lindahoyland: (Aragorn and Faramir)
This is a revised and expanded version of a story I posted in March here.

We were young, we were merry, we were very, very wise, And the door stood open at our feast, When there passed us a woman with the West in her eyes, And a man with his back to the East.-Mary Elizabeth Coleridge

The words West and East are often used in the works of Tolkien. Write a story or poem or create an artwork that uses these words as the central focus, whether as cardinals, regions, or as metaphors.

Written for a BTME challenge Prompt

Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,
Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great Judgment Seat;
But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,
When two strong men stand face to face,
tho' they come from the ends of the earth! - Kipling

Title: Brothers under the Skin
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn/ Arwen, Faramir, OMC
Rating: PG13
Warnings: nudity, fleeting mention of mutilation
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.

Read more... )
lindahoyland: (Aragorn and Faramir)
This is a revised and expanded version of a story I posted in March here.

We were young, we were merry, we were very, very wise, And the door stood open at our feast, When there passed us a woman with the West in her eyes, And a man with his back to the East.-Mary Elizabeth Coleridge

The words West and East are often used in the works of Tolkien. Write a story or poem or create an artwork that uses these words as the central focus, whether as cardinals, regions, or as metaphors.

Written for a BTME challenge Prompt

Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,
Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great Judgment Seat;
But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,
When two strong men stand face to face,
tho' they come from the ends of the earth! - Kipling

Title: Brothers under the Skin
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn/ Arwen, Faramir, OMC
Rating: PG13
Warnings: nudity, fleeting mention of mutilation
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.

Read more... )
lindahoyland: (Ring)
[Poll #1726850]


B2MeM Passport


Well, the challenge is completed! To my amazement, I've posted something for all 31 prompts. I'm aware they are not all masterpieces, but I tried and I had great fun!

If you could just spare a moment, I'd love to know which you liked best. You can vote for as few or as many as you choose.

A very big thank you to all my readers,especially those of you who commented on every story,which cannot have been easy.I could not have kept going writing 31 pieces without you all!
lindahoyland: (Ring)
[Poll #1726850]


B2MeM Passport


Well, the challenge is completed! To my amazement, I've posted something for all 31 prompts. I'm aware they are not all masterpieces, but I tried and I had great fun!

If you could just spare a moment, I'd love to know which you liked best. You can vote for as few or as many as you choose.

A very big thank you to all my readers,especially those of you who commented on every story,which cannot have been easy.I could not have kept going writing 31 pieces without you all!
lindahoyland: (Arwen)
B2MeM Day Thirty-One: Valinor


Today's Challenge:
"Against stupidity the gods themselves contend in vain."
Friedrich Schiller

Write a story or poem or create artwork that illustrates this quotation

Title:Beauty is in the eye of the beholder
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Arwen, Eowyn, OFCs Aragorn, Faramir, OMC
Rating: PG13
Warnings: mild nudity
Word count: 1690
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 companion piece to “Brothers under the skin”.

http://lindahoyland.livejournal.com/271965.html#cutid1

Valinor Passport Stamp



Read more... )
lindahoyland: (Arwen)
B2MeM Day Thirty-One: Valinor


Today's Challenge:
"Against stupidity the gods themselves contend in vain."
Friedrich Schiller

Write a story or poem or create artwork that illustrates this quotation

Title:Beauty is in the eye of the beholder
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Arwen, Eowyn, OFCs Aragorn, Faramir, OMC
Rating: PG13
Warnings: mild nudity
Word count: 1690
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 companion piece to “Brothers under the skin”.

http://lindahoyland.livejournal.com/271965.html#cutid1

Valinor Passport Stamp



Read more... )
lindahoyland: (Faramir2)
March 30: Grey Havens

Today's Challenge:
"You can never go home again, but the truth is you can never leave home, so it's all right."
--Maya Angelou

Write a story or poem, or create a piece of art on the theme of leaving or returning home.

Title: An Unexpected Welcome
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Faramir,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

For once the sight of the White City did not gladden Faramir's heart. Minas Tirith still looked forlorn with the broken gate and damage to the walls. He chided himself inwardly for his low spirits and tried to think of cheerful things; it had been enjoyable to visit his Uncle in Dol Amroth, men were busy rebuilding the walls and now a King dwelt within the City.

It had been at the King's insistence that Faramir had returned home with his uncle after King Théoden had been laid to rest. Concerned for his Steward's health, King Elessar had insisted that he take a short holiday.

Now there was no delaying his return to the Citadel any longer, back to his empty rooms, so close to those once inhabited by his father and brother, and now abode to the King and Queen. It would have been far different if Éowyn had been at his side, but she was still needed in her native land to assist her brother. It was still hard to take in that never again would Boromir warmly embrace him, nor his fathers take him to task for some failing, real or imagined. And this was his only home now, until his new house in Ithilien was built. The Steward of Gondor could no longer dwell amongst his Rangers simply as their Captain.

It was not good brooding though over what could not be changed. Faramir decided that he dedicate himself to serving Gondor and her new lord. The first moment he had beheld Aragorn he had loved him, but his love was mixed with overwhelming awe and a fear that Aragorn would be no more pleased with him than his father was, for all his kindness. Faramir knew he owed everything to Aragorn, life, land and titles. The Steward still felt sometimes that he must be dreaming and he would wake up and find it had all vanished again.

Faramir made his way through the streets, responding to friendly greetings called out by the people. He took a deep breath on the threshold of his rooms and smiled a warm greeting at the servant who took his luggage.

“You have guests, my lord,” said the man. “They are waiting for you in the living room.”

“Guests? Who is visiting me?”

“Your pardon, my lord, but they gave no names.”

Faramir debated whether he should first wash and change his travel-stained clothes first, or greet his mysterious guests. He decided to do the former would be lacking in courtesy. He made his way to the living room and opened the door. To his amazement the King and Queen were sitting by his hearth. They both rose and Aragorn warmly embraced Faramir while the Queen took his hand.

He froze, yearning to accept the affection offered to him, but bewildered that his new lord and his lady should greet him thus, and uncertain how to respond. His father had always insisted on being greeted in a formal manner and derided displays of affection as being only for women and small children.

“Welcome home, my Steward!” said Aragorn. “I forbade your servant to tell you who was visiting you, we wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Indeed, my lord, it is good to see you,” said Faramir. “Please forgive me that I have neither washed nor changed my clothes after the journey.”

“That matters not,” the Queen smiled.

“We are here only for a few moments,” said the King. “When we heard you had arrived in the City, we feared this might be a lonely homecoming for you without your lady or the brother you loved, so we hastened here.”

“We should like you to dine with us tonight,” said the Queen.

Faramir hesitated. He yearned to accept the invitation, but surely the newly wed couple would rather be together and were simply trying to be kind? He thought too of all the times his father had berated him for saying the wrong thing at the dinner table. What if he offended the King and Queen?

“That is kind of you, my lady, my lord,” he said. “I have much work to catch up with, though.”

“You should not exert yourself so soon after a long journey and when still recovering from your hurts,” said Aragorn. “I forbid you to work tonight. Unless you are too tired, we shall expect you in an hour.”

“Until then, “said the Queen, smiling at Faramir again.

His every excuse overruled, the Steward called to the servants to bring water for bathing and lay out some of his best clothes.

Later that night after a simple but delicious meal of carrot soup, poached salmon and a fruit pie, and agreeable conversation concerning old lore, Faramir could only reflect how different his homecoming was to what he had expected and rejoice. His admiration for the King had grown ever greater. Truly Aragorn was the greatest man of the age, and he, Faramir was most fortunate to be his Steward.



Grey Havens Passport Stamp
lindahoyland: (Faramir2)
March 30: Grey Havens

Today's Challenge:
"You can never go home again, but the truth is you can never leave home, so it's all right."
--Maya Angelou

Write a story or poem, or create a piece of art on the theme of leaving or returning home.

Title: An Unexpected Welcome
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Faramir,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

For once the sight of the White City did not gladden Faramir's heart. Minas Tirith still looked forlorn with the broken gate and damage to the walls. He chided himself inwardly for his low spirits and tried to think of cheerful things;it had been enjoyable to visit his Uncle in Dol Amroth, men were busy rebuilding the walls and now a King dwelt within the City.

It had been at the King's insistence that Faramir had returned home with his uncle after King Théoden had been laid to rest. Concerned for his Steward's health, King Elessar had insisted that he take a short holiday.

Now there was no delaying his return to the Citadel any longer, back to his empty rooms, so close to those once inhabited by his father and brother, and now abode to the King and Queen. It would have been far different if Éowyn had been at his side,but she was still needed in her native land to assist her brother. It was still hard to take in that never again would Boromir warmly embrace him, nor his father take him to task for some failing, real or imagined. And this was his only home now, until his new house in Ithilien was built. The Steward of Gondor could no longer dwell amongst his Rangers simply as their Captain.

It was not good brooding though over what could not be changed. Faramir decided that he dedicate himself to serving Gondor and her new lord. The first moment he had beheld Aragorn he had loved him, but his love was mixed with overwhelming awe and a fear that Aragorn would be no more pleased with him than his father was, for all his kindness. Faramir knew he owed everything to Aragorn, life, land and titles. The Steward still felt sometimes that he must be dreaming and he would wake up and find it had all vanished again.

Faramir made his way through the streets, responding to friendly greetings called out by the people. He took a deep breath on the threshold of his rooms and smiled a warm greeting at the servant who took his luggage.

“You have guests,my lord,” said the man. “They are waiting for you in the living room.”

“Guests? Who is visiting me?”

“Your pardon, my lord, but they gave no names.”

Faramir debated whether he should first wash and change his travel stained clothes first,or greet his mysterious guests. He decided to do the former would be lacking in courtesy. He made his way to the living room and opened the door. To his amazement the King and Queen were sitting by his hearth. They both rose and Aragorn warmly embraced Faramir while the Queen took his hand.

He froze,yearning to accept the affection offered to him,but bewildered that his new lord and his lady should greet him thus, and uncertain how to respond. His father had always insisted on being greeted in a formal manner and derided displays of affection as being only for women and small children.

“Welcome home, my Steward!” said Aragorn. “I forbade your servant to tell you who was visiting you, we wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Indeed, my lord, it is good to see you,”said Faramir.”Please forgive me that I have neither washed nor changed my clothes after the journey.”

“That matters not,” the Queen smiled.

“We are here only for a few moments,” said the King. “When we heard you had arrived in the City, we feared this might be a lonely homecoming for you without your lady or the brother you loved,so we hastened here.”

“We should like you to dine with us tonight,” said the Queen.

Faramir hesitated. He yearned to accept the invitation, but surely the newly wed couple would rather be together and were simply trying to be kind? He thought too of all the times his father had berated him for saying the wrong thing at the dinner table. What if he offended the King and Queen?

“That is kind of you, my lady,my lord,” he said. “I have much work to catch up with,though.”

“You should not exert yourself so soon after a long journey and when still recovering from your hurts,” said Aragorn.”I forbid you to work tonight. Unless you are too tired, we shall expect you in an hour.”

“Until then, “said the Queen, smiling at Faramir again.

His every excuse overruled, the Steward called to the servants to bring water for bathing and lay out some of his best clothes.

Later that night after a simple but delicious meal of carrot soup, poached salmon and a fruit pie, and agreeable conversation concerning old lore, Faramir could only reflect how different his homecoming was to what he had expected and rejoice. His admiration for the King had grown ever greater. Truly Aragorn was the greatest man of the age, and he, Faramir was most fortunate to be his Steward.


Grey Havens Passport Stamp
lindahoyland: (Thorongil)
March 29: Mordor

Today's Challenge:
"Darkness is only driven out with light, not more darkness."
--Martin Luther King, Jr.

Write a story or poem or create artwork where your character battles and overcomes their darkest hour.


Title: The Price of Love
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn,Ecthelion, Denethor,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.


Aragorn sat in his cabin, staring through the porthole. They would soon reach land and he would have to leave its sanctuary. Above him, he could hear his comrades still celebrating their victory over the Corsairs far into the night.

If only he could return with them and deliver the tidings of victory himself to Ecthelion! He loved the old Steward dearly, and knew that love was returned. But why did love have to be so destructive? The first man he had loved as a father was now somewhat cold towards him because of his love for Arwen. He had come to Gondor in the hope of winning renown and with it the love of Elrond's daughter and his foster father's consent to woo her.

He had found the honours he sought in Gondor and more,the fatherly love of her Steward, Ecthelion. Aragorn had never sought to take Ecthelion's love from his son and heir, Denethor,but despite his attempts to be but a faithful Captain, his bond with the Steward had grown. Aragorn could imagine the father he had never known as being something akin to the Steward, while Ecthelion had yearned for someone who would give him the warmth and affection that Denethor was so loth to express.

Denethor had grown to hate Aragorn for the bond that had formed with his father and had set about trying to discover his true identity. Aragorn was certain now that Denethor knew he was heir to the throne of Gondor, as did his father. What he feared was the use either might make of that knowledge.

Ecthelion loved him, maybe more than he loved the son of his loins;the old Steward also loved Gondor and if he thought a King would renew her will to fight against Mordor, he might well offer the crown to his favourite Captain in the aftermath of so great a victory. That was,if Thorongil could produce the proofs that he were indeed Isildur's heir. He would move swiftly while he were still Steward,knowing his son had other plans.

As for Denethor..Aragorn was certain that the Ecthelion's heir was doing all in his power to discredit him. There had been too many pretty girls in taverns offering themselves to him, and strangers trying to get him to overindulge in drink for such matters to be mere coincidences. If Denethor could not discredit him, what else might he do, slip a knife under his ribs in a dark alley, challenge him to a duel? He doubted the former, though jealousy could drive a man mad, while the latter could lead to war and brother fighting against brother. Such a fatally weakened realm would then fall easily into Sauron's clutches.

Aragorn knew he must leave, but to do so now! He cared about his men and many were good friends. It would hurt Ecthelion so much,maybe damage his already failing health. Would the old man ever understand that Aragorn had acted out of love both for him and for Gondor by leaving?

Then if he left now would he ever return? Denethor was close in age to him and the blood of Númenor flowed almost true in his veins. Unless he were to fall in battle, he could live to a great age. It would be too late then for Aragorn if he won the crown, to win Arwen's hand in marriage. How could he ask her to forsake the life of the Elder for a few short years at his side?

Aragorn looked out again. They were about to make land at Dol Amroth. The white sands and the great castle gleamed in the moonlight. This land was so fair!

The moon then vanished behind a cloud plunging everywhere into darkness. Aragorn felt the darkness in his heart was even deeper. Surely this were his grimmest hour.

He placed two letters he had written on the table in his cabin;one was for all to read,the other intended for none save Ecthelion's eyes. Then gathering his belongings together, he prepared to slip away into the night.

Mordor Passport Stamp
lindahoyland: (Thorongil)
March 29: Mordor

Today's Challenge:
"Darkness is only driven out with light, not more darkness."
--Martin Luther King, Jr.

Write a story or poem or create artwork where your character battles and overcomes their darkest hour.


Title: The Price of Love
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn,Ecthelion, Denethor,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.


Aragorn sat in his cabin, staring through the porthole. They would soon reach land and he would have to leave its sanctuary. Above him, he could hear his comrades still celebrating their victory over the Corsairs far into the night.

If only he could return with them and deliver the tidings of victory himself to Ecthelion! He loved the old Steward dearly, and knew that love was returned. But why did love have to be so destructive? The first man he had loved as a father was now somewhat cold towards him because of his love for Arwen. He had come to Gondor in the hope of winning renown and with it the love of Elrond's daughter and his foster father's consent to woo her.

He had found the honours he sought in Gondor and more,the fatherly love of her Steward, Ecthelion. Aragorn had never sought to take Ecthelion's love from his son and heir, Denethor,but despite his attempts to be but a faithful Captain, his bond with the Steward had grown. Aragorn could imagine the father he had never known as being something akin to the Steward, while Ecthelion had yearned for someone who would give him the warmth and affection that Denethor was so loth to express.

Denethor had grown to hate Aragorn for the bond that had formed with his father and had set about trying to discover his true identity. Aragorn was certain now that Denethor knew he was heir to the throne of Gondor, as did his father. What he feared was the use either might make of that knowledge.

Ecthelion loved him, maybe more than he loved the son of his loins;the old Steward also loved Gondor and if he thought a King would renew her will to fight against Mordor, he might well offer the crown to his favourite Captain in the aftermath of so great a victory. That was,if Thorongil could produce the proofs that he were indeed Isildur's heir. He would move swiftly while he were still Steward,knowing his son had other plans.

As for Denethor..Aragorn was certain that the Ecthelion's heir was doing all in his power to discredit him. There had been too many pretty girls in taverns offering themselves to him, and strangers trying to get him to overindulge in drink for such matters to be mere coincidences. If Denethor could not discredit him, what else might he do, slip a knife under his ribs in a dark alley, challenge him to a duel? He doubted the former, though jealousy could drive a man mad, while the latter could lead to war and brother fighting against brother. Such a fatally weakened realm would then fall easily into Sauron's clutches.

Aragorn knew he must leave, but to do so now! He cared about his men and many were good friends. It would hurt Ecthelion so much,maybe damage his already failing health. Would the old man ever understand that Aragorn had acted out of love both for him and for Gondor by leaving?

Then if he left now would he ever return? Denethor was close in age to him and the blood of Númenor flowed almost true in his veins. Unless he were to fall in battle, he could live to a great age. It would be too late then for Aragorn if he won the crown, to win Arwen's hand in marriage. How could he ask her to forsake the life of the Elder for a few short years at his side?

Aragorn looked out again. They were about to make land at Dol Amroth. The white sands and the great castle gleamed in the moonlight. This land was so fair!

The moon then vanished behind a cloud plunging everywhere into darkness. Aragorn felt the darkness in his heart was even deeper. Surely this were his grimmest hour.

He placed two letters he had written on the table in his cabin;one was for all to read,the other intended for none save Ecthelion's eyes. Then gathering his belongings together, he prepared to slip away into the night.

Mordor Passport Stamp
lindahoyland: (King Elessar)
March 28: Gondor

Title: Defender of the White Tree
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn,OCs
Rating: PG
Warnings: OC death
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.


Today's Challenge:
There was no avoiding it; the letter had to be composed...

Who will receive this letter? An uncle? A lover? The High-King? Why is there "no avoiding it"? Circumstances? Or is Mother watching with arms crossed? Will the letter be written in haste? Or will each phrase be meticulously crafted?

Write a story or poem inspired by this line (you do not need to use the exact quote), or create a piece of art that reflects this situation.

There was no avoiding it; the letter had to be composed Aragorn sighed deeply as he picked up the pen. Out of all his duties as King, this was the one of those he liked the least. If a man had given his life for Gondor, though, the very least he could do was write a letter of condolence to their loved ones.

Mercifully in these times of peace it was not something that he had to do very often, but there were still skirmishes with surviving groups of Orcs or rebel groups from Harad, and fighting led to casualties.

This particular death saddened him especially. Denborn had been one of the Citadel Guards, a likeable young fellow with a wife and small daughter. He recalled one morning seeing the young woman in the Court of the Fountain, clutching her little girl's hand when Denborn had first been given the honour of guarding the White Tree. The child had been puzzled why her daddy could not talk to her while on duty.

The King had been passing and had stopped to explain to the child a little about why the tree was special to all the people of Gondor.

A Citadel Guard's duties were mainly ceremonial, which made matters even worse for the bereaved family. Whoever could have foreseen that a mad man would attack the White Tree with an axe? Denborn had hurled himself in front the tree to protect it and had been brutally cut down before his comrades could overpower the lunatic.

The tree bore only a small cut upon its trunk as result of the attack,but a good man was dead as result.

Aragorn dipped his quill in the ink and began to write; praising Denborn's courage and devotion to duty. The words sounded hollow and patronising to him, even as he penned them. He remembered so clearly the little girl asking him if the tree was more important to her father than she was. He had assured her it was not. Now the child was bereft of her father on account of that tree! She was too young to understand that this tree represented the very soul of Númenor, the spirit that Sauron could not destroy; sprung from the fruit that Isildur had almost given his life for. Denborn's name would be added to a list of great heroes who had fought to preserve the Tree and all it stood for over the ages.

Aragorn screwed up the paper. He had met these people. He felt like a coward sending a letter of condolence instead of facing them.

He would instead go and visit the family and tell them that they would be provided for. If they were angry then would listen to them, and if they wept, he would weep with them, genuine tears for the loss of a precious life.

In defending the White Tree, Denborn had given his life for Gondor and her King.


He would instead go and visit the family and tell them that they would be provided for. If they were angry then would listen to them, and if they wept,he would weep with them, genuine tears for the loss of a precious life.

In defending the White Tree, Denborn had given his life for Gondor and her King.


Gondor Passport Stamp
lindahoyland: (King Elessar)
March 28: Gondor

Title: Defender of the White Tree
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn,OCs
Rating: PG
Warnings: OC death
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.


Today's Challenge:
There was no avoiding it; the letter had to be composed...

Who will receive this letter? An uncle? A lover? The High-King? Why is there "no avoiding it"? Circumstances? Or is Mother watching with arms crossed? Will the letter be written in haste? Or will each phrase be meticulously crafted?

Write a story or poem inspired by this line (you do not need to use the exact quote), or create a piece of art that reflects this situation.


There was no avoiding it; the letter had to be composed Aragorn sighed deeply as he picked up the pen. Out of all his duties as King, this was the one of those he liked the least. If a man had given his life for Gondor,though, the very least he could do was write a letter of condolence to their loved ones.

Mercifully in these times of peace it was not something that he had to do very often,but there were still skirmishes with surviving groups of Orcs or rebel groups from Harad, and fighting led to casualties.

This particular death saddened him especially. Denborn had been one of the Citadel Guards,a likeable young fellow with a wife and small daughter. He recalled one morning seeing the young woman in the Court of the Fountain, clutching her little girl's hand when Denborn had first been given the honour of guarding the White Tree. The child had been puzzled why her daddy could not talk to her while on duty.

The King had been passing and had stopped to explain to the child a little about why the tree was special to all the people of Gondor.

A Citadel Guard's duties were mainly ceremonial,which made matters even worse for the bereaved family. Whoever could have foreseen that a mad man would attack the White Tree with an axe? Denborn had hurled himself in front the tree to protect it and had been brutally cut down before his comrades could overpower the lunatic.

The tree bore only a small cut upon its trunk as result of the attack,but a good man was dead as result.

Aragorn dipped his quill in the ink and began to write; praising Denborn's courage and devotion to duty. The words sounded hollow and patronising to him, even as he penned them. He remembered so clearly the little girl asking him if the tree was more important to her father than she was. He had assured her it was not. Now the child was bereft of her father on account of that tree! She was too young to understand that this tree represented the very soul of Numenor, the spirit that Sauron could not destroy, sprung from the fruit that Isildur had almost given his life for. Denborn's name would be added to a list of great heroes who had fought to preserve the Tree and all it stood for over the ages.

Aragorn screwed up the paper. He had met these people. He felt like a coward sending a letter of condolence instead of facing them.

He would instead go and visit the family and tell them that they would be provided for. If they were angry then would listen to them, and if they wept,he would weep with them, genuine tears for the loss of a precious life.

In defending the White Tree, Denborn had given his life for Gondor and her King.


Gondor Passport Stamp
lindahoyland: (Faramir1)
March 26: Isengard

Today's Challenge:
"Pride is still aiming at the best houses: Men would be angels, angels would be gods. Aspiring to be gods, if angels fell; aspiring to be angels men rebel."
--Alexander Pope

How would a character not allowed to express his or her thoughts, creativity, or opinion act out? Capture this in a story, poem or piece of

Title: The Sacrifice
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Faramir, Denethor
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Word count: 864 approx
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



My love, your eyes shine
Brighter than Elbereth's jewels.
Your hair is softer than thistledown,
Your lips redder than cherries,but far sweeter.
Your kisses will set me afire
With burning flame,
That you alone can quench.

Faramir chewed his quill thoughtfully. He had not yet met the lady to whom he would dedicate this poem, but he was certain this was how he would feel about her. This was what love should be like, a true union of souls. To dream of such a love and write about it helped make his life all the more bearable for one who would much liefer be a scholar than a soldier.

He tucked the half finished poem between the pages of the military report he knew he should be concentrating upon and resolutely returned to his task. His father expected a detailed review of Ithilien's defences first thing the next morning. Faramir worked late into the night and when he finally finished the report and placed it on his father's desk, he had forgotten all about the poem.

“Captain Faramir, the Lord Steward wishes to see you at once.”

Faramir handed his bow to one of his squires and left the practice butts wondering why his father was summoning him now. He was not due to see him until the evening meal when they would dine together and make their farewells before he returned to his Rangers the next day.

Denethor was pacing his office clutching a sheet of parchment. “What is the meaning of this,boy?” he demanded, thrusting the paper under Faramir's nose.

Faramir regarded it with dismay and flushed scarlet. It was his poem.

“I am sorry,father. It was a mere flight of fancy. There is no lady.”

“About the only matter in your favour, boy, is that your moral conduct has never given me cause for concern!” Denethor snapped. “It displeases me greatly,though, that you should waste your time writing this nonsense! You are a soldier,boy, not a poet! All your time and energy must be dedicated towards your duty. I never want to catch you engaged such foolishness again or you will feel the full weight of my wrath. Do I have your word that you will not write poetry again?”

Faramir wanted to tell his father how writing poetry helped him while away the long nights at Ithilien. He yearned to explain that writing down his dreams for the future, however hopeless, gave him greater strength to fight for them against an ever increasing enemy. Why should he not write in what little free time he had? What harm did it do to anyone? He wanted to rage against his father and tell him he was being unfair. He never wanted to be a soldier, but he did his duty and served Gondor wholeheartedly. Why could he not write poetry too. Faramir knew all too well that it was futile to argue. Denethor was not only his father, but his liege lord and he was sworn to obey him.

“You have my word,sire,”Faramir said bleakly.

“It is for your own good, boy,” said Denethor, his tone softening slightly. “The enemy is ruthless. We can only defeat him with sword and bow and dedicating ourselves entirely to that task. We will speak no more of it. Now go!”

Faramir returned to the training ground and for the next hour fired arrows at the practise butts with such ferocity that those who saw him were perplexed. Inside he felt as if part of himself had been destroyed, a part that he had cherished and nurtured.

***
Twenty years later.

“We have done enough work for today, Faramir.” Aragorn put aside the scroll he was working on and turned to his Steward. “Arwen and I hope you will dine with us tonight, we always enjoy your company.”

“I should like that very much,Aragorn, thank you. I will just go and make myself presentable to your lady.”

“Before you leave, I found this. It is your handwriting is it not?” The King handed Faramir a yellowing piece of parchment.

Puzzled, the Steward studied it and flushed.

“I did not know you wrote poetry, Faramir. Indeed, you seemed unable to, that day we were composing poems to our wives on the river bank.”

“My father forbade me to write poetry and I forced myself to lose the art. Where did you find this?I believed that my father had thrown it away.”

“I found it inside a book of lays that belonged to him that I was perusing in the library earlier today.”

“How strange!” said Faramir. “He was so angry that I had been writing poems. I assumed he had burnt it. Throw it away, it is just doggerel!”

“I think it is very good,” said Aragorn. “I believe your father thought so as well which was why he kept it the poem . Why not copy it out on a fresh parchment and give it to Éowyn? It will delight her that you dreamed of her before you two ever met.You should never have stopped writing, Faramir.”

“I had to, my lord demanded that sacrifice of me.”

Aragorn smiled and clapped Faramir on the shoulder. “Well your present lord would like you to write poems if you feel so inspired. I count myself most fortunate to have a Steward with so many talents!”


Isengard Passport Stamp
lindahoyland: (Faramir1)
March 26: Isengard

Today's Challenge:
"Pride is still aiming at the best houses: Men would be angels, angels would be gods. Aspiring to be gods, if angels fell; aspiring to be angels men rebel."
--Alexander Pope

How would a character not allowed to express his or her thoughts, creativity, or opinion act out? Capture this in a story, poem or piece of

Title: The Sacrifice
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Faramir, Denethor
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Word count: 864 approx
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



My love, your eyes shine
Brighter than Elbereth's jewels.
Your hair is softer than thistledown,
Your lips redder than cherries,but far sweeter.
Your kisses will set me afire
With burning flame,
That you alone can quench.

Faramir chewed his quill thoughtfully. He had not yet met the lady to whom he would dedicate this poem, but he was certain this was how he would feel about her. This was what love should be like, a true union of souls. To dream of such a love and write about it helped make his life all the more bearable for one who would much liefer be a scholar than a soldier.

He tucked the half finished poem between the pages of the military report he knew he should be concentrating upon and resolutely returned to his task. His father expected a detailed review of Ithilien's defences first thing the next morning. Faramir worked late into the night and when he finally finished the report and placed it on his father's desk, he had forgotten all about the poem.

“Captain Faramir, the Lord Steward wishes to see you at once.”

Faramir handed his bow to one of his squires and left the practice butts wondering why his father was summoning him now. He was not due to see him until the evening meal when they would dine together and make their farewells before he returned to his Rangers the next day.

Denethor was pacing his office clutching a sheet of parchment. “What is the meaning of this,boy?” he demanded, thrusting the paper under Faramir's nose.

Faramir regarded it with dismay and flushed scarlet. It was his poem.

“I am sorry,father. It was a mere flight of fancy. There is no lady.”

“About the only matter in your favour, boy, is that your moral conduct has never given me cause for concern!” Denethor snapped. “It displeases me greatly,though, that you should waste your time writing this nonsense! You are a soldier,boy, not a poet! All your time and energy must be dedicated towards your duty. I never want to catch you engaged such foolishness again or you will feel the full weight of my wrath. Do I have your word that you will not write poetry again?”

Faramir wanted to tell his father how writing poetry helped him while away the long nights at Ithilien. He yearned to explain that writing down his dreams for the future, however hopeless, gave him greater strength to fight for them against an ever increasing enemy. Why should he not write in what little free time he had? What harm did it do to anyone? He wanted to rage against his father and tell him he was being unfair. He never wanted to be a soldier, but he did his duty and served Gondor wholeheartedly. Why could he not write poetry too. Faramir knew all too well that it was futile to argue. Denethor was not only his father, but his liege lord and he was sworn to obey him.

“You have my word,sire,”Faramir said bleakly.

“It is for your own good, boy,” said Denethor, his tone softening slightly. “The enemy is ruthless. We can only defeat him with sword and bow and dedicating ourselves entirely to that task. We will speak no more of it. Now go!”

Faramir returned to the training ground and for the next hour fired arrows at the practise butts with such ferocity that those who saw him were perplexed. Inside he felt as if part of himself had been destroyed, a part that he had cherished and nurtured.

***
Twenty years later.

“We have done enough work for today, Faramir.” Aragorn put aside the scroll he was working on and turned to his Steward. “Arwen and I hope you will dine with us tonight, we always enjoy your company.”

“I should like that very much,Aragorn, thank you. I will just go and make myself presentable to your lady.”

“Before you leave, I found this. It is your handwriting is it not?” The King handed Faramir a yellowing piece of parchment.

Puzzled, the Steward studied it and flushed.

“I did not know you wrote poetry, Faramir. Indeed, you seemed unable to, that day we were composing poems to our wives on the river bank.”

“My father forbade me to write poetry and I forced myself to lose the art. Where did you find this?I believed that my father had thrown it away.”

“I found it inside a book of lays that belonged to him that I was perusing in the library earlier today.”

“How strange!” said Faramir. “He was so angry that I had been writing poems. I assumed he had burnt it. Throw it away, it is just doggerel!”

“I think it is very good,” said Aragorn. “I believe your father thought so as well which was why he kept it the poem . Why not copy it out on a fresh parchment and give it to Éowyn? It will delight her that you dreamed of her before you two ever met.You should never have stopped writing, Faramir.”

“I had to, my lord demanded that sacrifice of me.”

Aragorn smiled and clapped Faramir on the shoulder. “Well your present lord would like you to write poems if you feel so inspired. I count myself most fortunate to have a Steward with so many talents!”


Isengard Passport Stamp
lindahoyland: (Gilraen)
March 25: Lothlórien


Title: Boys will be Boys
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Gilraen, Aragorn, Elrond
Rating: PG
Warnings: blood, minor injury
Word count: 930 approx
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.


Today's Challenge:
She knelt on the floor, carefully picking up the shards of glass. Why did it have to be this one that broke?

She knelt on the floor, carefully picking up the shards of glass. Why did it have to be this one that broke? Gilraen bit back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. At home everything was made of much more solid materials, wood, pewter and earthenware, not this fragile flimsy glass! Even after two years living here, she could not become accustomed to being surrounded by such dainty objects, though until now, she had managed to avoid breaking any and prevent Estel from doing so either.

For something polite to say, Gilraen had admired the glass vase when a well meaning Elf had brought the flowers to her room.The Elf had gravely informed her that the vase was two thousand years old and had belonged to Master Elrond's wife.

“I'm sorry, naneth.” Estel gazed at her wide eyed. “I didn't mean to break it. I'll help!”
Before she could stop him,Estel had reached out a chubby hand to pick up a shard of glass. It cut through the tender flesh and the little boy screamed as blood dripped from the wound.

It was the last straw for Gilraen and she cried out. Her child was hurt and blood was dripping on to the carpet, no doubt as old and priceless as the vase to its owners. She tried to staunch the wound with the skirt of her gown, simple homespun of her own weaving. She had insisted on continuing to wear her own clothes for most of the time, rather than the elaborate garments they had given her.

“What is the matter, Mistress Gilraen?”

To her horror, Master Elrond appeared in the open doorway. She hardly knew the Master of Imladris, though he had always been gravely courteous to her on the few occasions that they did meet, but he was so wise and ancient and powerful. That they were dependent on his charity was hard enough to bear and now they would be even further indebted!

“He is only a little boy. He didn't mean to break your vase!” she said defiantly. “I will not have him punished."

“I am not concerned about the vase, Lady Gilraen, but about your son! He is hurt is he not?”

“He has cut himself. Could you tell me where I might find a bandage?”

“I am a healer. If you would permit me to tend the cut? I have healing supplies in my chambers.”

Surprised at this mild reaction, Gilraen could only nod mutely. She scooped up Estel in her arms and prepared to follow Master Elrond to his chambers.

“I will carry him, he has grown rather heavy for you,my lady.”

“He will get blood over your robes!” Gilraen protested, looking doubtfully at Elrond's elaborate silk garments.

“They can be washed. I have known far worse.”

“Master Elrond is going to make your hand better,” Gilraen told Estel. She finally permitted Elrond to take him.

“The children of Men grow so fast,” Elrond remarked as she walked along beside him. “It seems but yesterday that I was fostering this little one's great grandsire! I think I will take him to my workroom.” He led the way to a cluttered chamber with shelves piled high with books and jars filled with potions. Bunches of drying herbs were hanging from the walls. Gilraen had some healing knowledge and recognised many of them. This room actually had a homely, lived in feel about it, unlike the pristine chambers that she and Estel had been allocated.

Elrond indicated a chair where she might sit and put Estel down. The child clambered on to her lap. He had stopped crying and was watching everything wide eyed.

Elrond poured some water into a bowl and put it to heat on a small brazier. He then busied himself selecting a salve and bandages.

“Let me see your hand, Estel,”said Master Elrond.

Estel shyly held out the bloodied palm.

“It is just a little cut. It will not need stitching. Tell me, Lady Gilraen, are you content here?”

“My son and I have everything we need, thank you.”

Elrond looked thoughtful. He carefully cleaned and bandaged Estel's hand. The little boy did not cry again and only wriggled a little. His bright eyes studied the room intently. With his good hand he pointed at a bunch of drying herbs. “They are dandelions!” he said.

“Indeed they are!”

“And that is comfrey!”
“You have a bright boy here, Mistress Gilraen. He is brave too.”

“He is interested in herbs,” Gilraen said proudly. “I have told him the names of those we see when we walk in the gardens, and he remembers them all.”

“I think Estel is now old enough to begin some simple lessons,” said Elrond. “Would you permit me to teach him, Mistress Gilraen. Would you like that, Estel?”

The little boy nodded.

“I would be honoured, Master Elrond.”

“I will see him tomorrow then. Now I must return to mixing some potions. You will find the blood and the glass have been cleaned from your carpet, Mistress.”

“I am truly sorry.”

Elrond smiled. “This child is only four years old. There are bound to be some accidents with one so young!”

Gilraen returned to her chambers with Estel's bandaged hand clutching hers. It seemed that Master Elrond was not so fearsome after all and he, the wise Elf Master of lore, thought her boy was clever. Her heart felt lighter than it had in a long time.


Lothlorien Passport Stamp
lindahoyland: (Gilraen)
March 25: Lothlórien


Title: Boys will be Boys
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Gilraen, Aragorn, Elrond
Rating: PG
Warnings: blood, minor injury
Word count: 939
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.


Today's Challenge:
She knelt on the floor, carefully picking up the shards of glass. Why did it have to be this one that broke?

She knelt on the floor, carefully picking up the shards of glass. Why did it have to be this one that broke? Gilraen bit back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. At home everything was made of much more solid materials, wood, pewter and earthenware, not this fragile flimsy glass! Even after two years living here, she could not become accustomed to being surrounded by such dainty objects, though until now, she had managed to avoid breaking any and prevent Estel from doing so either.

For something polite to say, Gilraen had admired the glass vase when a well meaning Elf had brought the flowers to her room.The Elf had gravely informed her that the vase was two thousand years old and had belonged to Master Elrond's wife.

“I'm sorry, naneth.” Estel gazed at her wide eyed. “I didn't mean to break it. I'll help!”
Before she could stop him,Estel had reached out a chubby hand to pick up a shard of glass. It cut through the tender flesh and the little boy screamed as blood dripped from the wound.

It was the last straw for Gilraen and she cried out. Her child was hurt and blood was dripping on to the carpet, no doubt as old and priceless as the vase to its owners. She tried to staunch the wound with the skirt of her gown, simple homespun of her own weaving. She had insisted on continuing to wear her own clothes for most of the time, rather than the elaborate garments they had given her.

“What is the matter, Mistress Gilraen?”

To her horror, Master Elrond appeared in the open doorway. She hardly knew the Master of Imladris, though he had always been gravely courteous to her on the few occasions that they did meet, but he was so wise and ancient and powerful. That they were dependent on his charity was hard enough to bear and now they would be even further indebted!

“He is only a little boy. He didn't mean to break your vase!” she said defiantly. “I will not have him punished. I will work to pay for it somehow!”

“I am not concerned about the vase, Lady Gilraen, but about your son! He is hurt is he not?”

“He has cut himself. Could you tell me where I might find a bandage?”

“I am a healer. If you would permit me to tend the cut? I have healing supplies in my chambers.”

Surprised at this mild reaction, Gilraen could only nod mutely. She scooped up Estel in her arms and prepared to follow Master Elrond to his chambers.

“I will carry him, he has grown rather heavy for you,my lady.”

“He will get blood over your robes!” Gilraen protested, looking doubtfully at Elrond's elaborate silk garments.

“They can be washed. I have known far worse.”

“Master Elrond is going to make your hand better,” Gilraen told Estel. She finally permitted Elrond to take him.

“The children of Men grow so fast,” Elrond remarked as she walked along beside him. “It seems but yesterday that I was fostering this little one's great grandsire! I think I will take him to my workroom.” He led the way to a cluttered chamber with shelves piled high with books and jars filled with potions. Bunches of drying herbs were hanging from the walls. Gilraen had some healing knowledge and recognised many of them. This room actually had a homely, lived in feel about it, unlike the pristine chambers that she and Estel had been allocated.

Elrond indicated a chair where she might sit and put Estel down. The child clambered on to her lap. He had stopped crying and was watching everything wide eyed.

Elrond poured some water into a bowl and put it to heat on a small brazier. He then busied himself selecting a salve and bandages.

“Let me see your hand, Estel,”said Master Elrond.

Estel shyly held out the bloodied palm.

“It is just a little cut. It will not need stitching. Tell me, Mistress Gilraen, are you content here?”

“My son and I have everything we need, thank you.”

Elrond looked thoughtful. He carefully cleaned and bandaged Estel's hand. The little boy did not cry again and only wriggled a little. His bright eyes studied the room intently. With his good hand he pointed at a bunch of drying herbs. “They are dandelions!” he said.

“Indeed they are!”

“And that is comfrey!”
“You have a bright boy here, Mistress Gilraen. He is brave too.”

“He is interested in herbs,” Gilraen said proudly. “I have told him the names of those we see when we walk in the gardens, and he remembers them all.”

“I think Estel is now old enough to begin some simple lessons,” said Elrond. “Would you permit me to teach him, Mistress Gilraen. Would you like that, Estel?”

The little boy nodded.

“I would be honoured, Master Elrond.”

“I will see him tomorrow then. Now I must return to mixing some potions. You will find the blood and the glass have been cleaned from your carpet, Mistress.”

“I am truly sorry.”

Elrond smiled. “This child is only four years old. There are bound to be some accidents with one so young!”

Gilraen returned to her chambers with Estel's bandaged hand clutching hers. It seemed that Master Elrond was not so fearsome after all and he, the wise Elf Master of lore, thought her boy was clever. Her heart felt lighter than it had in a long time.


Lothlorien Passport Stamp
lindahoyland: (Gilraen)
March 25: Lothlórien


Title: Boys will be Boys
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Gilraen, Aragorn, Elrond
Rating: PG
Warnings: blood, minor injury
Word count: 939
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.


Today's Challenge:
She knelt on the floor, carefully picking up the shards of glass. Why did it have to be this one that broke?

She knelt on the floor, carefully picking up the shards of glass. Why did it have to be this one that broke? Gilraen bit back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. At home everything was made of much more solid materials, wood, pewter and earthenware, not this fragile flimsy glass! Even after two years living here, she could not become accustomed to being surrounded by such dainty objects, though until now, she had managed to avoid breaking any and prevent Estel from doing so either.

For something polite to say, Gilraen had admired the glass vase when a well meaning Elf had brought the flowers to her room.The Elf had gravely informed her that the vase was two thousand years old and had belonged to Master Elrond's wife.

“I'm sorry, naneth.” Estel gazed at her wide eyed. “I didn't mean to break it. I'll help!”
Before she could stop him,Estel had reached out a chubby hand to pick up a shard of glass. It cut through the tender flesh and the little boy screamed as blood dripped from the wound.

It was the last straw for Gilraen and she cried out. Her child was hurt and blood was dripping on to the carpet, no doubt as old and priceless as the vase to its owners. She tried to staunch the wound with the skirt of her gown, simple homespun of her own weaving. She had insisted on continuing to wear her own clothes for most of the time, rather than the elaborate garments they had given her.

“What is the matter, Mistress Gilraen?”

To her horror, Master Elrond appeared in the open doorway. She hardly knew the Master of Imladris, though he had always been gravely courteous to her on the few occasions that they did meet, but he was so wise and ancient and powerful. That they were dependent on his charity was hard enough to bear and now they would be even further indebted!

“He is only a little boy. He didn't mean to break your vase!” she said defiantly. “I will not have him punished. I will work to pay for it somehow!”

“I am not concerned about the vase, Lady Gilraen, but about your son! He is hurt is he not?”

“He has cut himself. Could you tell me where I might find a bandage?”

“I am a healer. If you would permit me to tend the cut? I have healing supplies in my chambers.”

Surprised at this mild reaction, Gilraen could only nod mutely. She scooped up Estel in her arms and prepared to follow Master Elrond to his chambers.

“I will carry him, he has grown rather heavy for you,my lady.”

“He will get blood over your robes!” Gilraen protested, looking doubtfully at Elrond's elaborate silk garments.

“They can be washed. I have known far worse.”

“Master Elrond is going to make your hand better,” Gilraen told Estel. She finally permitted Elrond to take him.

“The children of Men grow so fast,” Elrond remarked as she walked along beside him. “It seems but yesterday that I was fostering this little one's great grandsire! I think I will take him to my workroom.” He led the way to a cluttered chamber with shelves piled high with books and jars filled with potions. Bunches of drying herbs were hanging from the walls. Gilraen had some healing knowledge and recognised many of them. This room actually had a homely, lived in feel about it, unlike the pristine chambers that she and Estel had been allocated.

Elrond indicated a chair where she might sit and put Estel down. The child clambered on to her lap. He had stopped crying and was watching everything wide eyed.

Elrond poured some water into a bowl and put it to heat on a small brazier. He then busied himself selecting a salve and bandages.

“Let me see your hand, Estel,”said Master Elrond.

Estel shyly held out the bloodied palm.

“It is just a little cut. It will not need stitching. Tell me, Mistress Gilraen, are you content here?”

“My son and I have everything we need, thank you.”

Elrond looked thoughtful. He carefully cleaned and bandaged Estel's hand. The little boy did not cry again and only wriggled a little. His bright eyes studied the room intently. With his good hand he pointed at a bunch of drying herbs. “They are dandelions!” he said.

“Indeed they are!”

“And that is comfrey!”
“You have a bright boy here, Mistress Gilraen. He is brave too.”

“He is interested in herbs,” Gilraen said proudly. “I have told him the names of those we see when we walk in the gardens, and he remembers them all.”

“I think Estel is now old enough to begin some simple lessons,” said Elrond. “Would you permit me to teach him, Mistress Gilraen. Would you like that, Estel?”

The little boy nodded.

“I would be honoured, Master Elrond.”

“I will see him tomorrow then. Now I must return to mixing some potions. You will find the blood and the glass have been cleaned from your carpet, Mistress.”

“I am truly sorry.”

Elrond smiled. “This child is only four years old. There are bound to be some accidents with one so young!”

Gilraen returned to her chambers with Estel's bandaged hand clutching hers. It seemed that Master Elrond was not so fearsome after all and he, the wise Elf Master of lore, thought her boy was clever. Her heart felt lighter than it had in a long time.


Lothlorien Passport Stamp

The Omen

Mar. 26th, 2011 12:20 am
lindahoyland: (Aragorn and Faramir)
March 24: Rhosgobel

Title: The Omen
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Faramir, Ioreth
Rating: PG13
Warnings: none
Word count: 945
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 ending of this is for Cairistiona


Aragorn and Faramir urged their horses forward in a gentle trot. They had been looking forward to going riding for days now. It was bliss to have a free hour to themselves to enjoy some fresh air and exercise on a fine spring day.

As they passed the Houses of Healing Dame Ioreth greeted them and asked after their ladies and the little ones.

Just as Aragorn was assuring her that they were all in excellent health, two ravens flew overhead.

“Alas!” cried Ioreth. “That is an ill omen indeed! You should go home at once, Lord Elfstone and stay within doors this day and take great care!”

“Whatever for?” Aragorn asked.

“Just look at those ravens!” Ioreth said grimly. “See how they hover above you. That can only foretell one thing; the death of a king!”

Aragorn laughed. “I know the story well, that the ravens bring tidings to Ilúvatar, but it is just an old country tale. I am going for a peaceful ride with Faramir, not setting out to do battle. What possible harm could befall me?”

“Alas,Lord Elfstone! Well don't say that Ioreth didn't warn you if you die this day! You do not even have guards with you!”

“Indeed I will not blame you, Dame Ioreth, I give you my word. And why should I need guards just to go for a short ride in my own City? Now we must be on our way, if you will excuse me, good lady?”

“Good day, Dame Ioreth,” Faramir said politely, fearful the elderly healer would wish to talk all day.” The two men urged their horses to a faster pace.

Faramir looked up when they reached the third circle. The ravens were still following. “Are you certain it is just an old wife's tale?” he said. “Those birds are still hovering above you. I like it not at all!”

“Do not fret,my friend,” said Aragorn. “Master Elrond told me that the story came about simply because ravens are often seen hovering over battlefields. One might just as well say they appear when an old soldier is about to die.”

Just then a black cat ran out a baker's shop and crossed the street in front of them in hot pursuit of a mouse. Aragorn laughed. “If you want omens, a black cat crossing your path is said to herald good luck in the Shire,” he said.

Faramir laughed too, though he continued to keep a wary eye on the ravens.

The two friends rode out of the City and cantered along the fields enjoying the spring sunshine. When they came to a stream they dismounted to let the horses drink.

Some small golden flowers in the grass caught Aragorn's eye. “Arwen loves celandines,” he said. “They remind her of the elanor blossoms of the Elven realms. We need a fresh supply for the Houses of Healing. It only grows well near water. I wonder if there is sufficient to gather. There might be more medicinal herbs here.”

He started to explore the long grass. Faramir stood a little way off and watched, pleased at the King's delight in collecting medicinal herbs, but lacking sufficient knowledge to be of much assistance. He knew the common remedies like dandelion and comfrey, but Aragorn seemed to know of uses for herbs that he would shun as deadly poisons.


He looked up again. The ravens were still there. They seemed to be growing increasingly excited as they hovered above Aragorn's head, squawking loudly. Faramir repressed a shudder inward. He berated himself for feeling so unnerved by some birds. They were hardly Black Riders! He looked down away from the birds and a sudden movement in the grass caught his eye. It was a snake. He was no herb master, but he was a former Ranger and he knew every snake. This one was deadly. Calling out a warning to Aragorn, he reached for his sword.

The ground was soft and muddy and Faramir slipped, his sword flying from his hand. The snake reared and poised to strike at the King.

The screeching ravens must have drowned out his cry, for Aragorn, engrossed in his search for herbs, did not heed him. Seconds felt like eternity as Faramir watched helplessly. His lord was going to die. Surely this heart would break his instant!

From out of a clear blue sky, a great eagle appeared, swooped down before the King and snatched up the serpent. Great wings flapping, it hovered for only a moment before flying away, the snake clutched in one of its mighty talons.

The ravens gave a final squawk , this time in terror, and flew away.

Only aware of the danger now it was over, Aragorn watched the eagle fly away until it was out of sight.

Faramir scrambled up out of the mud. He ran over to his friend and hugged him with relief. “The Valar be praised you are safe!” he exclaimed.

Aragorn returned his embrace then gazed upwards.”Maybe I should have heeded good Dame Ioreth?” he mused,. “Or perhaps the ravens alerted the eagle to my danger? “

“I have had enough of omens for one day,” said Faramir, ruefully brushing the mud from his breeches.”Let us go home now.”

“The ravens might not have foretold my death, but they did fortell ill luck,” said Aragorn while they walked up to the Citadel.”I fear your breeches are quite ruined! You will have to replace them.”

“So the cat must have foretold good luck for my tailor then!” said Faramir and laughed.


Rhosgobel Passport Stamp

The Omen

Mar. 26th, 2011 12:20 am
lindahoyland: (Aragorn and Faramir)
March 24: Rhosgobel

Title: The Omen
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Faramir, Ioreth
Rating: PG13
Warnings: none
Word count: 945
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 ending of this is for Cairistiona


Aragorn and Faramir urged their horses forward in a gentle trot. They had been looking forward to going riding for days now. It was bliss to have a free hour to themselves to enjoy some fresh air and exercise on a fine spring day.

As they passed the Houses of Healing Dame Ioreth greeted them and asked after their ladies and the little ones.

Just as Aragorn was assuring her that they were all in excellent health, two ravens flew overhead.

“Alas!” cried Ioreth. “That is an ill omen indeed! You should go home at once, Lord Elfstone and stay within doors this day and take great care!”

“Whatever for?” Aragorn asked.

“Just look at those ravens!” Ioreth said grimly. “See how they hover above you. That can only foretell one thing; the death of a king!”

Aragorn laughed. “I know the story well, that the ravens bring tidings to Ilúvatar, but it is just an old tale. I am going for a peaceful ride with Faramir, not setting out to do battle. What possible harm could befall me?”

“Alas,Lord Elfstone! Well don't say that Ioreth didn't warn you if you die this day! You do not even have guards with you!”

“Indeed I will not blame you, Dame Ioreth, I give you my word. And why should I need guards just to go for a short ride in my own City? Now we must be on our way, if you will excuse me, good lady?”

“Good day, Dame Ioreth,” Faramir said politely, fearful the elderly healer would wish to talk all day.” The two men urged their horses to a faster pace.

Faramir looked up when they reached the third circle. The ravens were still following. “Are you certain it is just an old wife's tale?” he said. “Those birds are still hovering above you. I like it not at all!”

“Do not fret,my friend,” said Aragorn. “Master Elrond told me that the story came about simply because ravens are often seen hovering over battlefields. One might just as well say they appear when an old soldier is about to die.”

Just then a black cat ran out a baker's shop and crossed the street in front of them in hot pursuit of a mouse. Aragorn laughed. “If you want omens, a black cat crossing your path is said to herald good luck in the Shire,” he said.

Faramir laughed too, though he continued to keep a wary eye on the ravens.

The two friends rode out of the City and cantered along the fields enjoying the spring sunshine. When they came to a stream they dismounted to let the horses drink.

Some small golden flowers in the grass caught Aragorn's eye. “Arwen loves celandines,” he said. “They remind her of the elanor blossoms of the Elven realms. We need a fresh supply for the Houses of Healing. It only grows well near water. I wonder if there is sufficient to gather There might be more medicinal herbs here.”

He started to explore the long grass. Faramir stood a little way off and watched, pleased at the King's delight in collecting medicinal herbs, but lacking sufficient knowledge to be of much assistance. He knew the common remedies like dandelion and comfrey, but Aragorn seemed to know of uses for herbs that he would shun as deadly poisons.


He looked up again. The ravens were still there. They seemed to be growing increasingly excited as they hovered above Aragorn's head, squawking loudly. Faramir repressed a shudder inward. He berated himself for feeling so unnerved by some birds. They were hardly Black Riders! He looked down away from the birds and a sudden movement in the grass caught his eye. It was a snake. He was no herb master, but he was a former Ranger and he knew every snake. This one was deadly. Calling out a warning to Aragorn, he reached for his sword.

The ground was soft and muddy and Faramir slipped, his sword flying from his hand. The snake reared and poised to strike at the King.

The screeching ravens must have drowned out his cry, for Aragorn, engrossed in his search for herbs, did not heed him. Seconds felt like eternity as Faramir watched helplessly. His lord was going to die. Surely this heart would break his instant!

From out of a clear blue sky, a great eagle appeared, swooped down before the King and snatched up the serpent. Great wings flapping, it hovered for only a moment before flying away, the snake clutched in one of its mighty talons.

The ravens gave a final squawk , this time in terror, and flew away.

Only aware of the danger now it was over, Aragorn watched the eagle fly away until it was out of sight.

Faramir scrambled up out of the mud. He ran over to his friend and hugged him with relief. “The Valar be praised you are safe!” he exclaimed.

Aragorn returned his embrace then gazed upwards.”Maybe I should have heeded good Dame Ioreth?” he mused,. “Or perhaps the ravens alerted the eagle to my danger? “

“I have had enough of omens for one day,” said Faramir, ruefully brushing the mud from his breeches.”Let us go home now.”

“The ravens might not have foretold my death, but they did fortell ill luck,” said Aragorn while they walked up to the Citadel.”I fear your breeches are quite ruined! You will have to replace them.”

“So the cat must have foretold good luck for my tailor then!” said Faramir and laughed.


Rhosgobel Passport Stamp
lindahoyland: (Aragorn and Faramir)
2MeM Day Twenty-Three: Dol Guldur

Today's Challenge:
Everyone avoided the tower. It was believed to have ...

Write a story or poem that starts with this line or create a piece of art that reflects this line

Title:The Dark Tower
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn,Faramir
Rating: PG13
Warnings:very mild horror
Word count: 1251
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 belated birthday gift for Silivren Tinu

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