(no subject)
Lyric table
Title: Born Warrior
Fandom: LotR
Characters: Finduilas/Denethor, and references to Ecthelion and Boromir
Prompt: 3: A place between sleep and awake; end of innocence, unending masquerade
Word Count:227
Rating: G
Summary: Finduilas can't sleep.
Author's Notes: Pure fluff. Not mine.
The babe kicks again, and she gives up on sleeping comfortably tonght. She, at least, can afford to drowse off tomorrow. She lies quiet, despite the child’s movement, and studies the man next to her.
She could never tell him that he snores. One so dignified as her husband could never snore. Yet he does, and the sound of his breathing calms her, when the nightmares come and the baby fights restlessly against his mother’s fears. She puts a hand to her belly, trying to pacify the little warrior within her. Already, she is sure she’s going to have a boy. While she admits that she and her sister were not the easiest children to deal with, she doubts that any girl of her line could be quite so tireless in her assault upon her mother’s womb.
He is proud of her, of course, and looks forward to having a son, an heir. Still, she knows that he secretly hopes for a girl-child, this time. He is still too nervous, too afraid that he’ll end up just the same as his father and unable to love his own brood in the urge to shape them into the warrior-diplomats that Gondor needs. A daughter, at least, would not need to learn to fight. Finduilas tells him that this son won’t need to learn, either. This one already knows.
Title: End of an Age
Fandom: LotR
Characters: Imrahil, Denethor, Finduilas, and family, Eomer, and Aragorn
Prompt: 38: It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine
Word Count:755
Rating: PG
Summary: The battle for Minas Tirith changes many things for Imrahil.
Author's Notes: Not my characters. "Thorongil" would have been routing pirates off the coasts of Gondor when Imrahil was in his early twenties, so he'd probably recognize the name.
I heard before the battle was over. Gandalf had done his best to keep things under control, but it’s hard to hide things from a man who had grown up with two elder sisters. We tend to keep one ear to whispers of the servants and soldiers, and learn quickly enough how to sort truth from exaggeration.
When I’d first heard, I wouldn’t have believed it, if had I not carried the poor boy home myself. My brother-in-law was not a man given to grand displays of emotion; not before his marriage, and especially not since Finduilas died. I had not gotten the chance to see him since Boromir’s death, but in his letters, - he had been calm in his letters. His handwriting was as neat as a scribe’s, and the sheets were clean, save from travel-dust. If he had thrown away earlier copies of his missives, I would not know it.
I wish I might have come earlier. I wish I might have met him under different circumstances than carrying his last remaining child to him over my saddle. I meant only to comfort him with my words of Faramir’s bravery; how was I to know that the two of them had argued over such things just before the boy had left for Osgiliath? But if wishes were fishes, and good intentions were whales, the whole of Gondor might be well fed from my thoughts that day. I could not control Denethor’s mind, or the schemes of the enemy.
I did my best to get to Minas Tirith as quickly as I could round up the troops; and Valar help my wife and daughters in the defense of the coastline. Ainaelin has a good political head on her shoulders, and she’s helped me through sieges before. But neither she nor the girls know anything about battle plans, and Imphaelie has her baby son to take care of. One would think that Elphir, at least, would stay with his wife and child, and let me leave for the White City, so that I might fulfill my duties to country, lord, and brother. My heir, bless his damned hide, asked me in return why I did not stay with my wife, child, and country. I’m convinced that all three of our boys have entirely too much of their mother’s stubbornness and my sense of honor. The combination may not be as dramatic as Denethor’s sharp tongue and Finduilas’s pride, but it’s nearly as deadly.
But no, I do not blame my sons for what has happened to their uncle. I cannot even blame them for Faramir’s wound, for it was the corsairs who ultimately delayed my departure. It was the orcs and Nazgul that wounded my nephew and routed his men. It shall be these forces of Sauron that shall pay for my brother’s death, the fall of his house, and the invasion of our cities, for they are the ones responsible.
When I saw Theoden King laid out before my brother’s empty chair, it had shocked me. Holding Faramir, knowing Boromir wouldn’t be there to look after him, and seeing Denethor’s guarded grief as I arrived had been disquieting, certainly, but a part of me could pretend that these were only the ephemeral sorrows of a battle gone wrong, but not yet lost. I would not let myself believe that the war was lost when we faced another fight on the heels of our arrival. The combat itself was less sorrowful than others I have encountered; for who should arrive on the black-sailed boats but old Thorongil himself, bearing the standard of Elendil? I always did like the man, even if he does seem a bit mad at times. It was afterwards, once the rumors had begun to reach my ears and I had found young Eomer mourning for his sister and uncle that the thrill of triumph began to feel hollow. Denethor, you poor bastard, you missed your city’s victory. We may all yet be swept away like sand in the tide, but we are not finished yet.
Denethor is gone. Faramir is in no condition to lead, so the defense of Gondor falls to my shoulders. Well, if my boys were so insistent upon coming here, I may as well accept that they will be equally insistent to follow me to Mordor, but now I might convince at least one of them to stay for Faramir. In the end of all things as I know them, it’s nice not to be alone.
Title: Born Warrior
Fandom: LotR
Characters: Finduilas/Denethor, and references to Ecthelion and Boromir
Prompt: 3: A place between sleep and awake; end of innocence, unending masquerade
Word Count:227
Rating: G
Summary: Finduilas can't sleep.
Author's Notes: Pure fluff. Not mine.
The babe kicks again, and she gives up on sleeping comfortably tonght. She, at least, can afford to drowse off tomorrow. She lies quiet, despite the child’s movement, and studies the man next to her.
She could never tell him that he snores. One so dignified as her husband could never snore. Yet he does, and the sound of his breathing calms her, when the nightmares come and the baby fights restlessly against his mother’s fears. She puts a hand to her belly, trying to pacify the little warrior within her. Already, she is sure she’s going to have a boy. While she admits that she and her sister were not the easiest children to deal with, she doubts that any girl of her line could be quite so tireless in her assault upon her mother’s womb.
He is proud of her, of course, and looks forward to having a son, an heir. Still, she knows that he secretly hopes for a girl-child, this time. He is still too nervous, too afraid that he’ll end up just the same as his father and unable to love his own brood in the urge to shape them into the warrior-diplomats that Gondor needs. A daughter, at least, would not need to learn to fight. Finduilas tells him that this son won’t need to learn, either. This one already knows.
Title: End of an Age
Fandom: LotR
Characters: Imrahil, Denethor, Finduilas, and family, Eomer, and Aragorn
Prompt: 38: It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine
Word Count:755
Rating: PG
Summary: The battle for Minas Tirith changes many things for Imrahil.
Author's Notes: Not my characters. "Thorongil" would have been routing pirates off the coasts of Gondor when Imrahil was in his early twenties, so he'd probably recognize the name.
I heard before the battle was over. Gandalf had done his best to keep things under control, but it’s hard to hide things from a man who had grown up with two elder sisters. We tend to keep one ear to whispers of the servants and soldiers, and learn quickly enough how to sort truth from exaggeration.
When I’d first heard, I wouldn’t have believed it, if had I not carried the poor boy home myself. My brother-in-law was not a man given to grand displays of emotion; not before his marriage, and especially not since Finduilas died. I had not gotten the chance to see him since Boromir’s death, but in his letters, - he had been calm in his letters. His handwriting was as neat as a scribe’s, and the sheets were clean, save from travel-dust. If he had thrown away earlier copies of his missives, I would not know it.
I wish I might have come earlier. I wish I might have met him under different circumstances than carrying his last remaining child to him over my saddle. I meant only to comfort him with my words of Faramir’s bravery; how was I to know that the two of them had argued over such things just before the boy had left for Osgiliath? But if wishes were fishes, and good intentions were whales, the whole of Gondor might be well fed from my thoughts that day. I could not control Denethor’s mind, or the schemes of the enemy.
I did my best to get to Minas Tirith as quickly as I could round up the troops; and Valar help my wife and daughters in the defense of the coastline. Ainaelin has a good political head on her shoulders, and she’s helped me through sieges before. But neither she nor the girls know anything about battle plans, and Imphaelie has her baby son to take care of. One would think that Elphir, at least, would stay with his wife and child, and let me leave for the White City, so that I might fulfill my duties to country, lord, and brother. My heir, bless his damned hide, asked me in return why I did not stay with my wife, child, and country. I’m convinced that all three of our boys have entirely too much of their mother’s stubbornness and my sense of honor. The combination may not be as dramatic as Denethor’s sharp tongue and Finduilas’s pride, but it’s nearly as deadly.
But no, I do not blame my sons for what has happened to their uncle. I cannot even blame them for Faramir’s wound, for it was the corsairs who ultimately delayed my departure. It was the orcs and Nazgul that wounded my nephew and routed his men. It shall be these forces of Sauron that shall pay for my brother’s death, the fall of his house, and the invasion of our cities, for they are the ones responsible.
When I saw Theoden King laid out before my brother’s empty chair, it had shocked me. Holding Faramir, knowing Boromir wouldn’t be there to look after him, and seeing Denethor’s guarded grief as I arrived had been disquieting, certainly, but a part of me could pretend that these were only the ephemeral sorrows of a battle gone wrong, but not yet lost. I would not let myself believe that the war was lost when we faced another fight on the heels of our arrival. The combat itself was less sorrowful than others I have encountered; for who should arrive on the black-sailed boats but old Thorongil himself, bearing the standard of Elendil? I always did like the man, even if he does seem a bit mad at times. It was afterwards, once the rumors had begun to reach my ears and I had found young Eomer mourning for his sister and uncle that the thrill of triumph began to feel hollow. Denethor, you poor bastard, you missed your city’s victory. We may all yet be swept away like sand in the tide, but we are not finished yet.
Denethor is gone. Faramir is in no condition to lead, so the defense of Gondor falls to my shoulders. Well, if my boys were so insistent upon coming here, I may as well accept that they will be equally insistent to follow me to Mordor, but now I might convince at least one of them to stay for Faramir. In the end of all things as I know them, it’s nice not to be alone.