lindahoyland: (BTME17)
B2MeM Prompt and Path:“On silver necklaces they strung The flowering stars, On crowns they hung The dragon-fire, in twisted wire They meshed the light of moon and sun.” JRR Tolkien, The Hobbit. Purple Path.

Format: Ficlet

Genre: Friendship

Rating: G

Warnings: None

Characters: OFC, Arwen, Éowyn

Pairings: OMC/OFC Aragorn/Arwen

Creator’s Notes (optional):

Summary: Arwen and Éowyn enjoy a visit to Lady Adiva.

Back to Middle-earth Month 2017--Night and Day

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lindahoyland: (Aragorn and Arwen)
Author: Linda Hoyland

Title: Burning the Midnight Oil

Rating: G

Theme: Wisdom

Elements: No man can be a good ruler unless he has first been ruled.

Author's Notes:

Summary: Faramir is concerned that Aragorn is working too hard.

Word Count: 928



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lindahoyland: (A/A)
B2MeM Challenge:Song prompt: "Verdi prati"
One of the themes in Tolkien's works is the fading of beauty. Write/draw/create another type of fanwork inspired by "Verdi prati" from Handel's opera Alcina.
Green meadows, pleasant woods,
you will lose your beauty.
Lovely flowers, flowing streams,
your grace and loveliness
will soon change.
And once the beautiful scene is changed,
everything in you will return
to the wildness of your original appearance. (translation Lignota)
Also inspired by my picture prompt
Flowery Meadow
Format: ficlet
Genre: romance, hurt/comfort
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Characters: Aragorn, Arwen
Pairings: Aragorn/Arwen, brief mentions of Faramir/Éowyn and Lúthien/Beren
Summary: Aragorn consoles a melancholy Arwen.
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been nor will be made from this story.
A/n. part of my “Return to Rivendell” series.
Back to Middle-earth Month 2015 Participant

8992105923_304fb27286_z



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lindahoyland: (Aragorn and Faramir)
Many a Slip

Disclaimer: These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.


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A/N As I am prone to making mistakes, I decided to use some of my own typos as inspiration for this ficlet.
The story is set before Aragorn and Faramir become close friends.
Dervorin appears in "Web of Treason" as one of the chief conspirators together with Fosco of Lamedon, who resembles is as thin as Dervorin is stout.

This ficlet was written back in 2007 for a prompt and has languished forgotten on my computer since then.
lindahoyland: (Arwen happy)

Keeping Cool

Summary: Arwen and Éowyn seek respite from the summer heat.

Rating: G

Warnings: none

Beta: none

Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.

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A/n. A revised version of a story I posted earlier this year.

P1050157

Equality

May. 22nd, 2014 03:27 am
lindahoyland: (Aragorn and Faramir)

Author: Linda Hoyland

Title: Equality

Rating: G

Theme: May Challenge - Character Study

Elements: Your character has a disagreement with a friend.

Beta: None –

Word Count: 362

The impertinence of the man! Aragorn fumed inwardly. He slammed his study door shut behind him. Had he not saved Faramir’s life and given him lands and titles? Did he not already regard the young man as a friend? Yet, his stubborn Steward dared to question the wisdom of building a great road from Gondor to the Northern Kingdom and was threatening to withhold his vote, which the Council required for the project to proceed.

Faramir had argued that the funds in the treasury should be used instead to rebuild the walls of Minas Tirith and increase the soldiers’ pay.

Aragorn threw a sheaf of parchment down on the table. Did Faramir not realise he intended to do both those things too.

A sobering thought came over him. His Steward did not know him well. Maybe he did not know that he intended to care equally for both his kingdoms. Aragorn’s fury drained away as suddenly as it had come over him. He would seek Faramir out and explain the position to him.

Just then, a knock came at the study door. “Come in!” Aragorn called.

Faramir entered; a downcast expression on his face. “I have come to apologise, sire,” he said. “I fear I spoke out of turn. I have pondered over our disagreement and see now that the road is essential for both kingdoms to prosper.”

Aragorn smiled at the younger man. “It is just as important that Minas Tirith is rebuilt and the soldiers pay increased. Who better than we as soldiers to understand that? “

“I believe the North has suffered much poverty and hardship,” said Faramir.

“Gondor has suffered as well,” said Aragorn. “I spoke rashly in the heat of my anger. I should apologise too.” He held out his hand to Faramir. The Steward grasped it warmly.

Aragorn went to to the door and called for a servant to bring a fine wine from the Citadel cellars. Once it arrived, he poured out two glasses and handed one to Faramir.

“A toast!” he said. “To the rebuilding of Gondor!”

“To Gondor!” said Faramir, raising his glass. “To Arnor too. May the Reunited Kingdom prosper and flourish!”

lindahoyland: (Aragorn smile)
Title: Taking Root

Author Name: Linda Hoyland

Prompt: “Write or create art in which a character plants something. (What she or he plants can be literal or metaphorical!)”

Mortality, change, growth are key elements to define the different race in Middle-earth. Write a story or create art where these topics play a central role.

Summary: Aragorn plants the new White Tree.

Rating: G

Warnings: none

Beta: none

Author's Notes: 500 word FLF. For Shirebound on her birthday
A prequel to my story "The White Tree."

Aragorn carried the sapling as carefully as one might carry a new- born babe. In his heart, it indeed represented his future hopes of children, as well as the land he yearned to see blossom under his rule.

The guards in the Court of the Fountain at first looked aghast when he ordered them to uproot the withered tree and bear it to the Rath Dinen. Their grim expressions relaxed into smiles, though, when they beheld the new sapling.

They looked even more horrified, though, when he requested a spade be brought and he rolled up his sleeves and began to turn over the earth with it in preparation for planting the sapling. Nothing could spoil the joyous mood Aragorn was in that day. He grinned at them and said, “I engaged in far more arduous labours during my long years as a Ranger. Becoming King has not rendered me entirely helpless!”

A small crowd had gathered to see what was happening in the usually serene Court of the Fountain. Aragorn ignored them and concentrated on his labours. Although the old tree had withered and died many years ago, the soil had been as lovingly tended as if it were yet alive. It was rich and fertile. Any weeds that had dared to grow there had swiftly been uprooted. The precious sapling should thrive and flourish in such a spot. Aragorn thought. Maybe he should have asked Samwise Gamgee to help him plant it. Unlike the Hobbit, Aragorn was not renowned for his gardening skills. But no, this tree was the symbol of Elendil’s line- his line. It was fitting that his should be the hands that planted it here as had Isildur’s hands planted its forebear.

Aragorn knelt and placed the sapling tenderly in the ground then arranged the soil around the roots with his bare hands. Around him, the crowd murmured and gasped. He could hear Gandalf chuckling softly beside him

Once satisfied with his handiwork, Aragorn stood up and turned to address the crowd, “Behold your new White Tree!” he said. “Long it lay hidden in a secret Hallow. Now may it flourish and blossom in the sight of all!”

The crowd cheered.

Aragorn stepped back and turned around again to contemplate the freshly planted tree. It was wondrous fair to behold. The leaves sparkled like pure mithril, reflected in the droplets from the fountain.

For the first time that day, Aragorn felt a pang of regret for his impulsiveness. Maybe he should have asked the other members of the Fellowship to watch him plant the tree, not to mention his Steward. Instead, apart from Gandalf only a handful of guards and passers-by had seen what he hoped would be a turning point in Gondor’s history. No matter, though, he would be able to surprise them with the new sapling.

Aragorn continued to gaze at the tree. In his mind’s eye, he saw it covered with blossom, as if adorned to greet the coming of his bride.


Back to Middle-earth Month 2014 Participant
lindahoyland: (Faramir and Eowyn art)
Title: Vanquished Shadows

Author Name: Linda Hoyland

Prompt: "Then, as a sweet rain will pass down a wind of spring and the sun will shine out the clearer, his tears ceased, and his laughter welled up, and laughing he sprang from his bed." (Return of the King, "The Field of Cormallen") combined with Your character gets caught in a spring rainstorm. What happens next?

Summary: Faramir ponders the events of a momentous day.

Rating: PG

Warnings: None

Beta: none

Author's Notes: Written in honour of Defeat of Sauron Day. 500 FLF


Such a day it had been, unlike any other he had known. Faramir felt he wanted to laugh and cry both at the same time.

All his life, Faramir had dwelt beneath the Shadow. Now it was no more. He had seen such marvels today that he could hardly take it all in.

He had kissed the Lady Éowyn. For granted, a chaste kiss upon her brow, but nonetheless a kiss. She had not objected.

Then a great wind had blown, the sun had come out and the Shadow had departed.

If those were not marvels enough, a Great Eagle had come from the East and announced that the Black Gate was broken and henceforth the City would be blessed and her King was returning.

The wondrous day was now almost at an end. Faramir desired to quiet his racing thoughts before nightfall. He decided to take a stroll in the gardens of the Houses of Healing. He was still under the healers’ care and recovering from his wounds, but he did not feel yet like returning to his bed. He had half hoped that he might behold Éowyn again to bid her goodnight, but she was nowhere to be seen. Faramir was not downhearted. He knew now that there would be a tomorrow in which to woo her.

His thoughts turned to those who were not there to see this day. He blinked away the tears as he thought of Boromir. How his brother would have rejoiced in the defeat of the Dark Lord! Then his thoughts turned to his father. Faramir tried to imagine Denethor smiling as everyone around him had smiled today. It was not easy. Denethor would most surely have rejoiced at Sauron’s defeat, but would he have welcomed the return of the King? Faramir felt certain he would not.

His heart soared again when he thought of the man he had recognised as the heir of Elendil, even as Aragorn had saved his life leading him forth from the dark vale in which the Black Breath had imprisoned him. This man was the king of his dreams, wise, compassionate, and mighty. It would have been so easy for him to let the one man who could hinder his path to the throne, perish, but Aragorn had put forth all his strength in order to heal him. He would gladly surrender the White Rod to such a man.

Suddenly, Faramir felt moisture upon his face, this time not from weeping. He looked up and although the sun still shone, it was raining. As a child, Faramir had always thought there was something quite magical about rain and sun at the same time. It seemed a fitting end to this day. He laughed aloud with sheer joy and lifted up his face to better feel the raindrops against his skin. He would be soaked and the Dame Ioreth would scold, but he cared not at all.

Then Faramir looked towards the East and beheld a perfect rainbow.

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lindahoyland: (Default)

Title: When winter comes

Author Name: Linda Hoyland

Prompt: http://allpoetry.com/poem/8500011-I-Sit-And-Think-by-J-R-R-Tolkien

Summary: Éowyn is not enjoying her visit to Rivendell.

Rating: PG

Warnings: none

Beta: (optional)

Author's Notes: Ficlet. I imagine elvish music to sound a little like Gregorian chant and the music of Rohan to sound rather like Cossack songs.

Disclaimer: The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.

Éowyn returned from her morning ride in good spirits. The countryside around Rivendell was perfect riding country. She was enjoying the experience of riding horses trained by Elves. Not that any other steed could compare with her faithful Windfola, though, but these horses were undoubtedly special. Windfola was enjoying grazing in Rivendell’s lush pastures after their long journey here.

She was about to go to change for the noonday meal when an Elf stopped her. “I trust you are enjoying your stay here, Lady Éowyn,” he said.

“It is most pleasant,” Éowyn replied. “My family and I are enjoying the hospitality of the last Homely House.”

“We hope you will attend a music recital in the Hall of Fire this evening,” said the Elf.

“I will be pleased to come if my children do not need me,” said Éowyn. “My youngest is teething at present.”

“We shall look forward to your presence,” said the Elf before silently gliding away, or so it seemed to Éowyn.

The Princess of Ithilien groaned inwardly as she climbed a flight of stairs to her chamber. Truth to tell, apart from the riding, she was not greatly enjoying her visit to Aragorn’s childhood home. Accustomed as she was to Arwen’s silent way of moving around, it was nevertheless highly unnerving to be surrounded by strangers who seemed to appear out of nowhere. Then, she missed being occupied in the day-to-day management of her household and herds. There was little to do here when she was not out riding. Faramir was in his element and spent most of his time in the library, emerging only at mealtimes, or occasionally to join her out riding. The children were occupied playing out of doors, supervised by their capable nursemaids. Aragorn and Arwen spent most of their time with their kin, going for long walks or showing their children the haunts of their own childhood. Éowyn found herself feeling out of place and rather bored and lonely. She also felt melancholy, but could not understand why that should be so.

Faramir greeted her warmly. After enquiring if she had enjoyed her ride he said, “Erestor has just told me that there will be a musical recital tonight. Is that not delightful?”

“I think I will stay with the children,” said Éowyn. “It is strange for them here.”

“You cannot miss the chance to hear Elven music,” said Faramir. “We have excellent nursemaids who would send for us at once if the children need us.”

Éowyn supressed a sigh. She did not feel able to confide in Faramir that she found Elven music tedious in the extreme. He had told her that the musicians conjured up events of bygone days as if they were happening before the listener, but Éowyn had never had that experience. Maybe it was because she lacked Faramir’s elvish ancestry, or perhaps it was because she was not fluent in Quenya, in which they were usually sung. She only hoped that she could manage not to nod off during the evening. She had no desire to insult their kind hosts.

000

The first piece of music was even worse than Éowyn had feared. The harpist was undoubtedly talented, but the music seemed to go on forever, praising the different shades of green in the spring woodland. Éowyn concluded that you would need the immortal lifespan of an Elf to have the time to count innumerable shades of green, let alone sing about them. She struggled not to fidget as what felt like hours passed. She applauded politely when the music ended. If only elvish music were more like that of her homeland, hearty tunes concerned with everyday activities such as riding or feasting.

Much to her surprise, Aragorn then rose to his feet and took the harpist’s place. “Tonight I would like to remember an old friend who often graced this hall with his songs,” he said. “Bilbo Baggins wrote songs that any elvish minstrel would be proud to sing. Tonight I will sing one of his favourites and mine.”

Éowyn listened intently as Aragorn’s fine bass voice sang, “I sit beside the fire and think of how the world will be when winter comes without a spring that I shall ever see.”

Suddenly tears pricked her eyes and she understood the reason for her melancholy. This place was a poignant reminder that even for Elves, all things change and pass away. This was Rivendell’s autumn and it would not see a spring. Her life too, would reach its autumn sooner than the lives of her husband and the King and Queen.

Faramir glanced across at her. He reached out and took her hand. He gazed at her tenderly and she knew in that moment that he understood.

Maybe now that she understood, she could better enjoy the rest of her visit here. Éowyn realised that she was privileged to be one of the few in these latter days to enjoy the hospitality of the Last Homely House. She would try to cherish those memories.

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Dew Drops

Mar. 16th, 2014 05:47 am
lindahoyland: (Aragorn and Faramir)
Title: Dew Drops
Author Name: Linda Hoyland
Prompt :Web

1757-1256188019FTXq

(http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/view-image.php?image=4467&picture=spiders-web)
Summary: During their trip to Rivendell, Aragorn and Faramir enjoy an early morning walk.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Brief mention of spiders
Beta: (optional)
Author's Notes: Events take place the day after “Autumn Leaves”.
Disclaimer: The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.


Aragorn was awakened by an early sunbeam streaming through the window. For a few moments, he lay there listening to the soothing sounds of the distant waterfall and birds singing outside the window.

It was too perfect an autumn morning to lie abed for long, though and Aragorn desired to make the most of this rare visit to his childhood home. He slid from the bed, taking care not to disturb his still peacefully sleeping wife. There was no sign of the children being awake yet. No doubt, they were tired out after spending the previous afternoon trying to catch the falling leaves.

Aragorn swiftly dressed and went outside into the gardens. They were not as he recalled them from his childhood, having fallen somewhat into neglect since Master Elrond’s departure. He found their current wild beauty more to his taste, though. He had too many childhood memories of being scolded for accidentally damaging some carefully tended flowerbed while playing with his ball.

His footsteps crunched the autumn leaves that strewed the paths. It was a perfect autumn morning with a clear blue sky and just a hint of frost in the clear air. The dew bedecked grass and bushes sparkled like diamonds in the morning sunlight.

Aragorn rounded a bend in the path and realised he was not alone. Faramir had also risen early and was standing contemplating a hawthorn bush intently. He spun round when he heard the leaves crunching beneath Aragorn’s feet.

“Good morning, my friend,” said Aragorn. “I see you are up with the sun too. I hope you slept well?”

“I fell asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow last night,” said Faramir. “I can still hardly believe that I am actually visiting Rivendell.”

“It gladdens my heart that I could bring you,” said Aragorn. “Gondor should fare well enough in your Uncle’s care for a few weeks.”

“I did not wish to waste a single moment of my visit here,” said Faramir. “I have left Éowyn and the children to sleep a little longer while I took a walk before breakfast.” He returned to his contemplation of the bush.

“What has caught your attention there?” Aragorn asked.

Faramir stood aside so Aragorn could see what he had been looking at. “I was admiring the spider’s web,” he said. “Is it not most fair? I love the way the dewdrops glisten upon it. Is it not wondrous that so small and ugly a creature as a spider can create such a marvel?”

Aragorn studied the web for a few moments before replying. “It is indeed. I envy you that you can see beauty in a spider’s web. I remember too well the hideous spiders’ webs I saw at Mirkwood when I delivered Gollum there, and the tales Frodo and Sam told me of Shelob’s lair. Then there was that monstrous spider we slew that stung you in Lossarnach.”

“I know full well of evil spiders,” said Faramir. “But I believe that when the Great Music was created, Eru intended spiders only for good purposes. It was Melkor, who corrupted them to his purpose. These humble common spiders do much good by catching flies, while their webs are surely as intricate as anything Vairë might weave in her tapestries. Gossamer silk adorned with dewdrops sparkling brighter than twinkling stars! ”

Aragorn smiled and clapped his friend affectionately on the shoulder. “You are always quite the poet, melon nîn. Only you could wax so lyrical about a spider’s web!”

“I shall show it to the children after breakfast,” said Faramir. “I hope the sun will not have melted the dew by then.”

“This talk of breakfast makes me hungry,” said Aragorn. “Unlike the spider, I have no desire to catch my own this morning.”

“I smelled bread baking when I passed the kitchens,” said Faramir. “And the chickens here lay especially tasty eggs.”

“Then let us go and break our fast,” said Aragorn. “Our ladies should be up and about by now.”

Side by side the two friends strolled back to the Last Homely House.

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lindahoyland: (Ranger)
This was written for the picture prompt here.
http://great-tales.livejournal.com/178769.html

It was unplaced, but I thought some of you might enjoy it. This is my 1,500th LJ Post!


Title: Homecoming
Author(s):Linda Hoyland
Rating:G
Fandom:LOTR
Character(s): Aragorn, Ivorwen
Summary: Ivorwen shows her grandson around the house where he used to live.
Warnings: none
Author's Notes: I just dashed this off in response to the picture prompt. It is a sort of sequel to "Great Expectations" which you can read here.
http://lindahoyland.yolasite.com/great-expectations.php
Written for this picture prompt for Challenge 108




“This is where I used to live?” Aragorn asked curiously. “I do not recall it at all.”

“You were only two when you left,” said Ivorwen.  “This is where the Chieftains of the Dúnedain used to dwell.” She placed the key in the lock. It was stiff from lack of use and Aragorn had to help her. Eventually the key turned and the door swung open with a protesting groan. It seemed almost as if the old house slept and was loth to reawaken.

Within, everything was covered with a layer of dust. Aragorn sneezed.

“It distressed me too much to return here after you and your mother left,” said Ivorwen. “Also it helped reinforce the rumours that we put abroad that you had succumbed to a fever, if the house was obviously neglected.”

“I understand,” said Aragorn.

“Would you like to live here, or would you prefer to remain with your Aunt and Halbarad?” Inzilbeth asked.

Aragorn looked around the dusty rooms. The house had a heavy, oppressive air, almost as if it recalled his father’s death and the flight of the grief stricken Gilraen.

“I would prefer to stay with Aunt Inzilbeth,” he said. “Let this house be used by a family who have need of one. Better that the Enemy believes that the Chieftains have gone for ever.” He fell silent, thinking that he would indeed be the last of his line if he could not win the fair Arwen’s love.

They entered a large room,  furnished with comfortable chairs and a spinning wheel near the dusty window.

“This was your mother’s favourite room,” said Ivorwen. “She would sit and spin here while you played with your wooden horse.

“She still loves to spin,” said Aragorn. He closed his eyes for an instant and suddenly he could see a young woman in a blue gown seated at the wheel. A man was standing in the doorway, but he could not see his face clearly. Was that Arathorn, his father? Did he really remember, or was it just a dream? “I have seen enough, grandmother,” he said. “This might once have been my home, but it feels but an empty shell now. A family with young children will bring back light and laughter.

Ivorwen lingered for a moment, lost in memories. Then she carefully locked the door again and walked out into the spring sunlight with her grandson.



lindahoyland: (Gilraen)
B2MeM Challenge  Names and Titles of Aragorn - Estel; Snippets of Verse-One must have a mind of winter.

Format: ficlet

Genre: general, family,angst

Rating: PG

Warnings: none

Characters: Gilraen. Ivorwen. Aragorn

Summary: Gilraen writes to her mother.


These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.

My dearest mother,

The Sons of Elrond are standing here beside me waiting while I pen you a few brief lines.

We are in good health and have been made most welcome in our refuge, but it is not home. I miss you so much as well as father, and Inzilbeth. Has Halbarad grown? I miss my friends too, and my heart is heavy with grief for my husband.

I can at least hope that one day I will see you all again, but not within the circles of the world will I ever behold my husband again! I had truly grown to love him. We shall not see his like again.

Estel is my solace and my pride and joy. One must have a mind of winter not to love him and smile at the things he does and says. He is the sweetest, most affectionate child who charms everyone he meets. He rarely cries or frets for his old life. Our host has provided him with a pony and he loves all animals, especially puppies and kittens. This spring he was much taken with the lambs too and was troubled that he could not bring them indoors.

It troubles me that Estel will have little chance of making friends of his own age. I play with him and make myself smile even when my heart is breaking. I have my child and he is my life and my heart’s joy. I think often on your words about his future and hope your farsight proves true.

I cannot say more, dearest mother, lest unfriendly eyes should chance upon this letter and threaten Estel’s safety. The sons of Elrond have promised to bring your reply when they are able.

I think of you every day, dearest mother,

Your loving daughter.


lindahoyland: (Gilraen)
B2MeM Challenge  Names and Titles of Aragorn - Estel; Snippets of Verse-One must have a mind of winter.

Format: ficlet

Genre: general, family,angst

Rating: PG

Warnings: none

Characters: Gilraen. Ivorwen. Aragorn

Summary: Gilraen writes to her mother.


These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.

My dearest mother,

The Sons of Elrond are standing here beside me waiting while I pen you a few brief lines.

We are in good health and have been made most welcome in our refuge, but it is not home. I miss you so much as well as father, and Inzilbeth. Has Halbarad grown? I miss my friends too, and my heart is heavy with grief for my husband.

I can at least hope that one day I will see you all again, but not within the circles of the world will I ever behold my husband again! I had truly grown to love him. We shall not see his like again.

Estel is my solace and my pride and joy. One must have a mind of winter not to love him and smile at the things he does and says. He is the sweetest, most affectionate child who charms everyone he meets. He rarely cries or frets for his old life. Our host has provided him with a pony and he loves all animals, especially puppies and kittens. This spring he was much taken with the lambs too and was troubled that he could not bring them indoors.

It troubles me that Estel will have little chance of making friends of his own age. I play with him and make myself smile even when my heart is breaking. I have my child and he is my life and my heart’s joy. I think often on your words about his future and hope your farsight proves true.

I cannot say more, dearest mother, lest unfriendly eyes should chance upon this letter and threaten Estel’s safety. The sons of Elrond have promised to bring your reply when they are able.

I think of you every day, dearest mother,

Your loving daughter.


lindahoyland: (Strider)

B2MeM Challenge Book Titles: The Book Thief;Talents and Skills- Translation, ; Waters - pond;All OCs, all the time - a black sheep brother.

Format: ficlet

Genre: general

Rating: PG

Warnings: none

Characters: Aragorn,Barliman Butterbur, OMC

Pairings: none

Summary: Aragorn finds some stolen property.

These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.



“A mug of your best ale, please,” Aragorn called as he entered the Prancing Pony. It was early in the evening and few customers were around yet. To his surprise, it was not Barliman Butterbur who appeared at the bar, but a stranger.

“We don’t serve no Rangers here!” said the man with a frown.

“My apologies, Strider, my brother spoke rashly.” Mr Butterbur appeared from a room in the back, wiping his hands on his apron. He glared at the other man. “Ryeman, I told you that the Pony serves all who have good coin and cause no trouble. And though the Rangers be queer wandering folk, they pay and they are quiet enough in the common room.”

Ryeman scowled at Aragorn and stomped off. Mr Butterbur carefully carried a full mug of ale over to the seat by the wall that Strider favoured. “I am sorry that my brother was so rude,” he said. “He isn’t used to bar work. He’s something of a scholar and translates books for a living usually. Work is scare at present, though, so he is helping me out for a time.”

“Really?” Aragorn sounded sceptical. “How many languages does he speak?”

“I don’t know for certain,” said Mr Butterbur. “But I can show you one of the books he translates. He hurried off into the back and returned a few moments later with a small exquisitely bound volume, which he handed to Aragorn. Just then, a group of farmers came in demanding drinks. Mr Butterbur hurried off to serve them, leaving Aragorn with the book.

The Ranger carefully turned the pages and gasped in astonishment. He had seen this book before in Master Elrond’s library. It was an ancient tale of the deeds of Fëanor and was written in Quenya. There was no other like it. Men came from far and wide to peruse Master Elrond’s library. It seemed that there was a book thief amongst them!

Ryeman appeared carrying a tray of drinks and walked past Strider on his way to the farmers’ table.

“Where did you get this book?” Aragorn demanded in Quenya.

Ryeman just stared at him.

Aragorn repeated the question in the Common Tongue.

“I’m a translator,” he said. “I bought it to translate.”

“You are no translator,” said Aragorn. “You are a common thief!”

“Curse you, Ranger!” cried Ryeman. He dropped the tray, causing a great clatter of tankards and flood of spilled ale. He raced outside, followed by Aragorn, Mr Butterbur and the farmers.

In his haste to escape, he failed to notice the village duck pond, which was covered in sea green algae. He missed his footing and fell headlong into the pond. The fight gone out of him, he sat  there amongst the squawking ducks, gasping and spluttering.

“Someone fetch the Shirriffs!”cried Aragorn.

“We’ll not let him escape,” said the farmers.

“Oh dear,” said Mr Butterbur. “Ryeman always was the black sheep of the family, but I hoped he’d turned over a new leaf.”

lindahoyland: (Strider)

B2MeM Challenge Book Titles: The Book Thief;Talents and Skills- Translation, ; Waters - pond;All OCs, all the time - a black sheep brother.

Format: ficlet

Genre: general

Rating: PG

Warnings: none

Characters: Aragorn,Barliman Butterbur, OMC

Pairings: none

Summary: Aragorn finds some stolen property.

These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.



“A mug of your best ale, please,” Aragorn called as he entered the Prancing Pony. It was early in the evening and few customers were around yet. To his surprise, it was not Barliman Butterbur who appeared at the bar, but a stranger.

“We don’t serve no Rangers here!” said the man with a frown.

“My apologies, Strider, my brother spoke rashly.” Mr Butterbur appeared from a room in the back, wiping his hands on his apron. He glared at the other man. “Ryeman, I told you that the Pony serves all who have good coin and cause no trouble. And though the Rangers be queer wandering folk, they pay and they are quiet enough in the common room.”

Ryeman scowled at Aragorn and stomped off. Mr Butterbur carefully carried a full mug of ale over to the seat by the wall that Strider favoured. “I am sorry that my brother was so rude,” he said. “He isn’t used to bar work. He’s something of a scholar and translates books for a living usually. Work is scare at present, though, so he is helping me out for a time.”

“Really?” Aragorn sounded sceptical. “How many languages does he speak?”

“I don’t know for certain,” said Mr Butterbur. “But I can show you one of the books he translates. He hurried off into the back and returned a few moments later with a small exquisitely bound volume, which he handed to Aragorn. Just then, a group of farmers came in demanding drinks. Mr Butterbur hurried off to serve them, leaving Aragorn with the book.

The Ranger carefully turned the pages and gasped in astonishment. He had seen this book before in Master Elrond’s library. It was an ancient tale of the deeds of Fëanor and was written in Quenya. There was no other like it. Men came from far and wide to peruse Master Elrond’s library. It seemed that there was a book thief amongst them!

Ryeman appeared carrying a tray of drinks and walked past Strider on his way to the farmers’ table.

“Where did you get this book?” Aragorn demanded in Quenya.

Ryeman just stared at him.

Aragorn repeated the question in the Common Tongue.

“I’m a translator,” he said. “I bought it to translate.”

“You are no translator,” said Aragorn. “You are a common thief!”

“Curse you, Ranger!” cried Ryeman. He dropped the tray, causing a great clatter of tankards and flood of spilled ale. He raced outside, followed by Aragorn, Mr Butterbur and the farmers.

In his haste to escape, he failed to notice the village duck pond, which was covered in sea green algae. He missed his footing and fell headlong into the pond. The fight gone out of him, he sat  there amongst the squawking ducks, gasping and spluttering.

“Someone fetch the Shirriffs!”cried Aragorn.

“We’ll not let him escape,” said the farmers.

“Oh dear,” said Mr Butterbur. “Ryeman always was the black sheep of the family, but I hoped he’d turned over a new leaf.”

Renewal

Mar. 17th, 2012 11:35 am
lindahoyland: (Aragorn)
Author: Linda Hoyland
Title:Renewal
Rating:  G
Theme: Spring/green
Elements:  Emerald
Summary: Aragorn enjoys a few moments of reflection at Cormallen
Word Count: 577
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain




Away from his guards and the bustle of the camp, Aragorn walked, at a slower pace than was his custom, through the glades of Cormallen. The soft, fresh leaves of beech, culumalda and linden were at their fairest, bright emerald- hued and moist with early morning dewdrops. Water from a sparkling stream rippled over a bed of stones. Had ever a spring morning been so beautiful?

This was the spring that he had not thought he would live to see. He had briefly escaped from the camp and his now ever present guards, for he knew he needed this short time walking alone to reflect and to renew his strength. So much had happened, so much had changed.
Aragorn glanced down at the brooch he wore upon his breast and on a sudden impulse, unpinned it, and cradled it in his palm. He had cherished Galadriel’s precious gift from the moment he had received it. The gift had brought the hope that his heart’s desire would be realised. Its power had helped him revive Faramir, Lady Éowyn, the Hobbits, and countless others. Yet he had not until today enjoyed a moment of leisure to really look upon it.

He turned the eagle shaped brooch over in his hand. How apt for one who had once been known as the “eagle of the star”! It was the stone, though, that caught the eye. At first glance, it might be taken to be an emerald, but no emerald could so capture the clear light of sunlight shining through spring leaves.

Aragorn knew this stone had come to Galadriel as a token that the Valar had not forsaken Middle-earth, a gem with the power to heal and renew. Soon, he would be crowned, and as King, would labour to rebuild what the Dark Lord had destroyed. He was both Elessar and Envinyatar. His labours were far from over, they were just beginning, but now his heart was full of hope and joy. No longer was he a weary and oft despised Ranger, but the King of Men, thanks to the courage and endurance of Frodo and Sam. Today he would awaken them and give them the honour that was their due.

He smiled as he thought of his plans. He would slip away so that they would awaken with Gandalf beside them. He would surprise them with his new estate. He had asked Faramir to send the finest of Gondor’s minstrels to sing their praises. Sam especially would enjoy that. Then there would be a feast fit for Hobbits to enjoy!

Aragorn held up the brooch so that the sunlight sparkled and scattered on the facets of the gem, casting a shower of emeralds on the path. Then he carefully re-pinned the brooch upon his cloak.

The King of the Western Lands stood for a moment, with his eyes closed, relishing the sun on his face and the gentle breeze filled with the fresh scents of springtime, caressing his face and playing with his hair. Birds sang sweetly from high in the treetops, calling to their mates.

He opened his eyes again and drank in the beauty around him; emerald leaves and grass, trees laden with blossom, the unshadowed blue sky, the abundance of daffodils and lilies. Butterflies and damselflies fluttered amongst the blossoms. It were as if Lady Yavanna herself had walked amongst these glades and blessed them.

His heart full of thankfulness, Aragorn prepared to honour the Hobbits.

Renewal

Mar. 17th, 2012 11:35 am
lindahoyland: (Aragorn)
Author: Linda Hoyland
Title:Renewal
Rating:  G
Theme: Spring/green
Elements:  Emerald
Summary: Aragorn enjoys a few moments of reflection at Cormallen
Word Count: 577
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain




Away from his guards and the bustle of the camp, Aragorn walked, at a slower pace than was his custom, through the glades of Cormallen. The soft, fresh leaves of beech, culumalda and linden were at their fairest, bright emerald- hued and moist with early morning dewdrops. Water from a sparkling stream rippled over a bed of stones. Had ever a spring morning been so beautiful?

This was the spring that he had not thought he would live to see. He had briefly escaped from the camp and his now ever present guards, for he knew he needed this short time walking alone to reflect and to renew his strength. So much had happened, so much had changed.
Aragorn glanced down at the brooch he wore upon his breast and on a sudden impulse, unpinned it, and cradled it in his palm. He had cherished Galadriel’s precious gift from the moment he had received it. The gift had brought the hope that his heart’s desire would be realised. Its power had helped him revive Faramir, Lady Éowyn, the Hobbits, and countless others. Yet he had not until today enjoyed a moment of leisure to really look upon it.

He turned the eagle shaped brooch over in his hand. How apt for one who had once been known as the “eagle of the star”! It was the stone, though, that caught the eye. At first glance, it might be taken to be an emerald, but no emerald could so capture the clear light of sunlight shining through spring leaves.

Aragorn knew this stone had come to Galadriel as a token that the Valar had not forsaken Middle-earth, a gem with the power to heal and renew. Soon, he would be crowned, and as King, would labour to rebuild what the Dark Lord had destroyed. He was both Elessar and Envinyatar. His labours were far from over, they were just beginning, but now his heart was full of hope and joy. No longer was he a weary and oft despised Ranger, but the King of Men, thanks to the courage and endurance of Frodo and Sam. Today he would awaken them and give them the honour that was their due.

He smiled as he thought of his plans. He would slip away so that they would awaken with Gandalf beside them. He would surprise them with his new estate. He had asked Faramir to send the finest of Gondor’s minstrels to sing their praises. Sam especially would enjoy that. Then there would be a feast fit for Hobbits to enjoy!

Aragorn held up the brooch so that the sunlight sparkled and scattered on the facets of the gem, casting a shower of emeralds on the path. Then he carefully re-pinned the brooch upon his cloak.

The King of the Western Lands stood for a moment, with his eyes closed, relishing the sun on his face and the gentle breeze filled with the fresh scents of springtime, caressing his face and playing with his hair. Birds sang sweetly from high in the treetops, calling to their mates.

He opened his eyes again and drank in the beauty around him; emerald leaves and grass, trees laden with blossom, the unshadowed blue sky, the abundance of daffodils and lilies. Butterflies and damselflies fluttered amongst the blossoms. It were as if Lady Yavanna herself had walked amongst these glades and blessed them.

His heart full of thankfulness, Aragorn prepared to honour the Hobbits.
lindahoyland: (Aragorn and Faramir)

B2MeM Challenge  Carolling- A beautiful sight, they're happy tonight;Book Titles: Paper Towns;Beasts - horse; Snippets of verse- if it could weep it could arise and go; The Steward and his sons - palantir;Talents and Skills- weaving;Last Lines- I wonder if she is as stubborn as I am; Tolkien's trees - Bay; Colours - orange

Format: ficlet

Genre: general

Rating: PG

Warnings: none

Characters: Aragorn,Faramir

Pairings: Aragorn/ Arwen, Faramir/Eowyn

Summary: Aragorn seeks to raise Faramir's spirits.

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... )

A/n - If anyone could think of a better title, I would be most grateful!

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