3. Untitled - by Raksha
"What have you to say for yourself? asked the Prince of Ithilien of the
young and red-faced lieutenant.
"We were on leave, my lord." answered the tall officer, turning redder, if
that was possible. His hands were also red; as were the faces and fingers of
the twenty-two Rangers who now stood at attention. It could be more
accurate, thought the Prince, to describe the hue as purplish-red.
"…And they were short-handed for the pressing of the grapes in Greenhollow;
you know, the village below Amon Din. We thought it only right to offer our
help, so they would not fall short in their harvest."
"And such help led to this new coloration?"
"It would have not have been fitting to leave with the work unfinished, Sir.
Then there was the feast to celebrate it; and wine that needed sampling.
We could not disappoint our hosts; we had to uphold the honor of Ithilien's
finest!"
"Of course you did, lieutenant." The Prince of Ithilien said kindly. "
Very well, since you were all on leave, I deem such occupation acceptable. You
and your men are dismissed."
As the lieutenant turned, obviously relieved, to go, the Prince caught him
by the shoulder. "Your honor is unstained, but the same cannot be said for
other attributes. I suggest that you scrub your face before you go up to greet
your mother."
Elboron blushed again. "Yes, sire" he replied, grateful that his men had
started to disperse.
Finally, the Prince smiled and pressed his son's shoulder. He remembered
another young Ranger and his band who had passed, off-duty, through the same
village and aided in the vineyard's harvest, before leaving with red faces and
aching heads. "Call your men, my son" Faramir urged. "Let us assure that
all of Ithilien's Finest take some tea."
young and red-faced lieutenant.
"We were on leave, my lord." answered the tall officer, turning redder, if
that was possible. His hands were also red; as were the faces and fingers of
the twenty-two Rangers who now stood at attention. It could be more
accurate, thought the Prince, to describe the hue as purplish-red.
"…And they were short-handed for the pressing of the grapes in Greenhollow;
you know, the village below Amon Din. We thought it only right to offer our
help, so they would not fall short in their harvest."
"And such help led to this new coloration?"
"It would have not have been fitting to leave with the work unfinished, Sir.
Then there was the feast to celebrate it; and wine that needed sampling.
We could not disappoint our hosts; we had to uphold the honor of Ithilien's
finest!"
"Of course you did, lieutenant." The Prince of Ithilien said kindly. "
Very well, since you were all on leave, I deem such occupation acceptable. You
and your men are dismissed."
As the lieutenant turned, obviously relieved, to go, the Prince caught him
by the shoulder. "Your honor is unstained, but the same cannot be said for
other attributes. I suggest that you scrub your face before you go up to greet
your mother."
Elboron blushed again. "Yes, sire" he replied, grateful that his men had
started to disperse.
Finally, the Prince smiled and pressed his son's shoulder. He remembered
another young Ranger and his band who had passed, off-duty, through the same
village and aided in the vineyard's harvest, before leaving with red faces and
aching heads. "Call your men, my son" Faramir urged. "Let us assure that
all of Ithilien's Finest take some tea."
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.
