Henneth Annûn Story Archive

One week til Halloween, and then it's November. So all you November babies, start thinking about birthday drabble requests....

November 8--acacea I'd love a drabble on an Aragorn Faramir conversation or a Faramir Gandalf post ring war conversation or a Faramir Eldarion conversation

November 11 — annmarwalk: I'd love something about either or both of Denethor's magnificent sons.

November 12--Aeneid My drabble preferences, in order, would be something Haradrim or Fourth Age. I think that's vague enough to cause inspiration. And if not that, then a completely AU Boromir (Liiiive! Liiiive!) as a fall-back

 

My birthday is November 11, and I'd love something about either or both of Denethor's magnificent sons. Ann

 

My birthday is on the 8th and I'd love a drabble on an Aragorn Faramir conversation or a Faramir Gandalf post ring war conversation or a Faramir Eldarion conversation

 

My birthday is November 12. My drabble preferences, in order, would be something Haradrim or Fourth Age. I think that's vague enough to cause inspiration. And if not that, then a completely AU Boromir (Liiiive! Liiiive!) as a fall-back. Aeneid

 

Acacea wanted "a drabble on an Aragorn Faramir conversation or a Faramir Gandalf post ring war conversation or a Faramir Eldarion conversation" Rather on the early side, but my drabble!muse is most insistent when she gets an idea. I blame this one on Gwynnyd for an IM conversation yesterday about movie!verse Paths of the Dead. It also turned into a double drabble, but then you do get Faramir, Aragorn and Eldarion. Happy birthday for the 8th, Acacea! War Stories “…And the Dead helped Father capture the fleet?” Eldarion could not keep doubt from his voice. Because Lord Faramir’s tales about Father were just as exciting as the stories about dragons and magic jewels he heard from his nurse, he could never quite believe they were true. When Faramir nodded, Eldarion asked suspiciously, “Did you see them? The Dead?” The Steward hesitated for a long moment; Eldarion hopped impatiently from foot to foot. “The Dead who aided your father? No. That was at Pelargir. I was here in the City.” Eldarion was struck by a question he had not thought to ask before. “What did you do? During the War.” Again that hesitation, but before Lord Faramir spoke, another voice answered. “Kept the City safe, until Lady Éowyn and I could bring help.” Eldarion squealed, and turned to throw himself into his father’s arms. Held tight, he looked back at the Steward. “But Lord Faramir never goes to war with you and King Éomer. He always stays here.” “Yes,” his father answered. “He keeps my City safe still. One day you will understand: it takes a different kind of courage to defend, even without hope, as the dark creeps on.” Cheers, Liz

 

That was nice, Liz... thanks!

 

Ann said I'd love something about either or both of Denethor's magnificent sons. As I seem to have promised you two drabbles (how did that happen? ), here's one to be going on with. Boromir, Faramir and Denethor in Dol Amroth. Sand-castles when the tide is flowing Denethor leaves the never-ending business of state and hurries to admire the rival citadels ere the tide sweeps them away. The many lofty turrets of Boromir’s city stand proudly in the open. Already the sea licks at the outer walls, undermining them. Faramir’s castle is simpler: a single, shapely tower inside a plain, wide wall. He is five years younger, Denethor chides himself, before he offers praise to both sons. Walking on the beach next day, he finds no trace of Boromir’s castle. Yet, he sees with surprise, Faramir’s still stands: the wall is partly damaged, but the tower endures. Happy birthday, Ann! Cheers, Liz

 

Oh, Liz, this is so lovely! I particularly like that cute!little!B & F don't appear at all - that all this is going on in Denethor's head, and that he was able to spare a few moments for a fatherly task without his elder son dragging him by the arm. There's no specific mention of ages, but I felt it was set sometime after Finduilas's passing, making Denethor's actions especially Walking on the beach next day... all the more poignant . Thanks so much - this has been such a wonderful day for me! and it isn't even my birthday yet! Ann

 

Glad you liked it, Ann. I think Denethor's probably a bit more relaxed when he's in Dol Amroth "on holiday" - although I suspect a nursemaid or tutor had to remind him of his promise to look at the sand-castles. As for the boys, I was seeing them being about 14 and 9, I think - Boromir's not too old to build a sand-castle (albeit a very elaborate one) and Faramir is old enough to build a good (if simpler) sand-castle. And I'm so glad you're having a good birthday month! Cheers, Liz

 

Birthday Vignette, written for annmarwalk, and appropriately posted on El Dia de los Muertos. Happy Birthday, Ann! Title: Homecoming of Another Sort Author: faramir_boromir A Story set in the LJ community the_five_armies (a tavern in Minas Tirith frequented by soldiers) The barman has not changed much, a bit older perhaps. More grey hairs flecking the dark, added wrinkles to his brow that were not there the last time I raised a mug in his company. Could it be so long? I was here with Faramir and his troop only two months past. Or was it three? The tankards foam as he puts them to the hand of each man, tradition that it must be the shield arm that raises the first toast though no one notices after a few rounds have passed. Aye, that one in the corner uses sword hand or shield arm indifferently, and the slurred speech tells of his lengthy devotion at this shrine to forgetfulness. No matter. He wears the badges of his service in scars upon cheek and hands—let him use what hand he will. I walk through the ranks, past city guards, rangers, soldiers, messengers, their loud jokes mingling in smoky revelry. The singer before the fire knows what brings the best coin from this motley gathering, and has nothing but loud barracks tunes that catch the heart of all assembled here. I would add my voice to theirs, but in truth I have no great skill in singing; I have ever left music to Faramir when he wished to amuse us. Tonight, I listen as songs tell of faraway foes vanquished with mere thoughts and comrades saved from harm with feats that defy reason. “Our wars have left us little room for music and lore,” I hear you remind me, brother. Yet in this room there is music enough to cheer a forlorn soldier’s heart, and perhaps that is all the music wartime needs. A laughing voice at a table behind me, and I turn, for I know its owner. Beregond! You owe me a tankard of mead, rascal. You spilt the last of the barrel we…appropriated…and claimed you would make good my loss in the affair at the next opportunity. Now may I enjoy the evening without opening my purse. But as I move to stand at your elbow, you do not notice. My hand upon your shoulder brings no upward glance, no look of recognition. Nothing. The touch seems instead to quiet you, the laughter dying on lips now turned sad, somehow. And one of your companions, the stocky one, asks a question that chills. “How fares Captain Faramir? I’ve not seen him here since…. When I saw him yesterday, he looked through me as if he knew me not.” Your reply I barely catch. “He’s not well, since he saw the elven boat upon Anduin’s darkness. Hardly sleeps, takes little enough food to keep body and spirit alive.” Not eating. Not well. Why, brother? You were well when I left for Imladris, though pained by our parting. The stout man answers, “Faramir should not neglect himself. If he fails, the others”—and a handsweep takes in the whole room—“may lose heart.” And your reply, Beregond, cuts across the silence that follows. Cuts across more than silence. “When would you begin eating or sleeping again, if your only brother returned a corpse from battle and no explanation in the bargain?” A little angrily, you add, “He does not let it cloud his judgment where the men are concerned, Damrod. Give the man room to grieve. Aye, give us all time to grieve the loss of Gondor’s brightest sword.” Standing up, you climb onto the bench and shout above the din so that all must hear. “Mugs at the ready, men? If there are men without, give them mead, Butterbur—I will stand their charges. A toast, men of Gondor! For a soldier’s soldier, a man I would have followed to the Black Gate and beyond. To Boromir!!” With one voice, they roar their answer. “To Boromir!!” And then, I remember.

 

Oh, F_B, I can't tell you how thrilled and touched I am by this! Five hundred words! I love the setting, and the detail of grey-flecked hair and foaming tankards, and I love the whole Sixth-Sense feel to it, and the idea of Boromir's spirit haunting not only the field where he fell, but also the places at home where he was happy, poor dear man! Ann Headed for the fridge in search of a mug to raise: "To Boromir!!"

 

Happy (Early) Birthday, Acacea! I’m not very good yet with conversation, so I hope this will suit. It was inspired by some insightful comments of Raksha’s over at Nrink’s discussion of her story The Phrygian Flute. Kindred Spirits Through all his long years, Mithrandir had envied neither elf nor man, concentrating always on his task: the defeat of the Dark One. Yet when the raven-haired boy gazed at him with such admiration, he could not help but wonder: what it would have been like to father such a child? To see him grow daily in grace and wisdom, to delight in his eager curiosity, to mold his learning to noble ends? Why was such joy granted to one who treasured it not? He revered his King Elessar, but dear Faramir had always been the child of his heart.

 

And then, I remember. OMG!!! This absolutely gave me chills! A most excellent vignette. Vistula...who still has goose bumps!

 

I'm glad you liked it, Vistula. The concept's been used before, but not in that location or in just that way. **thinks, I gave somebody goose bumps! Wow!** F_B

 

Oh Ann, this is really, really lovely! It's such a perfect portrayal of the relationship between Gandalf and Faramir. I really liked he could not help but wonder: what it would have been like to father such a child? To see him grow daily in grace and wisdom, to delight in his eager curiosity, to mold his learning to noble ends? Thank you!

 

November 8--acacea I'd love a drabble on an Aragorn Faramir conversation Hello Acacea! Happy early birthday to you! Hope you have a wonderful day. Here's a little bit of Aragorn and Faramir for your special day. Cheers!!! Vistula ~~~~~ No Two Luckier Men Swirling wisps of gold and sable float upon the crystal crispness of a pool no longer touched by war. Elven queen and lady warrior laugh together like maids, catching liquid silver in cupped hands. They splash and play like the children they will someday carry in blossoming bellies. On the pool’s grassy bank, King and Steward lounge with adoring eyes, wondering aloud why they both should be so blessed. “Could there be two luckier men in all of Middle Earth than we are, Faramir?” Shaking his head with certainty, the young Steward breathes: “No my lord Elessar, I think not.”

 

November 12--Aeneid My drabble preferences, in order, would be something Haradrim or Fourth Age. I think that's vague enough to cause inspiration. And if not that, then a completely AU Boromir (Liiiive! Liiiive!) as a fall-back Hello Aeneid!! Happy very early birthday to you!! I hope you have a most excellent day. You wanted Fourth Age or AU Boromir so hopefully this combination of the two fits the bill. Cheers! Vistula ~~~~~~~ A Wedding Toast “You’re not suppose to be here. Men are barred from the Shire, you know.” Hidden from raucous party revelers, Pippin raised his ale mug in salute and clanked it against the one held across from him. “What’s the King going to do? Dismiss his Captain of the Guard?” the hooded man mused with an infectious grin. “I’d have to arrest myself.” The young hobbit chuckled and together they drained a pair of foaming tankards. “Besides, I couldn’t miss sharing a toast with my dear friend and fellow soldier on the occasion of his wedding.” “Well, Boromir, I’m glad you’re here!”

 

That's beautiful Vistula... I love the way you've described the scene. I can certainly imagine those two lounging by the pool Thanks!

 

The long march We march proudly, our ranks disciplined, gear polished, banners flying bravely. The blood beats in my ears as I remember the tales: how they hewed the bodies of our fallen, slaughtered our women and children when they found them – and worse things, also. Pounding out the weary miles, I hear the call of a strange bird. Next to me, my brother-in-arms stumbles and falls. For a moment, I do not understand. Then I see the brindle-feathered arrow. A rain of barbs follows, and we scatter to defend ourselves. Our great war beasts trumpet loud their defiance of these northern barbarians. *** “He wondered what the man's name was and where he came from; and if he was really evil of heart, or what lies or threats had led him on the long march from his home; and if he would not really rather have stayed there in peace” Of Herbs And Stewed Rabbit Chapter 4, Book IV, LotR (Aeneid wanted "Haradrim": I didn't put that at the top of the post because I was trying not to spoil the slight misdirection I was trying to pull of!) Happy Birthday for the 12th, Aeneid! Cheers, Liz

 

Hey Vistula, Wonderful! Thank you so, so much! I needed my Boromir fix today, and this was just the thing. “What’s the King going to do? Dismiss his Captain of the Guard?” the hooded man mused with an infectious grin. “I’d have to arrest myself.” I loved this line; it was perfect. Aeneid

 

Hey Liz, Ah, thank you! Yay Haradrim! And yay for calling Gondor the "northern barbarians"! That's always been my interpretation of the Haradrim's POV. Pounding out the weary miles, I hear the call of a strange bird. Next to me, my brother-in-arms stumbles and falls. For a moment, I do not understand. Then I see the brindle-feathered arrow. A rain of barbs follows, and we scatter to defend ourselves. Our great war beasts trumpet loud their defiance of these northern barbarians. I loved this sequence especially. And, funnily enough, you used my favorite Faramir quote from The Two Towers as well. Huzzah! Aeneid

 

Hi Aeneid Ah, thank you! Yay Haradrim! And yay for calling Gondor the "northern barbarians"! That's always been my interpretation of the Haradrim's POV. You're welcome. I think the Haradrim would have a very ancient and sophisticated culture and regard those Gondorian incomers as upstart savages. funnily enough, you used my favorite Faramir quote from The Two Towers as well. Huzzah! Excellent - it's one of my favourite quotes as well: I think it's one of the quotes that sums up the essence of Tolkien. And although it's Sam who thinks it in the book, I was very happy movie!Faramir got to say it! Cheers, Liz

 

You're welcome Acacea! I can certainly imagine those two lounging by the pool I figure the two of them would need some relaxation away from the rigors of putting Gondor back together after the War. How better to do that then enjoying the outdoors with the beautiful ladies that consented to share their lives. I'm glad you liked it! Vistula

 

Thank you Aeneid! I loved this line; it was perfect. Had Boromir survived the war, I figure him and Aragorn would have had their moments of "gentle" power struggles. As Captain of the Guard, I imagine Boromir would have pushed the edges of his own authority - without disrespecting his commander-in-chief. Hence the appropriate nature of the line. Cheers! Vistula

 

you used my favorite Faramir quote from The Two Towers as well. It is one of my favorite quotes as well. Yet, however appropriately granted to Faramir in movie!verse, Mr. Tolkien actually put in the mouth (or more accurately mind) of Sam in TT. I imagine Sam might have been considering his own reasons for leaving home and getting into the middle of this conflict. Maybe even wondering how the reasons may have compared with those of the dead Haradrim. Cheers! Vistula - just sticking my two cents worth in for my dear Sam!!

 

Ann-- I hope you like this--a double drabble but with only one of the sons of Denethor. Wishing you the happiest of birthdays! Branwyn [Edit--Happy Birthday to you, too, Aeneid! Liiive! Liiive!] The Armsmaster an AU drabble "Your sons are skilled beyond their years." He inclined his head graciously. Watching them practice, he knew it to be true and not just the flattery of a friend. "Hide behind the shield,” the armsmaster said, “Now bring your arm up. Good. See how your elbow is bent? Try to remember that.” His younger son nodded slightly, his body tensed in the unfamiliar position. The old armsmaster had taught them a different stance. ”You have lugged this shield across Ithilien, and now you need to use it. Barahir, I want you to aim at the center and strike very slowly. Not too hard." For once, his young hawks were paying heed, even without the threat of a switch. “Is this new master a local man?” “No, he came to us in the early spring.” “Young and well-trained; why bury himself on this forsaken coastline? A deserter?” “No, I think not.” As the master strode across the courtyard to fetch a second practice sword, he glanced toward the keep. “That cannot be! He looks just like—“ “Leave it, old friend!” he interrupted sharply, adding under his breath, “Do not speak his name; it is best to leave the dead in peace.”

 

Hey Branwyn, [Edit--Happy Birthday to you, too, Aeneid! Liiive! Liiive!] Thanks! “Leave it, old friend!” he interrupted sharply, adding under his breath, “Do not speak his name; it is best to leave the dead in peace.” Hmmm... (brain buzzing) [Edit--Happy Birthday to you, too, Aeneid! Liiive! Liiive!] (brain fuming) “That cannot be! He looks just like—“ Oooooh! Aaah! Wait, no. No, I don't get it. Wait, yes I do! Oooooh! Clever! No, no, I don't. I think I get it. I think I know who's speaking and who looks like whom (or is whom? Dead whom? Liiiive whom? Burarum! AU whom!). Regardless, this is a lovely piece! I love the ambiguity, and I'm feeling almost foolish, because I don't want to ask any silly questions. So I'll just say: wonderfully written piece - evocative, and with very, very nice dialogue. Aeneid (whose brain apparently has turned to jelly today, and is not processing information correctly)

 

Aeneid-- Are you just tormenting me ("heellllp meeee, heeelllp meee!") or does it truly not make sense? That would make it the second obtuse drabble posted by me in a week. Not so good. ;-( No such thing as silly questions--I think I am the one with blancmange for brains, LOL! Branwyn

 

No, no, your writing's not obtuse at all, I'm just tired tonight. Here, I'll ask the silly question: is it the armsmaster who resembles The Glorious Legume (wink wink), or is it Barahir? Aeneid

 

Aeneid, Hmmmm, time for rewrites, I see (but in my life, it is always time for rewrites). However, keeping things ambiguous (since I seem to be good at that), let's just say that, when he grows up, Barahir is gonna make some serious mayhem because he is being taught by the finest swordsman in Gondor. ;-) Branwyn

 

Happy Birthday, Aeneid. This one bit fast and hard and practically wrote itself. Hope you enjoy it. Blood Brothers We were born in the same hour, beneath the brilliant desert stars. They pierced my ear and his and mingled our blood. I drank his mother’s milk, and he mine. Before I walked I rode his back, and slept nestled in the curve of his trunk. When we came to maturity they taught us the art of war. We rode to battle and our foes fell before us. They tattooed my flesh and his with the record of our kills. Now spears have pierced my heart and his. Again our blood mingles, and we share the hour of our death. Elana

 

Branwyn wrote: ...Barahir is gonna make some serious mayhem because he is being taught by the finest swordsman in Gondor. Oooh. OK, got it. At least, I think I do. Because there's only one finest swordsman in Gondor, I tell you! I'd say to keep the ambiguity in the writing though, since I always enjoy it. Aeneid

 

Ah, thank you so, so much Elana, this was wonderful! Beautiful imagery and just a beautiful drabble. They pierced my ear and his and mingled our blood. I drank his mother’s milk, and he mine. They tattooed my flesh and his with the record of our kills. These are all nice touches, and they're wonderful peeks into Haradrim culture. (I believe the Sioux did something similar, in that women breastfed not only their children, but all the children in the community, and this created a strong sense of community, which reduced the capitalistic notions of individualism... etc etc. It was in economics class that I heard this. I dunno. ) Also the arc of being born and dying together is very nice. Huzzah! Aeneid

 

Happy early birthday, Aeneid! Because in poetry I like to dabble, I present to you - a rhyming drabble. A Haradric love-song it claims to be, But what’s it really? – Wait and see! (Relax. I think my rhyming’s better than that. At least, I hope it is.)

---

Love, tell me of thine eyes, And I will tell thee of thy hands, As the moon soars in blue-black skies, And shimmers on the sands. Love, tell me all thy mind, And I will tell thee of thy heart. We live once more; war’s long-behind, Our love nothing can part. Love, tell me of thy sleeping, And I’ll tell thee of thy dreams, You walk in dark, quietly creeping, And drink from enchanted streams. Love, I’ll walk with thee on sand, By starlight, moon or Sun, We’ll sing the songs of our glorious land, And pray future wars are won.

---

I did it! And only one word more than 100, as well! *tries to pat self on back; fails miserably* Oh, well. Hope you enjoy your birthday.

 

Elbows Aeneid out of the way: Get away from my present, ya little monster! You've got enough of your own! Deep breath, smiles sweetly Branwyn, this is wonderful! Though I must confess I did have to read it a few times (I think the name Barahir threw me off), and your hints to Aeneid ( thanks Aeneid ) really helped too. I've certainly written my share of obscure drabbles, as well. I like all the dialog! That is something I am really trying to work on in my drabbles, I tend to be heavy on description and introspection so far. I especially loved the line For once, his young hawks were paying heed, even without the threat of a switch Spoken like a true parent! And the added detail of the correct swordplay stance and motions was wonderful. My compliments to your martial-arts consultant! Ann Really sorry she called her buddy Aeneid a little monster

 

Noldo, Beautiful, absolutely beautiful! I loved this poem, it was just wonderful - and I must avert my eyes in awe of your writing skillz for someone so young! I'm not even going to bother pointing out my favorite part, because I'd have to copy and paste the entire thing. Huzzah! Thank you very much! Aeneid

 

LOL, Ann! Elbows Aeneid out of the way: Get away from my present, ya little monster! You've got enough of your own! (hands up, backs away) I was merely commenting on it, just as an idle, clearly-not-for-me observer. Nope, no stealing here. No, no. Clearly not for me. No worries. Aeneid ...hatches new, cunning plan to steal more drabbles when Ann's not looking

 

[Edited to add: Boromir Lives! as requested. A/U but also movieverse, as a plot device.] The Stranger in Our Village When the stranger came to our village we were afraid, until the old mother cat brought her kittens and stretched out in the shade by his side. He sat cross-legged, head bowed, his back against the mud wall. His robes were woven of rough wool, ragged and dusty. His scarred hands stroked the cat’s head; her purring was like the thrumming of our hearts. For hours he sat, never moving or speaking, while we watched. Bring him some food, my mother finally whispered. You are just a girl, he has nothing to fear from you. So I brought a skin of water, cool from the well, and set a small basket of dates nearby. When he saw the dates, he raised his head and smiled at me. The cowl fell back from his hair, and I saw that it was golden like the first full light of morning, but his eyes were green, like a serpent’s! In terror I ran back to my mother, hiding my face in her skirt. Surely he must be a demon, for what man looked like that? But my m other just laughed. Each day, the women and children brought him food and water, while the men debated. Thank you, he would murmur, in an accent strange to our ears, but never another word did he speak. Finally the elders sent runners to other villages: What do you know of this stranger? Many stories came back to us: he was the true king of the fabled white city far to the north, exiled by a usurper, ensorcelled to forgetfulness. He was a prince of our own people, beloved of a goddess, hair burnished gold and eyes turned to emerald by the fervor of their lovemaking, driven mad by her vengeful spouse. He was a Maiyar, one of the lost holy men from the West, come to carry away our sins, if we showed him compassion. He stayed for four days. On the fifth, he stood up, smiled and bowed to the women and children nearby, and walked away from our village. We never saw him again. What was the truth? How would I know? I was only a child, in a poor dusty village – what did kings or holy men matter to me? But I remember how when he smiled it was like a cool breeze from the north, and his eyes were full of peace. Happy birthday (way early) Ann

 

Chah...! Once again I am stunned by the quality of these drabbles! Goodness! And we're worried about loss of HASA quality?! These are all so wonderful! Ann, this was all beautiful, and actually it fits eerily well into the whole Adraefan universe (into the Inevitable Sequel! By the Valar! Perfectly!). I loved all of it, but my favorite passage was this: Many stories came back to us: he was the true king of the fabled white city far to the north, exiled by a usurper, ensorcelled to forgetfulness. He was a prince of our own people, beloved of a goddess, hair burnished gold and eyes turned to emerald by the fervor of their lovemaking, driven mad by her vengeful spouse. He was a Maiyar, one of the lost holy men from the West, come to carry away our sins, if we showed him compassion. (falls down dead from creative overload) Brilliant!! A stunned Aeneid

 

I confess, it was inspired by various hints you've dropped... Brings up password-protected folder on desktop: Aeneid's Dropped Hints About Adraefan. Hmmmmm.....wandering, eh? hmm..... I thought you would like the part about the stories, especially because we KNOW he is actually the true king of the White City, exiled by That Other Guy and his minions. Ann Happy that she has made someone else happy, for a change

 

November 12--Aeneid My drabble preferences, in order, would be something Haradrim or Fourth Age. I think that's vague enough to cause inspiration. And if not that, then a completely AU Boromir (Liiiive! Liiiive!) as a fall-back Boromir showed up and hijacked my drabble muse. Here is a double drabble for one of my intrepid welcome assistants (Ann, yours is in the making!) Hope you have a happy birthday Aeneid! ******* The Steward and the King His hand, strong and commanding, lies over mine. My grip tightens on the hilt of Anduril, the ceremonial words slipping easily from my lips. When I pictured this scene as a boy, I expected to receive such words and not to give them. I understand clearly at last who stands before me and it strikes awe deep in my heart. Such a feeling is strange to me; I cannot keep it from my face as I finish my pledge. His eyes meet mine; kindness, strength and nobility clear in his gaze, his words of acceptance so familiar. “…valor with honour,” His eyes narrow as he finishes his statement, “oath-breaking with justice.” He smiles at my surprise, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder. “There is no vengeance, Boromir, son of Denethor.” " How many hundreds of years needs it to make a steward a king?" My prophetic, childhood words return to me. Gone is the unkempt Ranger from the North. Before me I see my King, returned at last. Standing, he sheaths the sword before beckoning me to rise. Together we turn to face the people. “Behold!” His voice rings clear and true across the Citadel. “Boromir! Steward of Gondor!” Note: The line, as it stands in ROTK is "Valor with honour, oath-breaking with vengeance." Vengeance didn't seem very "Aragorn-ish" to me, and I could see him changing that, so I did. It is AU afterall anyway...(g) edit Bad me, I forgot to thank Liz, Gwynnyd, and Marta for giving this a look see and their comments and suggestions on it! Thanks ladies!

 

*whistles* Phew, Cheryl! This is not my drabble (lucky Aeneid), but I just had to comment. How completely beautiful! Aragorn changing that last word seems completely something he would do (look at how he handled Beregond). And Boromir... Oh, Boromir. HE LIVES! ~Allie who is contemplating the rise of "Boromir Lives!" as opposed to "Frodo Lives!" From HASA members, of course.

 

*blush* Thanks Allie, glad you liked it I actually had Beregond in mind with that whole vengence/justice idea. It seemed so much more "Aragorn" to me. Interesting premise....Boromir Lives! Cheryl

 

November 11 — annmarwalk: I'd love something about either or both of Denethor's magnificent sons. A companion drabble to the drabble I wrotre for Aeneid (The Steward and the King) just for Ann and her birthday. Thanks Liz and Marta for the look see and helpful comments/suggestions! My first drabble on the insightful younger sibling. Happy Birthday Ann! ******* Insights Pride wells within me as I look at the men before me. Boromir and Aragorn, side by side, face the exuberant crowd. I study my brother's face and see acceptance, loyalty. More than that: devotion even our father never inspired in him. Can I read his heart? Still, always, my brother, but he is different somehow. How many hundreds of years needs it to make a steward a king? Ever have I remembered his words, clear after so many years. Yet discontent I see not in my brother’s face. Perhaps, now, the years that have passed do not matter anymore. note: He read the hearts of men as shrewdly as his father... LOTR Appendix A

 

Oh Cheryl! I spent my afternoon at a work sneaking peaks at Aeneid's drabble. Gorgeous! I especially loved: ...His eyes meet mine; kindness, strength and nobility clear in his gaze, his words of acceptance so familiar... - a reflection of the relationship they could not develop until it was too late, now brought to fruition in the Boromir Lives! AU! Then to come home and find my drabble waiting for me, and the lovely words: ... devotion even our father never inspired in him. Can I read his heart? Still, always, my brother, but he is different somehow... Marvelous! ...and I think to myself, what a wonderful world.... Thanks for these quite wonderful stories. And thanks to my birthday near-twin, Aeneid, for calling them forth. Ann Ann and Aeneid - Evil twins separated at birth by a distortion in the space/time continuum

 

Since the two of you are fighting over drabbles, this is for both of you. Ann gets Faramir and Boromir; Aeneid gets Fourth Age and Boromir Lives! Blame Cheryl for sparking this, by getting me to remind her that there are certain consequences that Boromir may be less than happy about… Wishing you both a Happy Birthday! Not permitted The steward waves his hand over the map. “We should meet them here, sire. If I lead six companies from this point, and King Éomer brings the cavalry from here, we can drive them on to the main body of our forces under your command.” The Prince of Ithilien clears his throat. “Sire?” “What is it, Faramir?” Aragorn frowns, trying to tie marks on paper to old memories. “May I respectfully remind my king, and my brother, that the steward may not leave the realm?” Faramir grins wickedly at Boromir. “I will lead the six companies.” “But–!“ Boromir splutters. *** “It was also Rómendacil I who established the office of Steward (Arandur "king's servant"), but he was chosen by the King as a man of high trust and wisdom, usually advanced in years since he was not permitted to go to war or to leave the realm. He was never a member of the Royal House. [Author's note.]” Note 53 to “Cirion and Eorl and the Friendship of Gondor and Rohan”, Unfiinished Tales Cheers, Liz

 

Whoa Baby! Ann gets Faramir and Boromir... Happy birthday to me! Thanks, Liz! A very entertaining drabble it was, too!

 

Gonna save thread space and jam-pack everything into one post. First off, Cheryl: thank you! What a sweet piece, and it was such a lovely moment to drabble-fy. This is especially touching: When I pictured this scene as a boy, I expected to receive such words and not to give them. I understand clearly at last who stands before me and it strikes awe deep in my heart. Such a feeling is strange to me; I cannot keep it from my face as I finish my pledge. Tear. Knot in throat. Sigh... Also, Allie brought up a good point: who is contemplating the rise of "Boromir Lives!" as opposed to "Frodo Lives!" From HASA members, of course. Didn't they graffiti the New York subway back when ROTK first came out with phrases of Frodo Lives! Hmmm... I'm considering spray-painting Boromir Lives! on the building across the street. OK, now, I want to comment on Cheryl's drabble for That Other Person, and I will, dammit. No one said you can't enjoy another person's gift! I just wanted to say that this line: Yet discontent I see not in my brother’s face. Perhaps, now, the years that have passed do not matter anymore. ...chah! Well done. I liked this line a lot, and it fits so well into the other drabble (my birthday drabble). Also, to Liz, thank you very much! I had no idea there was this snag in Minas Tirith bureacracy - whatever would a Live!Boromir have done in such a circumstance?! “But–!“ Boromir splutters. Exactly. He would have spluttered. Aeneid Challenger of the very nature of the space/time continuum

 

I'm going to follow Aeneid's lead and conserve thread space here Ann said: I spent my afternoon at a work sneaking peaks at Aeneid's drabble. Gorgeous!......His eyes meet mine; kindness, strength and nobility clear in his gaze, his words of acceptance so familiar... - a reflection of the relationship they could not develop until it was too late, now brought to fruition in the Boromir Lives! AU! Thanks Ann I had this image of Boromir kneeling before Aragorn and taking his oath and well...I just HAD to write it! I think that was the first time I've ever written Boromir! Then to come home and find my drabble waiting for me, and the lovely words: ... devotion even our father never inspired in him. Can I read his heart? Still, always, my brother, but he is different somehow... Marvelous! Thank you! Gandalf's words about Denethor and Faramir and their "true" Numenorian blood...Faramir is such a thinker..hehehe Also the first time I've ever written Faramir...must've been a day for firsts! Thanks for these quite wonderful stories. You are so welcome!! They were really fun to write! Besides, it made Liz's day to convince me to write some Faramir! Liz wrote: Blame Cheryl for sparking this, Who...me? *whistles innocently* I think that was a boomerang nuzgul that came back to you, Liz. Aeneid wrote: First off, Cheryl: thank you! What a sweet piece, and it was such a lovely moment to drabble-fy. This is especially touching: (snip) Tear. Knot in throat. Sigh... Aeneid you are very welcome! It demanded to be written. Boromir came in and hijacked my muse. Thats the first time he's been here...but he seems to be the "muse hijacking" type! ...chah! Well done. I liked this line a lot, and it fits so well into the other drabble (my birthday drabble). LOL glad to hear it! Happy Birthday to both of you! Cheryl

 

 

"“May I respectfully remind my king, and my brother, that the steward may not leave the realm?” Faramir grins wickedly at Boromir. “I will lead the six companies.”" Some great drabbles here. It should come as no surprise that I prefer the ones where Faramir is Steward. But I loved the one where Boromir, not realizing he's dead, haunts the tavern to be with his friends. On the idea that Faramir cannot, as Steward of Gondor, leave the realm or go to war; Tolkien contradicts it in his LETTERS (#244) - "But it was made clear that there was much fighting, and in the earlier years of A.'s reign expeditions against enemies in the East. The chief commanders, under the King, would be Faramir and Imrahil; and one of these would normally remain a military commander at home in the King's absence." Which implies to me that Aragorn's Steward would have rode out of Gondor with his King occasionally; as long as Imrahil (or, perhaps, later, Imrahil's successor) held the fort at home. But that doesn't stop me from enjoying your drabble.... RAKSHA THE DEMON

 

"Kindred Spirits Through all his long years, Mithrandir had envied neither elf nor man, concentrating always on his task: the defeat of the Dark One. Yet when the raven-haired boy gazed at him with such admiration, he could not help but wonder: what it would have been like to father such a child? To see him grow daily in grace and wisdom, to delight in his eager curiosity, to mold his learning to noble ends? Why was such joy granted to one who treasured it not? He revered his King Elessar, but dear Faramir had always been the child of his heart." Big happy AWWWWW from me, Ann! RAKSHA THE DEMON

 

Is it too late to request a birthday present? My birthday isn't for a while (November 22) and I'm just stunned by the gifts that I've seen here... If it's okay, I'd love a drabble that focuses on the interactions (friendships only please!) between the Fellowship--angsty or happy, with any combination of characters. I'm leaving it pretty general (I think?) and I hope that it inspires. Julia

 

Edited to move to new thread. See you there! Ann

 

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