Henneth Annûn Story Archive

Hello, all you birthday folk and birthday drabblers! September is around the corner, and I hereby declare the Birthday Challenge open for business.

If you have a September birthday, please post your request.

Birthday folk, please visit the HASA Birthday Cards workshop, put your story in it, and enter the September challenge.

If you have questions, please ask.

Gandalfs apprentice

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September 30, Gandalfs apprentice: As anyone could have guessed, I want Aragorn. Show me Aragorn in a state of emotion, be it anger, love, fear, hope (or any other emotion that interests you), at any time in his life. Extra points if you can include Gandalf, Denethor or Bilbo, but Aragorn alone or with any other character is also fine. Sex great too, het or slash, as you prefer.

 

Calling all September birthday babies!

Hey there, post your request now! Join in the fun, inspire our drabble writers to new reaches of creativity!

Gandalfs apprentice 

 

Hi, G.A.

Have begun work on Aragorn & Bilbo drabble.  (This is a first, as have never a) written a drabble, or b) written from a prompt.)

Y'know, A really is the strong, silent type.  He doesn't want to emote all over the page.

So far, have 106 words by MSWord count.  It doesn't say some things I'd like, OTOH, it says some things I don't need or really want.

Stand by,
DW

 

DW:

Welcome to the art of drabbling.

Sure, Aragorn is the strong, silent type. He's also pretty deep-feeling. Regarding pairing him with Bilbo in your drabble, don't forget Tolkien's line from the Tale of Aragorn and Arwen "mirth would well up like water from a rock." I can see Bilbo bringing out that part of Aragorn more easily than most.

Take your time. I'm clinging to my current age from some weeks yet. 

I'm still waiting for the other September babies to poke their heads out of the hole.

G.A. 

 

Here you have a quadrabble with a very deep-feeling Aragorn. Hope you like it.

Jealousy 

Aragorn kicked a tree and winced as the pain shot through his foot.

Weddings and naming ceremonies were occasions of joy for the all too small population of the Dúnedain.

But every time he said the words of blessing, they left a bitter taste on his tongue, the taste of jealousy. He knew this was an ugly feeling, but he could not help himself.

Each time he envisioned himself as groom or proud father. But how that hurt!

A cry of frustration left his throat and he slid down the tree, its rough bark leaving marks on his best clothing.

Suddenly, he felt a warm hand on his shoulder.

"We wondered where you were," the proud father said, "so I went to look for you. Will you not come in with me?"

Aragorn averted his face. "No, thank you, Halbarad. I am in low spirits today and do not want to spoil your day."

"Now come on, or I am inclined to take it personally." Halbarad smiled, attempting a jest.

"Then do if you must," Aragorn shouted, "but JUST LEAVE ME BE! Understood?" The moment the words left his mouth, Aragorn regretted them. His cousin did not deserve his anger. He looked into Halbarad's face and saw several emotions there, shock, hurt, but also concern for his best friend.

Halbarad ignored him and seated himself next to Aragorn. "No, I will not let you be. You are upset and it will do you no good to brood out here."

He knew that Halbarad was right and did not resist when the other man put an arm around his shoulders and squeezed them gently.

"We have been friends for a long time now and you know that I have always an open ear for you. What is it that weights you down so?"

Then it came, Aragorn choked and hid his face in his hands.

"I do not know how many couples I have seen married, how many children blessed, but ever I am alone, never am I granted my desire. It hurts me to see their happy faces even as I wish them luck and happiness with all my heart. I have done all in my power to help other people and gotten nothing in return. Is that just?"

Halbarad only shook his head and held his cousin as he cried. Aragorn did not deserve it, and yet must bear it.

~Vilwarin

 

I keep building bits and pieces onto this, so one day, it may end up in a full-blown story. But this is not that day. The fic bit is, however, self-contained and it does answer (if briefly), I think, to G.A.'s request for Strider + emotion.

Happy early birthday!

Dwim

Cuts Gone Wrong

The sun was just rising over the rim of the world when the baying of hounds on the hunt broke the stillness. Shadow shapes flitted through the haze of the morning, splashing over the fields, 'til at length there came a howl of triumph and a spate of frantic commands that swiftly died, leaving only the occasional growl.

Berty Heathertoes, drawn from his chores by the commotion and last on the trail, was out of breath by the time he caught up with the dogs. "Man oughtn't have to hurry himself if he's decent! He'll have his day laid out, no rushing needed," he panted resentfully, leaning on his pitchfork.

A lanky figure, muddy from the sodden field, slowly sat up as the dogs retreated to Berty's side. The one-time fugitive wiped at his face with a sleeve wet from the ditch the dogs had brought him down in. This accomplished little, other than to smear dirt further, and the farmer scowled. "What's your business here, boy?" he demanded, giving the sole of a well-worn boot a warning tap with the pitchfork.

"I apologize, Master Heathertoes," came the reply. "I'm to meet a friend in town, and—"

"'Nother trespassing Ranger, you mean," harrumphed Berty, and shook his head. And he gave him another tap with the pitchfork, a little harder this time. "No good! Up now, lad, and just you start walking back where you came from."

"Sir, please, I'm late," the young man pleaded, as he climbed to his feet. "It's six miles around, and but a half mile to the road from here—"

"And you'd've been on it long ago, were you decent folk. Here now," Berty said and paused, eyeing the bedraggled lad, who topped him by a head and more standing. "Aren't you the one they call 'Strider'?"

"I am, sir," came the cautiously hopeful acknowledgment, to which Berty only grunted.

"Lucky thing. Be your name, boy, and you'll only be half late. Wolf, Bear, up," Berty said sternly, and the dogs obediently rose, ears pricked attentively forward. Glancing up at the Ranger again, he warned: "Off with you now. My dogs'll follow so don't try any tricks, hear? Go! And next time," he added, to the lad's retreating back, "you keep off my land!"

For a time, Berty stood watching as the lad, after a shake of his sodden cloak, and a shrug of the shoulders to settle his pack squarely once more, lengthened his stride and indeed began hurrying away. Wolf and Bear padded in his wake, bristling still, and Berty shook his head.

"Wretched wild lot," he muttered as he turned and began making his way back to his hay stacks.

And so he did not see the lad's head lift, or his hands tighten to a white-knuckled grip on the straps of his pack, did not see wounded young pride stiffen his back. For the morning was now well begun, and Berty Heathertoes was a decent man: he had work to do and little time to spare for disruptions. By lunchtime, he had all but forgotten the incident, though he would remember it later, over ale with friends.

"Rascals all," he would say, to the approving nods of the upstanding citizens of the town. But other than hours whiled away rehearsing Breeland virtues against the vices of mannerless outsiders, it was of no consequence to one who had a farm to tend in the quiet lands round Bree-hill, where nothing ever happening was the measure of life.

---

'Not a "short cut", I hope,' said Pippin. 'Our last short cut through woods nearly ended in disaster.'

'Ah, but you had not got me with you then,' laughed Strider. 'My cuts, short or long, don't go wrong.'—"A Knife in the Dark," FOTR, 177.

To which I say: Liar!

Farmer Heathertoes is supposed to be an ancestor of the ill-fated Mat Heathertoes, who was killed when the ruffians swept through Bree during the war.

 

How delightful to wake up this morning and find two early gifts under the birthday tree (AKA HASA birthday cards forum).

Thanks so much, Dwim and Vilwarin!

Dwim, yours is a perfect portrait of the young Aragorn, and the emotion shown in his actions, not in words. Very typical of him. And you know how much I love stories about Bree. In this case, it's amusing to see the future King Elessar in a ditch while a farmer jabs at him with a pitchfork. Where, oh where, is the glory of Numenor? I hope you do write a much longer story.

Vilwarin, you've captured surely the greatest agony of Aragorn's life. There must have been such moments when despair broke through the hope that kept him going. Aragorn breaking down and sobbing is maybe a little more emotional than I imagined, but you tell it so movingly!

I've set up a story in the workshop, so please do add your tales when you're ready.

G.A. 

 

Well, here's my attempt.  The italics, of course, are from FOTR, The Ring Goes South. 

On The Steps

Their farewells had been said in the great hall by the fire, and they were only waiting now for Gandalf, who had not yet come out of the house.  A gleam of firelight came from the open doors, and soft lights were glowing in the many windows.  Bilbo huddled in a cloak stood silent on the doorstep beside Frodo.  Aragorn sat with his head bowed to his knees; only Elrond knew fully what this hour meant to him.  The others could be seen as grey shapes in the darkness.

Bilbo moved to Aragorn's side and gripped his shoulder.

Aragorn raised his head and covered Bilbo's hand with his own.  Bilbo saw his tense jaw and tightness around his eyes.

"The Lady Arwen is not here," said Bilbo.

"We said our farewells within, away from prying eyes.   This is the final throw, and we risk all, my lady and I, on this venture.  Either we gain all, or we lose even what we have."

Bilbo looked down at his friend.  He saw no tears, but the Dunadan's eyes glistened.

"I pray you, comfort her as you can in my absence."

At that moment Elrond came out with Gandalf, and he called the Company to him.

Hope you like it.

DrummerWench

 

 

DrummerWench:

I love it! You've got the characters, ambiance, emotions just right.

I predict a shining future for you in drabbling.

Thanks so very much! Please add it to my birthday story in the workshop.

EDIT: Furthermore, you've written what Tolkien SHOULD have written, if he hadn't been being so coy about Aragorn and Arwen. 

G.A.

 

Another one for you, G.A. It is Sex, but then not exactly. Anyway, this is my first slash piece. Hope you like it.

Weakness

My hand wanders up and down your body, feeling unfamiliar terrain.

The wrong body

I know it and yet I am here. Nobody must know of this, of my moment of weakness.

 Forbidden!

What would they say if they knew?

Shameful, lie-between!

I am betrothed to the woman I love, you are married, but still... I lie with you and know not how this came to be.

Doubly shameful, he is a man!

And where now is honour?

I sit up and pull the blankets around myself. My eyes lock with yours and a wordless understanding passes between us not a word.

~Vilwarin

 

I'm so glad you liked it, G.A.!  About what Tolkien should have written, I wish he'd done more with Arwen than stuffing her in with a shoehorn as an afterthought.

We'll see about the drabbling future: my head is already stuffed with story ideas, both fanfic and original...

*heads off to install it in the workshop story*

DW

 

Vilwarin

Two birthday drabbles! Thank you!

I like it very much. The secrecy is, alas, all too likely in Aragorn's world. You capture that well--and underneath it, of course, is the attraction and need.

I like also that the partner is unnamed.

G.A. 

 

Vilwarin--Nice work. I just tried my first slash piece recently--a drabble. And the subject matter was very similar. Yours is about 100X better. Congrats.

Oshun

 

*sigh* All right, somebody else have a birthday and ask for... I don't know... Trees! Water spirits! Hobbit mpreg! Or better yet: Water spirits getting it on with same-sex trees and having furry-footed children, because I don't get those nuzgul and so it's like instant immunity to nuzgul bites.

Aragorn bunnies, however, are a different story. (And you, Vilwarin, can just stop it right now you're setting my slash muse off, missy!.) This doesn't even pretend to work out a really plausible basis for itself, but dang it, I just spent an hour appeasing it and it works as well for A/H as I think I am capable of making it work. So G.A. is getting another birthday ficlet, and a request for mercy or an exterminator who'll do a job on the cheap...

Dwim

New Day Dawning

The way matters turned out, Halbarad might have known about it years ago.

It was not that there had ever been a question of choosing between him and Arwen; it would always have been Arwen in the end, she was sunk in him so deep he didn't know himself without her. They both knew, then, there was no future in it, in them, that his heart had always already chosen, which wasn't to say forty odd years on and off, as the turns of fate and the Road allowed, meant nothing. Not at all. It was just... well, Aragorn was less settled at heart, could find a home anywhere—particularly in Gondor, the only place to find a crown these days if one were Isildur's Heir, a point to bear ever in mind for we must always remember destiny—while Halbarad was in love with Eriador, and there was the small matter that no amount of trying was ever going to make them fathers. Not with each other, at least. ("I think we needn't qualify that, Hal." "Quiet, you, I'm trying to make this easier, since you persist in making it difficult." "Oh, but I like it hard..." "Oh for Valar's—!")

And there was Arwen, of course. Still. Always. Perhaps, if fate were kind, as Aragorn was wont to say, forever, so far as Mankind could speak of such things.

In the mean time, they had each other and the Road—on the move, under cover and covers, and if fate were kind, then there was a roof and a bottle of wine at the end of the journey. And Halbarad loved to complain about the awful tales of Woe and Romance, and jest that he was going to right the balance of maidens dying for their lovers. ("What, right now? Hal!" "What? I'll have you know I'm a perfectly good poet sober." "Every orc in Utumno is cringing! Sober or drunk, the only help for your verses is silence." "Pity for you, for I'm determ—mmph! Mmmm..." Silence.)

Pelennor had taken the laughter from that old jest. Or rather, it had simply buried what was left of it after the doom-saying at the Door. Halbarad would probably have said that it was for the best, that it would be a clean break, cleaner than they could manage together, and that that was needed. That in the end, there was something to be said (for a Ranger) for going down to a glorious death that got sung of, even. (And curse the fickle allegiance of poetic taste, the one verse in that entire lament to fall on deaf ears and be forgotten within a month would be the one listing Eriador's dead! Of course!)

But Aragorn will never know what Halbarad might have said; they did not speak of it all the long way from Dimholt to Pelennor. There were other things, of course, to do and think of and they were captains. (I'm a captain; you're the king, crown or no crown. Get it right—I didn't die for you to mix these things up, you know. It should worry him that Arwen doesn't even look askance at him when he tells her Halbarad complains to him still.)

And it's true enough it's easier this way. He has a wife he loves beyond reason or unreason, and soon enough there will be children, and there is so much to mend—lands and men and the scars they all bear within them. He would like one day to stop mending, to see things thrive, grow up beyond him, grow into the hands of his sons and daughters—of his and Arwen's sons and daughters. But for now, the king's hands must be a healer's hands first, and the first lesson every healer learns is that it does no good to let the patient pick at a wound.

So it is easier this way—lanced and done with, in one fell swoop of an Easterling blade. No awkward looks or steps, no missteps to be made—no temptation. He'll never see the anguish in her eyes or his when he turns to one or the other, unable to avoid betrayal for even if he keeps his hands where they belong, looks need no hands to touch depths a wife alone should feel. Halbarad is right—would be right—'tis better thus.

And yet, sometimes, when he wakes suddenly to another's breath at his side in the sweltering night, he remembers other nights alone in a lover's darkness—memory so sharp and vivid his heart speeds as he's struck with sudden doubt: is this new life that's come to fill the emptiness shaped like Halbarad a dream? If he but moves a little, he will know. It needs but one touch, he knows them both so well...

But truth looks better in the morning, love. Let it lie. Let it lie, and lie you here with me, just a little longer.

I always have, Hal.

And he always will: through the long watches, he holds himself perfectly still.

 

Dwim:

That is so beautiful! I love it! Oh, thank you, thank you! And just how it must have been, too.

You know, I would make Aragorn's relationship with Halbarad just like this in "Sword of Elendil" if I weren't already worried the story is too complex as it is! I'm tempted to all the time. But now you have done it instead. Perfect!

I know exactly what you mean about Aragorn plotbunnies. I'm probably going to give myself a birthday present!

Water-spirits with same sex trees...what a concept. hee hee

G.A.
 

 

Glad you liked it, G.A. You liked The unnamed eh? So everyone can fill in the blanks.

And thank you for the praise, oshun, balm for an author's soul. 100x better? geh, I do not believe that!

And you, Vilwarin, can just stop it right now you're setting my slash muse off, missy

What exatly do you want be to stop doing, Dwim? I have nothing against your slash muse. Whistles innocently.  

I liked that ficlet of yours and it helped the atmosphere that I was listening to the Brokeback Mountain soundtrack when I saw your ficlet. I don't want to say goodbye fits just perfect, though it ended a bit different. Aragorn is too strong to let it all overwhelm him.

How strange, only half a year ago I used to detest slash, and then I read this A/H AU story (timeline).  A real tearjerker, that story. And now I have started an epos about them a few months ago. Hehe.

~Vilwarin

 

That is so beautiful! I love it! Oh, thank you, thank you!

You're welcome. I think it's about as happy as it can get.

You know, I would make Aragorn's relationship with Halbarad just like this in "Sword of Elendil" if I weren't already worried the story is too complex as it is! I'm tempted to all the time.

"Sword" would probably be a better forum to develop something like this in. I have problems believing this and I wrote it! But I don't have it in me to do the background work needed to make something like this fully work for me. However, there is something to be said for not stuffing a story with too many things.

I know exactly what you mean about Aragorn plotbunnies. I'm probably going to give myself a birthday present!

Heh heh. Hobbit-style birthday, then.

Water-spirits with same sex trees...what a concept. hee hee

I probably shouldn't tempt fate by posting such ideas, but if anybody actually writes that, he or she is entitled to a drabble from me, on whatever topic or character(s) desired, as payment for the trauma.

Dwim

 

I have nothing against your slash muse. *Whistles innocently.*

[looks askance] Uh huh. Right.

I don't want to say goodbye fits just perfect, though it ended a bit different. Aragorn is too strong to let it all overwhelm him.

I'm kind of ambivalent about whether I should call him strong or still recovering or what in this one. Granted, there's no way Aragorn is going to collapse into a puddle of weepy pain over this, but I really waffled on the ending. Like for a good ten minutes of back and forth and playing around with different formulations. Irony is better serrved if I go with it as it is, but I'm not sure it's quite right to identify that as a strength in Aragorn if he responds in this way, or whether he *would* respond in this way, or whether the time frame is still too short for him to respond any other way... etc., etc. Irony won in the end, but I'm still unsure of it.

How strange, only half a year ago I used to detest slash, and then I read this A/H AU story (timeline).

A/H was one of the original Tolkien slash couples (Amy Fortuna was the author), but then it disappeared as the new wave of slashers coming from the movies picked up A/L or A/B and ran with it. It's only relatively recently he's gotten some notice, and not as much from slash writers. I'm therefore curious: which story are you talking about? I'm wondering if it's one I've read or something new I'm not aware of.


Have fun writing!

Dwim

 

Dwim, I know exactly what you mean: This request is extremely dangerous - I have been bitten twice so far, once each for two of the requested partners, and that within the first day of G.A. posting it (but I'm still waiting for posting it for the actual date of her birthday). Fortunately, it seems the bunnies have seen that you're an even better target than me, and have left me in peace after 100 words each, and, so far, haven't come back for the third possibility.

[edit: have edited because of misleading wording]

New Day Dawning

Very moving, Dwim! I particularly love that the "requested" emotions are not named or described, that they come through only through the narrative, the word choices, the silences, the sentences that trail off etc.

Imhiriel

 

How strange, only half a year ago I used to detest slash, and then I read this A/H AU story (timeline). A real tearjerker, that story. And now I have started an epos about them a few months ago. Hehe.

Where can I find this story, Vilwarin?

Imhiriel

 

A/H was one of the original Tolkien slash couples

Oh, I did not know that. But it somehow seems logical. Same time at the same place. Hm...that could go so. 'It was a cold and stormy night and the two rangers had found a cave where they could sit out the storm.' They remove their clothes because they are wet and snuggle together for extra warmth. It can easily progress from there...

Ah, you seem to be interested in the story. =) I do not know how old it is. Anyway, here is the link:

http://www.libraryofmoria.com/aragornhalbarad/index.html it is named "Common Cause".

~Vilwarin

 

Same time at the same place. Hm...that could go so. 'It was a cold and stormy night and the two rangers had found a cave where they could sit out the storm.' They remove their clothes because they are wet and snuggle together for extra warmth. It can easily progress from there...

Wait, wait, I've seen that one, too!

[snip 'Common Cause'] Ok, I've seen that one before. I was hoping there might be something new out there. Can't say CC is one I really enjoyed, but it is one of the few that attempts to build a story around the sex scenes and pick up on that 'The enemy has set traps for me before' line.

Dwim

 

This request is extremely dangerous - I have been bitten twice so far

*offers bandaid*

Glad you liked the 'drabble', Imhiriel. Re: not stating emotions, I always find it more effective to let it come out rather than directly point it out. And the trailing off tactic was simply too much fun.

Dwim

 

Wait, wait, I've seen that one, too!

Wow, I did not know that one. It was extremely funny. So the idea is not really original, now is it? But it would work wonderfully.

but it is one of the few that attempts to build a story around the sex scenes

Yes, PWPs might be fine from time to time, but I prefer real stories with plots. Say, hav I ever told you I loved your slash pieces, Dwim? I really do. 

I think we should not ubuse the poor Birthday Cards Forum so much, though I delight in it. I would indeed *whispers* enjoy a Forum for this topic.

~Vilwarin

 

*observes noticable lack of entries accompanying G.A.'s lone request*

Maybe someone could send a little HASA email to the Sep birthday babies (all?, or just the ones who've logged on in the last "x" period of time?), encouraging them to join in.  That might generate the explicit tree slash Dwim's been sighing for...

DW

 

Here's hoping that I'm doing this right... A story with Aragorn still as Thorongil, an older Ranger the chieftain seems to pity, and evidence that the Paths of the Dead were not the only tunnels filled with danger. A bit slashy too. I've never written anything even remotely slashy before, so hopefully it's ok. Happy birthday, GA!

Cave Air

"Lead me," the man whispered, his voice echoing eerily against the jagged rock walls.
"I cannot-" Belethar began to say, but the Ranger thrust a staff into his palm. He gripped it then from habit, and the chieftain pushed him forward. "-Mi'lord," he finished bitterly. The brown skin of his neck prickled from the cold and the fist bunched with cloth at his back. He still shrank from that troubling touch of callused knuckle.
"It is dark," Thorongil entreated, leaning forward to speak into the other's ear. A swath of bandage covered his companion's eyes. "You have a better chance than I." He would not risk a torch in here and they had not the time besides. Belethar took a step forward, sweeping the twisted cane across the scattered stones. They clattered noisily inside the void, an unwelcome accomplice to his tentative swipe. "Quietly!" the younger hissed, though such a warning was a waste.
Remembering his Ranger self, Belethar inhaled slowly, composing all his nerves. He had lost confidence; he was not the teacher he had once been. He touched a hand to the dry wall, yearning for assurance. He heard nothing: no soft squeak of bats, no faint drip of water. The only sound was the rushing air around the entrance.
Onwards they pressed, faster now.

They stumbled often, Belethar falling to his knees at the foot of unexpected piles only to be pulled to standing by the captain's stronger arm. Thorongil never relinquished his grip on the rough weave of tunic. Hot blood trickled down the blind man's shin, blotted in rivers against the deerhide breeches.
"Faster," the chieftain urged. "The air is bad." Indeed they could both feel it, hot and stifling. Belethar panted now, his movements slowing in his lethargy. The air here had not stirred in years. It was filling with foul gases, creations of the ages and the fires below the earth.

"I see light," Thorongil murmured, touching his companion's head so he could face the distant opening. The wind was not towards them, but they could feel the stronger air. The former Ranger forged new spirit, noting now the cooling wall and soldiering onwards. His strides were forceful and renewed.

The chilling cold was a welcome relief that burned their lungs as they collapsed upon the rocky hillside. Belethar sunk against a bleached stone cranny, head tilted back towards the angled sky.
"Are you still living?" the chieftain asked, resting a hand against his chest when he did not start to move. His guide looked up, gazing where his ear should be.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked tiredly, his voice expressionless.
"Doing what?" Thorongil pulled his hand away on instinct.
"This. It's not like you. You were never like this."
"Enough," he said, casting his eyes downward regretfully. He could not bring himself to look at him.
"You changed."
"Things change, Belethar." The name now sounded strange upon his tongue. "Maybe you just need me now. Did you ever think of that?"
The elder rose sharply to his feet, anger clenched within his tightened shoulders.
"I don't need you," he snapped, looking past him. Grabbing the hickory cane, he started down the treacherous course. It was a miracle he did not fall. His Captain looked on in saddened awe. "I never did," he shouted back.

 

Well, that "someone" would be me, and I'm afraid I've got my hands full. So the best the sandbaggers will get is:

Calling all September babies! 

POST YOUR BIRTHDAY REQUEST NOW! 

If that doesn't bring them out--you'll just have to write another one for me!

G.A.

 

Thank you, MiniFruitBat! (love your name)

It's so very atmospheric and mysterious, and you leave it on an unresolved note. Will the story go on? I'd like to see more.

Welcome to birthday drabbling! When you get around to it, you can post this as a chapter in my birthday story, which you will find here.

G.A.

 

Ah, the real challenge... Figuring out how to do that. Hang on. I should be able to manage that!

I wasn't intending to continue this story, though the next logical step would be an explanation of what had happened. I have a few other stories I'd like to ready for submission first, however. Oh, I thought of another first! First time I'd written a story containing real character.

 

I have another for you, G.A.but I am not sure if it is convincing.

The Window

 The window of our bedchamber in lord Imrahil's castle faces towards the west, and this is where I find her. My lady has dragged a chair over so she may sit in comfort while she is lost in her memories.

I know she does not see the crashing of the waves on the cliffs, she sees what no eye on these shores can glimpse – whether mortal or immortal.

This is the first time she has accompanied me to the falas. I was glad to know her near me, as any husband should be, but at the same moment my heart was full of worry.

Across the water dwells her kin. In our home one cannot see the sea, but here is nothing to shield her from it and I fear that it might overwhelm her.

I can only imagine how much she must miss what she has left behind. Does she regret her decision to cleave to me? My heart tells me that this is a foolish thought and not to worry.

I know that I have her love. But when I look at her, see her sad eyes gazing over the water, I cannot help but wonder. Is she happy with her life?

She has not heard me, so I softly call her name 'Arwen'.

She turns around then, away from the window, and gives me a seductive smile.

My lady holds out her hands towards me, and I come willingly to her.

We snuggle close together and our lips meet in a gentle kiss.

'So, my lord,' says she playfully, 'what has taken you so long? I was getting bored.'

For a moment I wonder how her mood can change so quickly, then I know it. It is my mere presence. Is it not so that in the end there remain faith, hope and love, and all this she has in me.

In but a few months we will have our own little family, and though we will always miss what is now lost, we both know that we may look into a bright future.

~Vilwarin

 

Thank you, Vilwarin! I'm overwhelmed at your generosity!

I think it is convincing. Surely the Sea must have provoked all sorts of intense emotions and memories in both Aragorn and Arwen. But I especially like the optimism of the end.

Thanks again! 

G.A. 

 

Thank you, G.A. I am glad you like it.

Actually, I intended to write it for the Art Challenge from Arwen's POV. But then Aragorn entered the room and refused to leave again. He said something sentimental about her needing him now.  Seing I would not leave either, he kindly offered me his thoughts so that I be away quickly.

When we were finished, it fit your request so well that I dedicate it to you.

You can find the picture here

Say, does she not look sad?

~Vilwarin

 

Vilwarin:

What a beautiful picture! I see that the artist intended it to be Iseult. So her sadness is her yearning for her lover. It fits your story so well, that Aragorn would at first worry that she was having regrets about not going over Sea--when actually she was missing him.

I'm very touched by your dedication. Thanks!

G.A. 

 

My birthday is today,September 15th, so I know this request.maybe be too late.

I like friendship stories about Aragorn,with Faramir, Eomer or the Hobbits, or stories about Aragorn and Arwen and their young children.

I dislike slash or bad language.

Many thanks, Linda

 

I like friendship stories about Aragorn,with Faramir, Eomer

*sigh* Doomed again...

Will see what I can come up with...

Dwim

 

Hi, Linda!

So glad you have joined in! You are certainly not too late, although you may get some "late" gifts. Welcome!

G.A. 

 

Wow, I did not know that one.

It's one of my favorites. Kielle was such a wonderful writer and wit.

If you want to talk slash or something of that nature, you're always welcome in my forum, or there's the "Sexuality in Middle-earth" forum that I don't think has had much exercise for some time now. Or there's a slash workshop, I think.

Nice atmosphere in "The Window" below. The turn away from the sea towards the future is always one that resonates with me.

Dwim 

 

Another good place would be the "Writing Erotica-Slash" workshop. Unfortunately the forum is pretty well dead, but I'd love to see something being discussed over there. You have a lot of people who are interested in slash there.

Another option is by email, with me. I'd love to seriously discuss slash with someone, so feel free to drop me a line if you like.

 

Another good place would be the "Writing Erotica-Slash" workshop

Hm, yes, I am a member of that workshop. For qute some time now. And it is dead. I think the problem is that people tend to forget about the workshops or just not realize that there is one.

Nice atmosphere in "The Window" below. The turn away from the sea towards the future is always one that resonates with me.

Thank you. Glad you liked it, Dwim.

~Vilwarin

 

Linda:

Don't forget to create your birthday story (in My Stuff), add it to the HASA Birthday Cards workshop, and enter the September challenge!

If you need any help, let me know.

G.A. 

 

Linda, I have an idea for your piece, but it's (naturally) complicated and might end up to be too big for this forum, so I'll have to explore it first.

G.A. - I had this tri-drabble (?tribble) already mostly done before Linda set down her wishes.  So even though your birthday's later, you get this first.  Believe it or not, I had the idea before reading DrummerWench's excellent piece, we were both inspired by the same bit in FOTR.  You wanted strong emotion, you got strong emotion - I only hope it's not too melodramatic.

 

 

Before The Ring Went South

 

It is time, and I do not want to let her go. I cannot bear it again.

It is time, and it tears my heart to watch him go once more into peril.

How much time have we had together, over the years, since we left Lothlorien troth-plighted? A score of days, hours snatched between war-councils and plans, minutes seized from the needs of all others. And now I leave once more, perhaps for the last time.

He must come back to me, or I be free to go to him. This cannot be the last time.

What do we have to show for our love? We could not even wed, such was my doom. And now the last, desperate challenge is made, and if I fall, she shall be left alone, no sons or daughters to comfort her, no sign of our love remaining.

This parting pains us both. I must not weep, I must show him a smile, in case this is his last sight of me. He must know how proud I am to have his love.

If we had been allowed to wed, I could have given her the love of my body as well as my heart, at least a memory to warm her when I am gone.

It will be well, my love, my lord, we will meet again. See? I can smile, be as brave as you deserve.

I must rise, unclasp my hand from hers, or I will falter. I have to leave her now, set forth upon this dark road, accomplish all that must be done.

I must release his hand. No tears. I will not fail him.

One more kiss, then away! I cannot look back. I will not fail her.

I must believe. I do believe. Arwen! Estel!

Namarie.

 

***

 

Their farewells had been said in the great hall by the fire, and they were only waiting now for Gandalf, who had not yet come out of the house. A gleam of firelight came from the open doors, and soft lights were glowing in many windows. Bilbo huddled in a cloak stood silent on the doorstep beside Frodo. Aragorn sat with his head bowed to his knees; only Elrond knew fully what this hour meant to him. The others could be seen as grey shapes in the darkness. The Fellowship of the Ring, Book II, Chapter III: The Ring Goes South

 

Thank you, Raksha!

There's one benefit in Tolkien having written so little about Arwen: lots and lots of room for gapfillers. And this moment is surely one of the most intriguing and inspiring. You've captured the poignancy, hope and pain very well.

I've gotten such a wonderful assortment of gifts already, I'm quite overwhelmed. And still two weeks to go.....

(Linda will definitely be getting one from me....the drabble muse is whispering in my ear already.)

G.A. 

 

Thanx, G.A., I'm glad you liked it.  The passage in FOTR was almost shocking to read, I was accustomed to seeing Aragorn as a rock of stability, and there he was sitting outside in everyone's sight totally dejected.  That parting from Arwen had to be devastating; and it got me to thinking about all the other times they've parted, and how he must have known that this time there was a very strong chance, even stronger than usual, that he would not return.  Brrrr!

RAKSHA

 

I think he was also feeling more than a little humbled and overwhelmed by the task he had taken on, both the destruction of the Ring and his own goal of claiming the kingship. Wow!

G.A. 

 

Just in the nick of time...

Hope you like it, and that you had a lovely day!

Dwim


Following for Fellowship

Circling the camp, the wolves howl. Tomorrow is doomsday: in the dead-dark night, they cannot see it, but Morannon stands nigh.

All strategies rehearsed, the lords take their leave of Aragorn, 'til Éomer alone remains. And Éomer wonders then how many miles they walked along their separate roads, only to come now to this common end, two uncrowned kings on this salted earth? Pity—he'd've liked to walk a little further...

"I wonder if she sleeps," Aragorn says suddenly. Éomer blinks, then understanding dawns.

"Of course she does," he replies, and smiles when Aragorn looks up; "For we will return."

---

Somewhat mangled title line borrowed from "A Man for All Seasons."

 

Hello Linda,

happy Birthday to you! I have managed to include three of characters you suggested...

Unfortunately, I couldn't come up with a title I liked, and I would be verrrrry grateful for a suggestion! And as I'm no "horsey" person, if there is something off about my descriptions, please don't hesitate to point it out, too.

Imhiriel

[Edit: Added Linda's suggested title]

~*~

Fit for a King

Aragorn removed the straw he had been biting on from between his teeth to whistle softly, appreciatively, his eyes never leaving the magnificent mearh gambolling about the paddock.

Éomer, leaning beside him against the fence, smirked. “What did I tell you? Shadowfax’ last foal.”

Faramir, on his other side, looked equally impressed. Catching the horse’s eyes, he gestured invitingly.

The young stallion pricked his ears and trotted willingly over, as if condescending to receive the praises he knew were his due.

“Has he already chosen his name?” Aragorn asked.

Éomer’s grin widened. “The name he finally answered to was ‘Wingfoot’.”

~*~

A/N:
- “Wingfoot” is, of course, the nickname Éomer found for Aragorn in TTT, The Riders of Rohan.

 

Following for Fellowship

Oooh, lovely style. Very appropriate for Éomer. And I loved that it is placed at that particular moment - stories filling that gap always intrigue me.

Imhiriel

 

Sorry, I'm very late in reading this little fic. (Heard about it through the grapevine...but the forum was long and cumbersome.) Great stuff. Thoroughly engrossing. Using the bits of dialogue with the parentheses was really effective.

You said: "This doesn't even pretend to work out a really plausible basis for itself, but dang it, I just spent an hour appeasing it and it works as well for A/H as I think I am capable of making it work."

It's a wonderful short story as is, but I think its only problem is that you have the plot for a novel here...

Oshun

 

Thank you so much, this is very moving. I could just imagine, Aragorn and Eomer having this conversation.

I had a lovely birthday weekend thank you.

I'm thinking of creating a private page on my blog for my birthday gifts.Please may I add this to it?

 

Thank you so much, this was just beautiful and I could imagine this scene happening.Although I know little about them and haven't sat on one since I was a child, I love horses.

How about "Fit for a king" as a title?

I'm thinking of creating a private page on my blog for my birthday gifts.Please may I add this to it?

 

Nice moment of friendship between the three, Imhiriel--certainly a love of horses was something they all shared.

G.A. 

 

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