March 26th, 2011

Aragorn and Faramir

The Omen

March 24: Rhosgobel

Title: The Omen
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Faramir, Ioreth
Rating: PG13
Warnings: none
Word count: 945
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.

The ending of this is for Cairistiona


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

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

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

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

“Whatever for?” Aragorn asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Rhosgobel Passport Stamp
Gilraen

Boys will be Boys

March 25: Lothlórien


Title: Boys will be Boys
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Gilraen, Aragorn, Elrond
Rating: PG
Warnings: blood, minor injury
Word count: 939
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.


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

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

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

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

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

“What is the matter, Mistress Gilraen?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Estel shyly held out the bloodied palm.

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

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

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

“Indeed they are!”

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

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

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

The little boy nodded.

“I would be honoured, Master Elrond.”

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

“I am truly sorry.”

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

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


Lothlorien Passport Stamp
Gilraen

Boys will be Boys

March 25: Lothlórien


Title: Boys will be Boys
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Gilraen, Aragorn, Elrond
Rating: PG
Warnings: blood, minor injury
Word count: 930 approx
Book/Source: LOTR book-verse
Disclaimer - These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.


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

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

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

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

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

“What is the matter, Mistress Gilraen?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Estel shyly held out the bloodied palm.

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

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

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

“Indeed they are!”

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

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

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

The little boy nodded.

“I would be honoured, Master Elrond.”

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

“I am truly sorry.”

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

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


Lothlorien Passport Stamp