summers, came forward to offer a posy of flowers to Aragorn. He reined in Roheryn rather sharply to take the blossoms from her. The great horse stumbled as a mighty hoof caught in a pothole. Aragorn kept his seat, but Roheryn’s flaying hooves caught the youth, who fell backwards with a cry, clutching his arm. Aragorn immediately dismounted, telling a guard to keep hold of Roheryn’s bridle.
“Are you hurt, lad?” he asked the boy anxiously.
“My arm!” the youth groaned.
“You need not concern yourself with these peasants, my lord,” said the reeve. He eyed the boy with obvious distaste.
Aragorn was already kneeling in the dust beside the young man and feeling the injured arm. “I fear your arm is broken,” the King pronounced.
“I will see a healer is summoned, my lord,” said the reeve looking aghast at Aragorn. “The banquet awaits us, my lord.”
“I am a healer,” said Aragorn in a tone that brokered no argument. “I feel responsible for this lad’s accident, and must endeavour to put things right as best I may. Where do you live, lad?” he asked the boy.
The youth cried out with pain.
“We dwell in the cottages yonder with our mother,” said the little girl, finding her voice. She pointed across a field to where a row of small cottages stood. “Mardil is my brother.”
“We will take Mardil home then,” said Aragorn. Faramir dismounted and helped Aragorn to gently lift the youth and set him astride Roheryn. The reeve raised his eyebrows in horror at the King and Steward’s actions.
I fear the feast will have to wait until I have tended this young man,” he told the reeve. “I would be grateful if you would ride ahead and tell the guests that we shall be delayed.”
“And you shall ride with me,” said Faramir to the little girl. “My horse is called Iavas. What is your name?”
“I’m Finnraen,” said the little girl. She looked fearfully at her brother. “Is Mardil going to die? My daddy died.”
“The King will heal your brother,” said Faramir confidently, lifting the child onto his mare and mounting behind her.
The riders soon reached Mardil’s dwelling. At the sound of the approaching horsemen, a thin, shabbily dressed woman came outside. She cried out in dismay when Aragorn and a guard lifted her whey-faced son down from his horse and carefully carried him within. “What has happened?” she cried as Aragorn laid the boy down on the bed. Faramir followed close behind with the little girl while the guards waited outside.
“Your son has broken his arm, Mistress,” said Aragorn, dismissing the guard to wait outside.
“The nice men brought us home after the horse kicked Mardil,” Finnraen added.
“Who are you, master?” asked the woman, hugging her little girl tightly.
“A healer,” Aragorn answered simply. “Can you set water to boil, please?”
The natural authority in Aragorn’s tone made her do as she was bidden without question.
Aragorn hurried back outside to fetch the satchel of healing supplies he always carried with him. After asking the woman for a cup, he measured out a dose of poppy juice and gave it to Mardil. “I need to cut off your shirt to examine your arm properly,” he told the lad once he had drunk the pain killing draught.
“ Must you? I have no other!” said the boy in dismay.
“I should be able to mend it if you cut carefully, sir,” said his mother.
“That is soon remedied,” said Faramir, going outside and returning almost immediately with his pack. He rummaged inside it and drew out a clean shirt. “This might be somewhat large, mistress, but it should suffice until we can find a better shirt for your son.”
Mardil’s mother fingered the garment in wonder. ”But this is fine linen, fit for a lord!” she exclaimed.
“No matter, so long as it clothes your son,” said Faramir.
Mardil weakly nodded his agreement as Aragorn took up his dagger and cut the shirt from his body. The boy groaned when the King gently felt his arm. “It is a clean break, which should heal well,” the King pronounced. ”It needs setting though, which I fear will not be pleasant. Have you a neighbour who could look after your daughter, mistress?” He threw some crushed bark from his healing supplies into the pot of water boiling on the fire as he spoke.
“My neighbour would mind her,” said the woman.” Go, Finnraen, and stay with Mistress Elwyn until I call you.”
The little girl hesitated, casting a worried look at her brother.
“Do as mother says,” said Mardil firmly. “I will fare well enough with mother and the healer.” He had regained a little colour as the poppy juice took effect.
As soon as the child had gone, Aragorn checked Mardil’s heartbeat. Once satisfied the boy was strong enough for the gruelling procedure, he asked Faramir and the boy’s mother to hold the lad down while he set the broken bone. He worked swiftly and skilfully, but Mardil was left groaning in agony with sweat pouring from his brow. ”Easy now, lad, the worst is over now,” said Aragorn, tucking the blankets around him and starting to rub the back of his neck, using an Elven healing skill.I am only sorry you should have to suffer this.”
“It was an accident and not your fault,” said Mardil. “Will it heal quickly?”
“Do not concern yourself about anything other than getting well,” said Aragorn. He took the pot from the fire and put it on the hearth to cool. Inside was a thick syrup. “I am going to wrap your arm in a cloth and cover it with this paste,” said the King. “It will set hard to allow the bone to knit. When it falls off in about two months, you will be healed.”
“Two months!” said Mardil in dismay. “My family will starve if I cannot work, my lord!”
Faramir reached inside his tunic and withdrew his purse. He took out several coins and handed them to Mardil’s mother. She gazed at them in astonishment. ”I cannot take these! This is more than we earn in a year! You must be lords of great wealth!”
“Take it!” Faramir said calmly. “It is the least we can do. Your son would not lie injured had we not come to this town.”
Mardil groaned again. Aragorn knelt beside the bed holding his hands a few inches over above Mardil’s arm, his features fixed in intense concentration. The boy sighed as the pain eased and closed his eyes. Aragorn then bandaged the arm and coated it with the sticky paste.
Mardil’s mother stared at him with growing recognition. “ You are visiting this town? You have the hands that heal? My lord...you cannot be?” she gasped, sinking to her knees.
“He is the King, mother,” said Mardil sleepily. “His horse shied and kicked my arm when Finnraen gave him some flowers.”
“The King, here in my cottage tending my son?” said Mardil’s mother, turning pale.
“It was my responsibility, mistress,” said Aragorn gravely. “Rise and be at ease. We will take our leave now. If you have need of me before I depart on the morrow, please send me word. I believe your son will heal completely within a few weeks, but if he should not, send word to me and I will see that Mardil is treated in the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith. Farewell!” With that he left the cottage, together with Faramir.
“Well, I never!” said Mardil’s mother.” Whoever would have thought the King would care so much for folk like us?”
“We may not be able to depart tomorrow,” said Aragorn when they rode away towards the long overdue feast. ”It matters little, though, so long as I right the wrong I did to that boy!”
“Do not be so hard on yourself,” said Faramir. ”It was hardly your fault that Roheryn shied. You are the most responsible man that I know. You care deeply for your people.”
“I try, Faramir, I try,” said Aragorn gravely. ”What would I not give now for a simple supper by the fire, but again duty calls.” He glanced back over his shoulder to catch a last glimpse of the cottage before riding resolutely towards the feasting hall.
A/N I was inspired by an article I read about the cottonwood tree for Aragorn’s treatment.
http://www.fascinatingearth.com/stories/How_to_Fix_a_Broken_Arm.HTM
I am using artistic licence and assuming the Elves knew of some old world equivalent.
This is a longer version of a ficlet written for the prompt “Responsibility” at the AA Group.
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been or will be made from this story.
For he that is least among you all, the same shall be great. The Bible -Luke 9-48
With grateful thanks to Virtuella.
Our people would be honoured if you were to tour our town,” said the reeve as Aragorn and Faramir emerged from the school in Belfalas.
“We should enjoy that,” Aragorn said politely.
“Tonight there will be a banquet in your honour,” the reeve continued. “Our fishermen have supplied the best of their catch. We have many varieties of sea fish as well as crab and lobster for your lordships to enjoy.”
Aragorn smiled. He was especially partial to seafood. “Your words make us hungry!” he said. “My wife will be sorry that she missed such delights.”
“Éowyn is still suspicious of seafood!” Faramir whispered as soon as the two men were alone. “I, too, am looking forward to the banquet. I wish our ladies were beside us, though.”
“So do I, but our children need them more at present,” said Aragorn. “Eldarion is running everywhere at present. Arwen fears his nurse could not catch up with him in time if there were any danger.”
“I wonder how many new words Elestelle will have learned while we are away?” Faramir mused rather wistfully.
“No doubt she will greet with a nursery song sung in Quenya!” Aragorn teased.
“She is only not quite three yet, but I think she is exceptionally gifted,” Faramir replied. “Of course, I am not impartial!”
“She is clever and advanced for her age,” Aragorn responded. “I wonder what Arwen and Eldarion are doing as we speak?”
“Éowyn will be playing in the garden with Elestelle and Elbeth, I imagine,” said Faramir, as they followed the reeve to their lodging.
000
King and Steward, together with their guards and the leading townsfolk processed along winding roads. Many people came out to greet them, some appeared simply curious, while others gaped open-mouthed. Aragorn and Faramir surmised that many of the country folk had little idea of who they were. A few older men, obviously veterans of the war, cheered the King and Steward. Aragorn thought he recognised one or two men who had ridden to the Black Gate with him and paused to speak them.
They rounded a bend in the road. Suddenly, a little girl, holding the hand of a youth of about seventeen summers, came forward to offer a posy of flowers to Aragorn. He reined in Roheryn rather sharply to take the blossoms from her. The great horse stumbled as a mighty hoof caught in a pothole. Aragorn kept his seat, but Roheryn’s flaying hooves caught the youth, who fell backwards with a cry, clutching his arm. Aragorn immediately dismounted, telling a guard to keep hold of Roheryn’s bridle.
“Are you hurt, lad?” he asked the boy anxiously.
“My arm!” the youth groaned.
“You need not concern yourself with these peasants, my lord,” said the reeve. He eyed the boy with obvious distaste.
Aragorn was already kneeling in the dust beside the young man and feeling the injured arm. “I fear your arm is broken,” the King pronounced.
“I will see a healer is summoned, my lord,” said the reeve looking aghast at Aragorn. “The banquet awaits us, my lord.”
“I am a healer,” said Aragorn in a tone that brokered no argument. “I feel responsible for this lad’s accident, and must endeavour to put things right as best I may. Where do you live, lad?” he asked the boy.
The youth cried out with pain.
“We dwell in the cottages yonder with our mother,” said the little girl, finding her voice. She pointed across a field to where a row of small cottages stood. “Mardil is my brother.”
“We will take Mardil home then,” said Aragorn. Faramir dismounted and helped Aragorn to gently lift the youth and set him astride Roheryn. The reeve raised his eyebrows in horror at the King and Steward’s actions.
I fear the feast will have to wait until I have tended this young man,” he told the reeve. “I would be grateful if you would ride ahead and tell the guests that we shall be delayed.”
“And you shall ride with me,” said Faramir to the little girl. “My horse is called Iavas. What is your name?”
“I’m Finnraen,” said the little girl. She looked fearfully at her brother. “Is Mardil going to die? My daddy died.”
“The King will heal your brother,” said Faramir confidently, lifting the child onto his mare and mounting behind her.
The riders soon reached Mardil’s dwelling. At the sound of the approaching horsemen, a thin, shabbily dressed woman came outside. She cried out in dismay when Aragorn and a guard lifted her whey-faced son down from his horse and carefully carried him within. “What has happened?” she cried as Aragorn laid the boy down on the bed. Faramir followed close behind with the little girl while the guards waited outside.
“Your son has broken his arm, Mistress,” said Aragorn, dismissing the guard to wait outside.
“The nice men brought us home after the horse kicked Mardil,” Finnraen added.
“Who are you, master?” asked the woman, hugging her little girl tightly.
“A healer,” Aragorn answered simply. “Can you set water to boil, please?”
The natural authority in Aragorn’s tone made her do as she was bidden without question.
Aragorn hurried back outside to fetch the satchel of healing supplies he always carried with him. After asking the woman for a cup, he measured out a dose of poppy juice and gave it to Mardil. “I need to cut off your shirt to examine your arm properly,” he told the lad once he had drunk the pain killing draught.
“ Must you? I have no other!” said the boy in dismay.
“I should be able to mend it if you cut carefully, sir,” said his mother.
“That is soon remedied,” said Faramir, going outside and returning almost immediately with his pack. He rummaged inside it and drew out a clean shirt. “This might be somewhat large, mistress, but it should suffice until we can find a better shirt for your son.”
Mardil’s mother fingered the garment in wonder. ”But this is fine linen, fit for a lord!” she exclaimed.
“No matter, so long as it clothes your son,” said Faramir.
Mardil weakly nodded his agreement as Aragorn took up his dagger and cut the shirt from his body. The boy groaned when the King gently felt his arm. “It is a clean break, which should heal well,” the King pronounced. ”It needs setting though, which I fear will not be pleasant. Have you a neighbour who could look after your daughter, mistress?” He threw some crushed bark from his healing supplies into the pot of water boiling on the fire as he spoke.
“My neighbour would mind her,” said the woman.” Go, Finnraen, and stay with Mistress Elwyn until I call you.”
The little girl hesitated, casting a worried look at her brother.
“Do as mother says,” said Mardil firmly. “I will fare well enough with mother and the healer.” He had regained a little colour as the poppy juice took effect.
As soon as the child had gone, Aragorn checked Mardil’s heartbeat. Once satisfied the boy was strong enough for the gruelling procedure, he asked Faramir and the boy’s mother to hold the lad down while he set the broken bone. He worked swiftly and skilfully, but Mardil was left groaning in agony with sweat pouring from his brow. ”Easy now, lad, the worst is over now,” said Aragorn, tucking the blankets around him and starting to rub the back of his neck, using an Elven healing skill.I am only sorry you should have to suffer this.”
“It was an accident and not your fault,” said Mardil. “Will it heal quickly?”
“Do not concern yourself about anything other than getting well,” said Aragorn. He took the pot from the fire and put it on the hearth to cool. Inside was a thick syrup. “I am going to wrap your arm in a cloth and cover it with this paste,” said the King. “It will set hard to allow the bone to knit. When it falls off in about two months, you will be healed.”
“Two months!” said Mardil in dismay. “My family will starve if I cannot work, my lord!”
Faramir reached inside his tunic and withdrew his purse. He took out several coins and handed them to Mardil’s mother. She gazed at them in astonishment. ”I cannot take these! This is more than we earn in a year! You must be lords of great wealth!”
“Take it!” Faramir said calmly. “It is the least we can do. Your son would not lie injured had we not come to this town.”
Mardil groaned again. Aragorn knelt beside the bed holding his hands a few inches over above Mardil’s arm, his features fixed in intense concentration. The boy sighed as the pain eased and closed his eyes. Aragorn then bandaged the arm and coated it with the sticky paste.
Mardil’s mother stared at him with growing recognition. “ You are visiting this town? You have the hands that heal? My lord...you cannot be?” she gasped, sinking to her knees.
“He is the King, mother,” said Mardil sleepily. “His horse shied and kicked my arm when Finnraen gave him some flowers.”
“The King, here in my cottage tending my son?” said Mardil’s mother, turning pale.
“It was my responsibility, mistress,” said Aragorn gravely. “Rise and be at ease. We will take our leave now. If you have need of me before I depart on the morrow, please send me word. I believe your son will heal completely within a few weeks, but if he should not, send word to me and I will see that Mardil is treated in the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith. Farewell!” With that he left the cottage, together with Faramir.
“Well, I never!” said Mardil’s mother.” Whoever would have thought the King would care so much for folk like us?”
“We may not be able to depart tomorrow,” said Aragorn when they rode away towards the long overdue feast. ”It matters little, though, so long as I right the wrong I did to that boy!”
“Do not be so hard on yourself,” said Faramir. ”It was hardly your fault that Roheryn shied. You are the most responsible man that I know. You care deeply for your people.”
“I try, Faramir, I try,” said Aragorn gravely. ”What would I not give now for a simple supper by the fire, but again duty calls.” He glanced back over his shoulder to catch a last glimpse of the cottage before riding resolutely towards the feasting hall.
A/N I was inspired by an article I read about the cottonwood tree for Aragorn’s treatment.
http://www.fascinatingearth.com/stories/How_to_Fix_a_Broken_Arm.HTM
I am using artistic licence and assuming the Elves knew of some old world equivalent.
This is a longer version of a ficlet written for the prompt “Responsibility” at the AA Group.
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
Out of the Mouths of Babes
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Out of the mouths of Babes –Psalm 8.2
With thanks to Virtuella
Much to their relief, Aragorn and Faramir were cordially received in Belfalas, at least by its leading citizens. They arrived just before sunset and were warmly greeted by the town dignitaries who had turned out in force to welcome them, as had a handful the common folk.
They were served a delicious meal of freshly caught local fish after which they gladly retired after a day of travelling in the heat. The next morning they rose early and attended a meeting with the reeve and the local landowners at which taxes, trade tariffs and the progress made since the Ring War were discussed. Aragorn and Faramir were satisfied that all appeared to be in good order.
“You are invited to visit our school this afternoon, my lords,” said the reeve, as the meeting concluded. ”We are immensely proud of our children’s progress there. We are even able to employ two teachers, one for the older children and one for the younger. They have been eagerly preparing for your visit. This evening we have a State Banquet in your honour where you will be able to sample the diverse variety of seafood that our fishermen catch.”
“We will look forward to it,” Aragorn said politely.
“I will visit the older children,” Faramir said to Aragorn once the reeve had left. “I think I can endure badly recited Quenya poetry better than you can!”
“Surely it will not be that bad?” Aragorn replied. “I will enjoy meeting the children.”
“Wait and see,” was all that Faramir would say.
After a hearty meal and many long and tedious speeches from the leading townsfolk welcoming their honoured guests, Aragorn and Faramir felt almost too full to move. A nap would have been most welcome, but duty demanded that they visit the school. After loosening their belts and taking a short walk in the bracing sea air, they made their way towards the school.
Aragorn was taken to a schoolroom full of young children. All had been scrubbed until they almost glowed and were wearing their best clothes. He overheard the schoolmistress exhorting them to be ‘very good indeed’ just before he entered. The teacher beamed with pride as she introduced her young charges, who greeted their King very respectfully with bows and curtseys. Their expressions, though, suggested they were unimpressed by their illustrious visitor.
“Let us show our Lord King just how much we have learned,” said the schoolmistress.
A girl, who looked to be the oldest pupil in the class, rose to her feet and recited a short poem in perfect but expressionless Quenya.
Aragorn thanked her politely all the while thinking he would tell Faramir that the young children also learned to bore visitors with badly recited poetry!
A freckle- faced boy then recited all the Kings of Gondor and the dates of their reigns, followed by a tiny girl who listed all the Stewards, after which a boy with light brown hair recited the battles fought during the recent war. Another, slightly older, girl listed all the heroes of the war and their great deeds.
Aragorn tried hard to look interested, his face wearing an expression learned during long and tedious Council meetings. The difference here was that he loved children, and was determined not to hurt their feelings. He desperately tried to stifle a yawn.
“You must be very proud of the children, mistress, they know their lessons well,” the King said hastily before another child could start reciting a long list of names and dates.
“We are greatly honoured to have you visit us, my Lord King,” beamed the teacher. “The children know their geography well too and are looking forward to telling you all the rivers and cities of Gondor.”
Aragorn suppressed a groan and braced himself for another very tedious recitation. The children looked just as bored as he was. They were extremely good, though, and sat still, albeit with blank expressions. Only one little girl, who appeared to be the youngest in the class, was fidgeting and playing with her scarlet ribbon adorned dark pigtails.
“You’re not a King!” the little girl said suddenly.
A collective gasp echoed around the room. The teacher looked as if she might faint and feared to be executed any moment.
“Why do you think that? “ Aragorn asked the child mildly.
“Because you look like everyone else, and you don’t wear a crown,” said the child in a tone of utter conviction. “Everyone knows that kings wear crowns!”
Aragorn burst out laughing. “Do you have a father?” he asked the child when his mirth had subsided.
“Yes,” said the little girl.
“What does your adar do for a living?”
“He is a fisherman,” said the child proudly. “He catches lots of fish.”
“So does your adar bring his fishing nets home with him and carry them around at all times?” asked Aragorn.
“Of course not, that would be silly!” the little girl said scornfully. “He leaves his nets in his boat when he is not catching fish!”
“Just like I leave my crown at home when I am not having to carry out my official duties,” Aragorn smiled.
The child nodded sagely. “So what did your adar do?”
“He was the Chieftain of the Northern Kingdom, but he died when I was only two years old, and my mother and I went to live with the Elves. I have an idea. How would you like me to tell you a story about when I was young and the kind of lessons I had to learn?”
“Yes!” chorused the children enthusiastically.
“You had to learn lessons too?” asked the sceptical little girl.
Soon Aragorn was seated happily on the floor with several small children, including the little girl, perched on his lap, and the rest clustered around him listening intently to the King’s account of learning history from the great Glorfindel and the healing arts from Master Elrond, son of Eärendil the Mariner. He told them too of his life as a Ranger and some light hearted tales of the Hobbits. He was just about to start telling them about the Ents, thinking that trees that spoke and moved would appeal to the young, when Faramir entered the room.
After enduring an hour of Quenya poetry, the Steward had come in search of his lord. Faramir was amazed to hear joyful childish laughter coming from the room. The children and their teacher were so engrossed in the King’s stories that they did not even notice him come in.
“I think it is time for me to leave,” said Aragorn, catching sight of Faramir by the door.
The children groaned loudly.
“I promise I will visit your school again next time I come to visit your town,” said Aragorn. “Maybe I can bring my little boy to meet you all.”
King and Steward returned to their lodging in good spirits. It seemed that the visit to Belfalas was going well.
TBC
A/N. This is an expanded version of a story written for the AA list prompt “Laugh”
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Out of the mouths of Babes –Psalm 8.2
With thanks to Virtuella
Much to their relief, Aragorn and Faramir were cordially received in Belfalas, at least by its leading citizens. They arrived just before sunset and were warmly greeted by the town dignitaries who had turned out in force to welcome them, as had a handful the common folk.
They were served a delicious meal of freshly caught local fish after which they gladly retired after a day of travelling in the heat. The next morning they rose early and attended a meeting with the reeve and the local landowners at which taxes, trade tariffs and the progress made since the Ring War were discussed. Aragorn and Faramir were satisfied that all appeared to be in good order.
“You are invited to visit our school this afternoon, my lords,” said the reeve, as the meeting concluded. ”We are immensely proud of our children’s progress there. We are even able to employ two teachers, one for the older children and one for the younger. They have been eagerly preparing for your visit. This evening we have a State Banquet in your honour where you will be able to sample the diverse variety of seafood that our fishermen catch.”
“We will look forward to it,” Aragorn said politely.
“I will visit the older children,” Faramir said to Aragorn once the reeve had left. “I think I can endure badly recited Quenya poetry better than you can!”
“Surely it will not be that bad?” Aragorn replied. “I will enjoy meeting the children.”
“Wait and see,” was all that Faramir would say.
After a hearty meal and many long and tedious speeches from the leading townsfolk welcoming their honoured guests, Aragorn and Faramir felt almost too full to move. A nap would have been most welcome, but duty demanded that they visit the school. After loosening their belts and taking a short walk in the bracing sea air, they made their way towards the school.
Aragorn was taken to a schoolroom full of young children. All had been scrubbed until they almost glowed and were wearing their best clothes. He overheard the schoolmistress exhorting them to be ‘very good indeed’ just before he entered. The teacher beamed with pride as she introduced her young charges, who greeted their King very respectfully with bows and curtseys. Their expressions, though, suggested they were unimpressed by their illustrious visitor.
“Let us show our Lord King just how much we have learned,” said the schoolmistress.
A girl, who looked to be the oldest pupil in the class, rose to her feet and recited a short poem in perfect but expressionless Quenya.
Aragorn thanked her politely all the while thinking he would tell Faramir that the young children also learned to bore visitors with badly recited poetry!
A freckle- faced boy then recited all the Kings of Gondor and the dates of their reigns, followed by a tiny girl who listed all the Stewards, after which a boy with light brown hair recited the battles fought during the recent war. Another, slightly older, girl listed all the heroes of the war and their great deeds.
Aragorn tried hard to look interested, his face wearing an expression learned during long and tedious Council meetings. The difference here was that he loved children, and was determined not to hurt their feelings. He desperately tried to stifle a yawn.
“You must be very proud of the children, mistress, they know their lessons well,” the King said hastily before another child could start reciting a long list of names and dates.
“We are greatly honoured to have you visit us, my Lord King,” beamed the teacher. “The children know their geography well too and are looking forward to telling you all the rivers and cities of Gondor.”
Aragorn suppressed a groan and braced himself for another very tedious recitation. The children looked just as bored as he was. They were extremely good, though, and sat still, albeit with blank expressions. Only one little girl, who appeared to be the youngest in the class, was fidgeting and playing with her scarlet ribbon adorned dark pigtails.
“You’re not a King!” the little girl said suddenly.
A collective gasp echoed around the room. The teacher looked as if she might faint and feared to be executed any moment.
“Why do you think that? “ Aragorn asked the child mildly.
“Because you look like everyone else, and you don’t wear a crown,” said the child in a tone of utter conviction. “Everyone knows that kings wear crowns!”
Aragorn burst out laughing. “Do you have a father?” he asked the child when his mirth had subsided.
“Yes,” said the little girl.
“What does your adar do for a living?”
“He is a fisherman,” said the child proudly. “He catches lots of fish.”
“So does your adar bring his fishing nets home with him and carry them around at all times?” asked Aragorn.
“Of course not, that would be silly!” the little girl said scornfully. “He leaves his nets in his boat when he is not catching fish!”
“Just like I leave my crown at home when I am not having to carry out my official duties,” Aragorn smiled.
The child nodded sagely. “So what did your adar do?”
“He was the Chieftain of the Northern Kingdom, but he died when I was only two years old, and my mother and I went to live with the Elves. I have an idea. How would you like me to tell you a story about when I was young and the kind of lessons I had to learn?”
“Yes!” chorused the children enthusiastically.
“You had to learn lessons too?” asked the sceptical little girl.
Soon Aragorn was seated happily on the floor with several small children, including the little girl, perched on his lap, and the rest clustered around him listening intently to the King’s account of learning history from the great Glorfindel and the healing arts from Master Elrond, son of Eärendil the Mariner. He told them too of his life as a Ranger and some light hearted tales of the Hobbits. He was just about to start telling them about the Ents, thinking that trees that spoke and moved would appeal to the young, when Faramir entered the room.
After enduring an hour of Quenya poetry, the Steward had come in search of his lord. Faramir was amazed to hear joyful childish laughter coming from the room. The children and their teacher were so engrossed in the King’s stories that they did not even notice him come in.
“I think it is time for me to leave,” said Aragorn, catching sight of Faramir by the door.
The children groaned loudly.
“I promise I will visit your school again next time I come to visit your town,” said Aragorn. “Maybe I can bring my little boy to meet you all.”
King and Steward returned to their lodging in good spirits. It seemed that the visit to Belfalas was going well.
TBC
A/N. This is an expanded version of a story written for the AA list prompt “Laugh”
Sunday, July 26, 2009
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.
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.
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.
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