B2MeM Challenge The Steward and his Sons - Seek for the sword that was broken; Tolkien's Tree- Nimloth.. Facets of Faramir - Questioner. Last Lines- - was alive but taken by the enemy.

Format: 300 Word FLF

Genre: general,
Rating: PG

Warnings: None

Characters: Faramir

Pairings: none

Summary: Faramir worries about his brother

These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.

He should have been granted the errand. It was his dream! Faramir groaned in frustration and ran his hands through his dark hair. To be fair, Boromir had dreamed the same dream, but only after Faramir had recounted it to his brother. Maybe Boromir had sensed his thoughts as they had slept alongside each other on the eve of the battle. Alternatively, had he talked in his sleep and caused his brother to dream?

Why had his father decided to send Boromir? His brother could less easily be spared. Faramir had questioned his father but received no answers. He could guess them, though. Denethor did not trust him. He knew the old lore as well as his father did.

Many swords had been broken in countless battles against the enemy as well as in kinstrife. Only one broken sword was deemed worthy of remembrance, though, Narsil, the sword of Elendil that had been shattered beneath him. His son, Isildur had pulled the broken sword from beneath his father’s body and cut the thing of which we do not speak, from the Dark Lord’s hand. Mithrandir had told him the tale.

Could it be then that some heir of Elendil’s yet lived and breathed?

Faramir thought of other dreams that he had dreamed; of the White Tree, alive and blossoming, as fair as Nimloth of old. Beside the tree had stood a man, tall and mighty as Elendil himself, wearing a crown and bearing a sceptre. Faramir had knelt to pay him homage and the King had smiled.

Months had passed, though, and there was no news of Boromir. Had some mishap befallen him? Surely he would sense if Boromir had been slain? Or what if an even worse fate had befallen him? He was alive but taken by the enemy?

B2MeM Challenge Song lyrics - Even though you're a big strong girl the best laid plans are in your open hands. The Steward and his Sons - Seek for the sword that was broken; Tolkien's Tree- Nimloth.. Book Titles - Dead Poet's Society. Facets of Faramir - Questioner. Last Lines- - was alive but taken by the enemy.

Format: Double Drabble

Genre: general,
Rating: PG

Warnings: Total hokum to fit in my prompts until I could write something better as the Muses were being stubborn yesterday.

Characters: Faramir, Eowyn

Pairings: Faramir/ Eowyn

Summary: Faramir and Eowyn discuss poetry

These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.

“I do not understand why you are so keen on this “Dead Poets Society,” said Éowyn. “You should concentrate on living poets. You are a fine poet yourself, who can write poetry of your own, rather than merely study the words of men long dead.”

“Always so practical, my Éowyn!” Faramir kissed her. “Even though you’re such a strong woman, the best laid plans are your open hands!”

“There you go making up poems again,” said Éowyn. “It just proves what I said.”

“Your words are wise,” said Faramir. “I will suggest that each member of the society write a new poem and read it to the others at the next meeting we hold.”

“What shall the poem be about?” asked Éowyn.

 “Nimloth, of which our White Tree is a scion,” said Faramir. “Or maybe about the dream Boromir and I had, telling us to seek for the sword that was broken.

“Trust you to even write new poems on old lore!” said Éowyn.

“What would you have me write then?” Faramir questioned.

 “Why not write one about a poisoner, who killed all the poets of old? Or maybe the poets are still alive but taken prisoner by the enemy?”

Title – My Looks are Against Me

Author: Linda Hoyland

Characters/Pairing: Aragorn, Halbarad, OMCs, OFCs

Rating: PG

Warnings: None

Book/Source: LOTR book-verse

Disclaimer – Middle-earth belongs to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.

The two lads peered out from the side of the barn they were concealing themselves behind to observe the old woman disappearing down the lane.

“She won’t be back till sunset,” said one, a lanky young fellow with a birthmark disfiguring his cheek.

“How d' ye know, Will?” asked the other, a shorter youth with an unruly mob of brown hair.

“She be visiting Widow Appledore, and those two old biddies can talk a donkey’s hind leg off! Come on, Bob let’s be getting the eggs.”

“What if she guesses we took them?” Bob protested.

“They won’t,” Will said firmly. “Not when there be Rangers around. I saw two of the scoundrels hanging around here last night. We’ll take the eggs into Bree to sell and should make a tidy bit of brass for them.”

***

“My eggs have been stolen!” The woman’s cry drew the attention of her neighbours who hurried out of their cottages or in from the surrounding fields and gardens where they were working.

“What be wrong, Mistress Mugwort?” Will asked solicitously.

“I went into the hen house to collect my eggs to take to market and they have vanished, every one!” said the woman.

“What sort of despicable scoundrel would rob a poor old woman?” cried a man.

“There be Rangers in the area,” said Bob. “I saw two skulking around Mistress Appledore’s cottage last night.”

“Let’s find them and teach them a lesson they won’t forget!” said the man.

***

Aragorn and Halbarad were enjoying a leisurely luncheon in a field adjacent to Widow Appledore’s orchard. Hearing angry voices approaching they rose to their feet and prepared to draw their swords.

“These be those good for nothing Rangers I saw taking your eggs!” cried Bob.

“How dare you rob a poor old woman!” Mistress Mugwort accused them.

“We have robbed no one,” Aragorn said calmly, though he regarded the dozen or so angry country folk with dismay.

“What has gone missing?” Halbarad enquired.

“A full basket of eggs. When I looked this morning my hens had laid a fine clutch of large brown eggs and now they are gone! How could you do such a thing?” She dabbed her eyes with her apron.

“I assure, we did not, good lady,” Aragorn repeated.

“What’s that on your plates then?” said Mistress Appledore. “It looks like eggs to me!”

“A woman in Bree gave us half a dozen in exchange for mending her roof,” Aragorn explained.

“Fiddlesticks!” cried the man. “You stole them! Now have the decency to pay for them and apologise.”

“We stole nothing,” said Aragorn, his eyes gleaming.

“They should be put in the pillory!” said Mistress Mugwort.

“Or horsewhipped out of town!” cried Will.

“Thieves, filthy vagabonds!” shouted the man, spitting in the direction of the two Rangers.

Aragorn and Halbarad paused only to snatch up their packs before fleeing.

***

An hour or so later the Rangers flopped down exhausted behind a hedge.

“It seems our looks are against us, Aragorn remarked wryly once he had got his breath back.

“We try to help them and they repay us thus!” Halbarad said angrily. ”If they but knew who you were ...”

“They would not believe it if they did,” Aragorn replied taking a swig of water from his water skin.

“One day you will come into your own then those who reviled and falsely accused you will tremble, while others will cheer as you pass by,” said Halbarad.

Aragorn rose to his feet. “Come on, we cannot linger and brood on the matter. Orcs have been sighted in this area and will be abroad when night falls. We must be ready for them.”

****

Thirty years later

A crowd lined the roadside as the King and Queen ride through Bree. Amongst them were two men in their middle years, a tall man with a birthmark on his face and a stocky fellow with unruly greying hair.

The King reined in his horse and cried in a loud voice “Good people, you are all invited to a feast to celebrate my return to these lands.” Espying Nob whom he recalled from the Prancing Pony, he dismounted and went to speak to the Hobbit.

“It can’t be!” Will exclaimed.

“I be certain he be one of those Rangers who hung around here years back!” Bob replied.

“So what?” said Will.

“If he remembers us, we be in trouble,” Bob replied.

“Maybe you be right,” said Will. Not waiting to see if their suspicions were correct, the two fled.

“Whatever has got into those two?” a woman asked her neighbour.

“Who cares, there will be all the more food for us to enjoy,” the neighbour replied.

Aragorn smiled at the cheering crowd and recalled Halbarad’s words.

Title: Taking Root

Author Name: Linda Hoyland

Prompt: “Write or create art in which a character plants something. (What she or he plants can be literal or metaphorical!)”

Mortality, change, growth are key elements to define the different race in Middle-earth. Write a story or create art where these topics play a central role.

Summary: Aragorn plants the new White Tree.

Rating: G

Warnings: none

Beta: none

Author's Notes: A prequel to my story "The White Tree."

Aragorn carried the sapling as carefully as one might carry a new- born babe. In his heart, it indeed represented his future hopes of children, as well as the land he yearned to see blossom under his rule.

The guards in the Court of the Fountain at first looked aghast when he ordered them to uproot the withered tree and bear it to the Rath Dinen. Their grim expressions relaxed into smiles, though, when they beheld the new sapling.

They looked even more horrified when he requested a spade be brought and he rolled up his sleeves and began to turn over the earth with it in preparation for planting the sapling. Nothing could spoil the joyous mood Aragorn was in that day. He grinned at them and said, “I engaged in far more arduous labours during my long years as a Ranger. Becoming King has not rendered me entirely helpless!”

A small crowd had gathered to see what was happening in the usually serene Court of the Fountain. Aragorn ignored them and concentrated on his labours. Although the old tree had withered and died many years ago, the soil had been as lovingly tended as if it were yet alive. It was rich and fertile. Any weeds that had dared to grow there had swiftly been uprooted. The precious sapling should thrive and flourish in such a spot. Aragorn hoped. Maybe, though he should have asked Samwise Gamgee to help him plant it? Unlike the Hobbit, Aragorn was not renowned for his gardening skills. But no, this tree was the symbol of Elendil’s line- his line. It was fitting that his should be the hands that planted it here just as Isildur’s hands had planted its forebear.

Aragorn knelt and placed the sapling tenderly in the ground then arranged the soil around the roots with his bare hands. Around him, the crowd murmured and gasped. He could hear Gandalf chuckling softly beside him

Once satisfied with his handiwork, Aragorn stood up and turned to address the crowd, “Behold your new White Tree!” he said. “Long it lay hidden in a secret Hallow. Now may it flourish and blossom in the sight of all!”

The crowd cheered.

Aragorn stepped back and turned around again to contemplate the freshly planted tree. It was wondrous fair to behold. The leaves sparkled like pure mithril, reflected in the droplets from the fountain.

For the first time that day, Aragorn felt a pang of regret for his impulsiveness. Maybe he should have asked the other members of the Fellowship to watch him plant the tree, not to mention his Steward. Instead, apart from Gandalf, only a handful of guards and passers-by had seen what he hoped would be a turning point in Gondor’s history. No matter, though, he would be able to surprise them with the new sapling.

Aragorn continued to gaze at the tree. In his mind’s eye, he saw it covered with blossom, miraculously adorned to greet the coming of his bride.

Prompt: “A person whose head is bowed and whose eyes are heavy cannot look at the light.”~ Christine de Pisan 

Format: Ficlet 

Genre: Angst 

Rating: G 

Warnings: None 

Characters: Galadriel 

Pairings: Aragorn/Arwen

Galadriel slowly turned the key in the chest and took out the jewel. Its green light glittered and shimmed across her hand. It was a beautiful thing, the Elessar, as was everything made by the hands of the skilled Elven craftsmen of old. The very light of the sun was contained within the crystal. 

Galadriel sighed. They were all gone now; Enerdhil , Celebrimbor and the other masters of old. Vanished like the mists through long centuries of war and darkness. Darkness that been unleashed with the destruction of the Two Trees. 

Often she wondered how different her life might have been had Melkor not destroyed the Two Trees. When she closed her eyes, she could still see their glorious light, a light so different from that given now by the sun and moon. 

If the Trees still stood, she doubted that she would have been moved to seek adventure in Middle-earth. Fëanor who had led them hence, had ever been a troublemaker. She did not regret refusing him a strand of her hair. He always presumed too much. She had no love for him, yet she grieved the passing of his skills with his death. 

Maybe, though, the crafting of jewels such as the Silmarils, was hubris for any save the Powers. The one that yet survived now gave light to all from Eärendil's craft. Maybe that was how it should be? 

She looked again at the Elessar. It had been hidden away for too long. Maybe, if they survived the coming war, this jewel and he who was destined to bear it, might bring much-needed healing to the land. 

Ere he departed from her realm, she would place it in his hand. It would enhance the latent powers within Eärendil's scion and give him hope that the reward he yearned for above all else would be his. 

Galadriel sighed and tears pricked her eyes. It should not have been she who handed him the bride gift, but her daughter. Celebrian, her beloved only child, so cruelly used by Sauron's minions that she had left the shores of Middle-earth. What would her daughter have made of Arwen's choice of husband? Galadriel hoped only that she could comfort her and make her understand once they were reunited. 

Love was a strange thing. Arwen had had her pick of Elven kind, yet only one of the Second Born had stirred her heart. Not for the first time, Galadriel wondered if she had been wise to encourage the match. She believed it was fated to be and only a fool tries to prevent what must be. 

Her friendship with Melian had taught her many things not least the influence of the Powers beyond what the eye might perceive. She missed Melian. So many she had known and loved were now far across the sundering seas. 

Aragorn's heart was one of the noblest she had ever perceived in either Man or Elf, though. Arwen's joy might be brief, but she had chosen well and through her and Aragorn, some trace of the glories of old might yet linger in Middle-earth. 

Galadriel wiped a tear from her eyes. Darkness was gathering all around them. Even if Frodo succeeded in his mission there would be little joy ahead for her. Nenya's power would wane and the realm she had worked so hard to build would fade away without its craft. 

And yet, she foresaw that there might yet be light ahead, if not for her, for her beloved granddaughter. She must hold her head high and seek that light. 

Today, Aragorn would have the Elessar with her blessing. The one time Eagle of the Star would bear the green jewel in its eagle setting. 

The gem caught the sun's rays and sparkled. Maybe it was a sign. Dawn would break even after the longest night of sorrow. Galadriel walked out into a sunlit glade, her hair sparkling like molten gold.

Title: All that Remains

Author Name: Linda Hoyland

Prompt: Tolkien's stories frequently feature cities, dynasties, or entire groups of people who rise and then fall in importance. Write or create art about a place or group that is no longer important.

Summary: Galadriel reflects on the passing of the ages.

Rating: PG

Beta: none

Author's Notes: 500 word FLF

Galadriel walked slowly past the Mallorns for the last time. The trees were fairer still in the Blessed Realm, but she would miss the kingdom that she and Celeborn had so lovingly created together.

She knew full well that she ought never to have left the Utmost West, but in her youth, her heart had yearned for adventure and glory. She could not regret her time here, though.

Now the One Ring was no more, Nenya's power had faded. Galadriel felt weary of heart. Her great strength faded, together with the enchantment of her realm. The sea longing now tormented her night and day. It was time to sail. She yearned to hold Celebrian in her arms again, though she dreaded telling her that none of her children had accompanied her on the ship. Together with Elrond, she would have to tell her of Arwen's choice and that Elladan and Elrohir had not yet decided.

Galadriel wished she could stay a little longer to see how her beloved granddaughter fared in the world of Men. She would have liked to have held one of the babes that would surely be born to her in her arms. She wondered if any of Arwen's children would reassemble Celebrian with her glorious silver hair.

She was glad that Celeborn had agreed to remain in Middle-earth for a time for Arwen's sake. Galadriel knew that Aragorn would be the most loving husband to her granddaughter, but Arwen needed some of her own kinsfolk nearby too. There were some things that only they could understand, that not even the most Elvish of Men could comprehend. She would miss him, but it would be worth a brief parting to learn of any children that might be born to Arwen.

Arwen had chosen a strange doom indeed. Sometimes, Galadriel wondered if she had been right to encourage Aragorn to woo her granddaughter, but in her heart, she knew it had to be. No other heart could have loved Arwen so, unless it were her own!

Galadriel sighed deeply. This was now a world of Men, not Elves. Once the glorious elvish kingdoms had filled Middle-earth. Now very little remained of them. Lothlórien would soon be deserted and forgotten. Only Thranduil's Kingdom, Rivendell, and Legolas' new colony in Ithilien yet remained. Galadriel could foresee a time when no Elves at all remained in Middle-earth. The glory of her people had diminished and was fast fading.

Throughout her long life, she knew it was ever thus, that kingdoms rose and fell. Her heart was still filled with sadness, though. Then she thought of Arwen, glowing with happiness on her wedding day and an old prophecy came into her mind Never shall that line fail, though the years may lengthen beyond count. She was filled with foresight. Her mind's eye perceived Aragorn and Arwen's descendants across years without count.

Yes, The Elves were fading but through Arwen, a trace of Elven magic would forever remain within the world of Men.

B2MeM Challenge: Zeal

"Be he friend or foe or foul offspring

of Morgoth Bauglir, be he mortal dark

that in after days on earth shall dwell,

shall no law nor love nor league of Gods,

no might nor mercy, not moveless fate,

defend him for ever from the fierce vengeance

of the sons of Feanor, whoso seize or steal

or finding keep the fair enchanted

globes of crystal whose glory dies not,

the Silmarils. We have sworn for ever!"

Format: 300 word ficlet

Genre: general

Rating: G

Warnings: none

Characters: Aragorn, OMC

Pairings: none

Summary: Aragorn faces opposition to change

Disclaimer: The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.

A/n. This ficlet is a sort of footnote to my story “Oaths of Allegiance”

http://lindahoyland.livejournal.com/448785.html 





Aragorn looked up from the papers he was working on as the Master of Ceremonies was shown in. “You wished to see me, Master Mardil?” he enquired.

“Yes, my lord. I thank you for taking the time to speak to me. I am most concerned about the oaths that were taken this morning.”

Aragorn replaced his quill in the inkpot and sighed. “What troubles you, Master Mardil?” he asked. “I thought the ceremony went well and hope tomorrow’s goes as smoothly.”

Mardil cleared his throat. “There is a problem, my lord. I fear you have been misinformed over the order of the words in the oath of allegiance.”

Aragorn raised his eyebrows. “Really? I thought I knew the words well.”

“I am sure that you do, sire, but the oath ends fealty with love, valour with honour, oath-breaking with vengeance. Today you said valour with honour, oath-breaking with vengeance; fealty with love. ”

“Indeed, I did, Master Mardil. Such was my intention.”

Mardil looked shocked. “My lord!” he protested. “The wording of the oath has been unchanged in almost a thousand years! It is unthinkable.”

Aragorn regarded him with a steely gaze. “Why should the wording not be changed? Does it make the oath less binding?”

“No, my lord, but it goes against tradition and protocol!”

“Some traditions are outmoded and benefit from change. I appreciate your zeal for tradition, Master Mardil, but the wording of the oath as it stood with the emphasis on vengeance reminded me over much of the oath of Fëanor and his sons. This is a new age. I would hope I can rule with love rather than vengeance.”

“But, my lord!”

“You may leave me now.”

Aragorn sighed as Mardil strutted off. It seemed he had exchanged fighting Orcs to battling over- zealous officials.

“My lady!” Aragorn gave an exaggerated bow then lifted Arwen from Roheryn’s back.

She laughed a sound like music to his ears. Of late, her spirits had been low. Especially in springtime, she missed the natural beauty of her Elven homeland and felt oppressed by the city of stone in which she now dwelt.

Concerned for their friends’ well- being, Faramir and Éowyn had invited the royal family to visit them in Ithilien.

Tonight, clad only in their night attire beneath their cloaks, Aragorn and Arwen had both ridden upon Roheryn to spend the night in a secluded glade beneath the stars.

Hand in hand, they walked beneath a row of birches that shone like silver in the moonlight.

“Do you recall the first time that we met?” asked Aragorn.

“How could I forget? You came upon me at sunset as I walked beneath the birches. You stirred my heart even then.”

“And I loved you from that moment onwards.”

They paused and kissed each other tenderly upon the lips. Their pulses quickened. At last, they broke apart and Aragorn spread the blankets they had brought upon the ground.

They lay down upon them. The moonlight illuminated the surrounding cypress clad hills. The air was laden with their aromatic fragrance mingled with spring blossoms.

“If you hold me really tight,” said Arwen, “then Arda holds you and you alone.”

Aragorn sighed contentedly and held her close. “It feels so much more private here than in our bedchamber,” he said. “We are far from the tongues of serpents that gossip ceaselessly and watch our every move.”

“In this spellbound night the world’s an Elvish sight,” Arwen whispered. She lay looking up at the stars. “I sense Varda’s presence here. See how brightly her stars shine upon us!”

Aragorn followed her gaze. “Behold the Star of Eärendil!” he said. “Brightest of all the stars, our forefather smiles down upon us from his ship.” His fingers caressed her soft cheek. In the moonlight, her skin glowed softly. “Your beauty, beloved, outshines the brightest star!” He ran his fingers through her long, silken tresses.

A nightingale began to sing in a nearby bush.

Arwen slipped her hand beneath Aragorn’s nightshirt and ran her fingers across his broad chest. He quivered with pleasure at her touch, his skin tingling as her slender fingers met his skin.

“You are slender as the birch and stronger than the oak!” said Arwen. “Estel, my husband, my beloved!”

He silenced her with kisses, which she eagerly returned.

Blood turned to fire, hearts beat swifter than the arrow’s flight. Passion surged, rising and falling like waves upon breaking upon the shore.

Arwen groaned with ecstasy. How strong her husband was and yet how tender! The mighty warrior was a tender wooer, who strove ever to make her pleasure equal to his own.

Tonight, the stars bore witness to their union, two bodies melting into one, two souls entwining in perfect harmony. King and Queen, man and woman, husband and wife.

Title – The Teacher

Author: Linda Hoyland

Characters/Pairing

Rating: G

Warnings: None

Book/Source: LOTR book-verse

Disclaimer – Middle-earth belongs to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.

The father and his two children walked through the peaceful country lanes together.

"What bird is that?" asked his son, espying a black and white bird a little way ahead of them.

"A wagtail. See how his tail wags when he moves."

"Can you eat those?" his daughter enquired when they passed a tree laden with scarlet berries.

"No, they taste bitter, but you can make medicine from them. Now, those berries on the far side of the lane are good to eat, but the nightshade plant beside them is poisonous." The man paused and pointed to some hardly noticeable tracks in the grass. "Look, a deer and her baby have passed by here! Shall we follow the trail?"

"Yes please!" the children chorused excitedly.

A little while later the family caught a glimpse of a doe suckling her fawn. The children gasped in wonder.

"How do you know so much, daddy?" asked the little girl.

The man paused, lost in thought. "When I was a lad, twenty years or more ago, I worked for old Butterbur in the Pony," he replied. "Rangers, strange wandering men, would sometimes call at the inn. We were all scared of such grim looking folk. Then one of them took ill and had to bide a while at the inn. Butterbur said I must take him his meals. I was right scared, but it turned out he was kindly enough once you got to know him. While he was recovering, he taught me all manner of interesting things that I never forgot."

"What was his name?" asked the boy.

"He called himself Strider."

"And what happened to him?" asked the little girl.

"I don't rightly know, but I'd hazard a guess that the poor man perished in some lonely ditch. He was a fine woodsman and taught me well; but I fear no good came of such a wild, grim fellow!"

B2MeM Challenge; Rangers of the North- Annuminas; Facets of Faramir- Diplomat; Landscape-glacier, Beasts – toad; weather- hot; Snippets of verse – I am the swift uplifting rush
Format: short story

Genre: general

Rating: G

Warnings: none
Characters: Faramir

Pairings: none

Summary: Faramir receives a frosty welcome in Annúminas

These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.

Faramir shivered and burrowed more deeply into the blankets. He was beginning to feel it had been a mistake to come here to Annúminas to address the Council of the North. The welcome he had received felt as cold as the biting north wind that blew across Lake Nenuial. Everyone treated him with respect and spoke politely, but their eyes remained unsmiling when they beheld the emblems of Gondor upon his clothing and heard his southern speech.

His mind drifted back to a hot summer day in Ithilien when he had told Aragorn that together with Éowyn and the children, he planned to visit Rohan that autumn. Aragorn had suggested that he should extend his travels to Annúminas while he was in the North and convey to the Council the King's greetings, as well as seeing the restored city. On a summer's day, surrounded by blossom and the humming of bees, it had seemed a good idea.

Annúminas was indeed as beautiful as Aragorn had described it. The rebuilding had been supervised by Aragorn's foster brothers and the City had an almost Elven feel to its graceful towers. The view from Faramir's window was as fair as anything Minas Tirith could offer with the clear waters of Lake Nenuial surrounded by graceful towers.

Faramir had left Éowyn with her brother in Edoras so that they could spend more time together and, apart from his guards, had travelled here alone.

Apart from the few friends he had in the City, it was obvious that the Men of the North had little love for the Men of the South. When he requested a hot brick to warm his bed with, the innkeeper's look suggested he had requested a pink Mûmak rather than a humble brick!

Faramir felt it was hardly surprising since Arvedui's claim to the throne of Gondor had been rejected, which had been the start of centuries of decline in the North. It had not helped either that Faramir's father had openly referred to the line of Isildur as a ragged house as if the Dúnedain of the North were some sort of barbarians! Such words would have got back to the proud Men of Arnor.

Faramir ran over in his mind the words of the speech that he planned to give on the morrow. It would take all his diplomatic skills if he were to make a favorable impression and strengthen the ties between Aragorn's twin kingdoms. Finally, he fell into a restless sleep.

His slumber was filled with vivid dreams. He was giving his speech in the council chamber of Annúminas with Mithrandir while the counselors jeered at him. Mithrandir pointed his staff at them and they were transformed into toads that hopped away and disappeared into the lake.

The lake was then transformed into a glacier and Faramir was sliding along it unable to stop. Aragorn suddenly appeared and caught him just as he was about to fall.

Faramir awoke to find that the bed covers had fallen off and he was perched precariously on the edge of the bed. He wondered why he should dream of a glacier, as he had never seen one, only read about them in his books of history and of lore in the stories of the Ice-Men of Forochel and Grinding Ice that Fingolfin's people crossed over. He did sometimes dream of Mithrandir but usually, in the dreams, the Wizard was answering Faramir's questions as he had done during their long friendship.

Faramir pulled the covers around himself again, put the now cold brick in the hearth and put some more wood on the dwindling fire. He climbed back into bed and finally fell deeply asleep.

When he next awoke, it was morning and sunlight was streaming into the room. Rather to his surprise, his apprehension from the night before concerning his speech had disappeared. Maybe his dream of them being turned into toads had helped as he could not but smile when he thought of the image. Faramir partook of a hearty breakfast and dressed himself in robes embroidered with the emblem of the White Tree.

The Council Chamber was packed when Faramir rose to speak. Most of the faces were suspicious or openly hostile. Only a handful of men, whom Faramir had been introduced by Aragorn to in the past, looked friendly. His Hobbit friends were occupied with the late harvest and his other Northern friends were not on the Council.

"Men and women of Arnor," Faramir began. "It is a great honor and privilege to be here amongst you today. Too long our realms have been sundered allowing mistrust and suspicion to grow amongst our people. Alas, that the Men of Gondor often forgot the courage of their Kinsfolk in the North. Much sorrow might have been avoided, had but my ancestor Pelendur chosen more wisely when King Arvedui would have reunited the two kingdoms long ago.

Today though, we live in happier times and our two realms are reunited under the gracious rule of King Aragorn Elessar. He has sent me to you today with his greetings. No greater man than he now lives and the day I yielded Gondor to him was the happiest of my life.

King Aragorn Elessar is a son of the North, strong and true, who first came to Gondor as a humble Captain, where he won great renown. Now he sits on his the rightful throne of his ancestors, but though he is not here with you today, his heart is ever in the North and this fair city he has rebuilt.

I am proud to serve King Aragorn Elessar, my rightful liege lord, who won back the throne of his ancestors, not by conquest of arms, but through the love of his people. To him, I owe not only my love and allegiance but also my life.

Today, I bring greetings from Gondor to her sister realm, in every way her equal."

There was a brief silence in the hall then a swift uplifting rush swept through the crowd as they cheered and applauded Faramir.

The Steward smiled. He had actually enjoyed giving the speech once he started. He had cast his notes aside and spoken from his heart and the Men of the North had recognised and appreciated that.

Today's Challenge:
"Darkness is only driven out with light, not more darkness."
-Martin Luther King, Jr.

Write a story or poem or create artwork where your character battles and overcomes their darkest hour.

Title: The Price of Love
Author: Linda Hoyland
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn,Ecthelion, Denethor,Arwen
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
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.

Aragorn sat in his cabin, staring through the porthole. They would soon reach land and he would have to leave its sanctuary. Above him, he could hear his comrades still celebrating their victory over the Corsairs far into the night.

If only he could return with them and deliver the tidings of victory himself to Ecthelion! He loved the old Steward dearly, and knew that love was returned. Why, though did love have to be so destructive? The first man he had loved as a father was now somewhat cold towards him because of his love for Arwen. He had come to Gondor in the hope of winning renown and with it the love of Elrond's daughter and his foster father's consent to woo her.

He had found the honours he sought in Gondor and more,the fatherly love of her Steward, Ecthelion. Aragorn had never sought to take Ecthelion's love from his son and heir, Denethor,but despite his attempts to be but a faithful Captain, his bond with the Steward had grown. Aragorn could imagine the father he had never known as being not unlike the Steward, while Ecthelion had yearned for someone who would give him the warmth and affection that Denethor was so loth to express.

Denethor had grown to hate Aragorn for the bond that had formed with his father and had set about trying to discover his true identity. Aragorn was certain now that Denethor knew he was heir to the throne of Gondor, as did his father. What he feared was the use either might make of that knowledge.

Ecthelion loved him, maybe more than he loved the son of his loins;the old Steward also loved Gondor and if he thought a King would renew her will to fight against Mordor, he might well offer the crown to his favourite Captain in the aftermath of so great a victory. That was,if Thorongil could produce the proofs that he were indeed Isildur's heir. He would move swiftly while he were still Steward,knowing his son had other plans.

As for Denethor, Aragorn was certain that the Ecthelion's heir was doing all in his power to discredit him. As well as Denethor's open attempts to damage his reputation,there had been too many pretty girls in taverns offering themselves to him, and strangers trying to get him to overindulge in drink for such matters to be mere coincidences. If Denethor could not discredit him, what else might he do, slip a knife under his ribs in a dark alley, challenge him to open combat? He doubted the former, though jealousy could drive a man mad, while the latter could lead to war and brother fighting against brother. Such a fatally weakened realm would then fall easily into Sauron's clutches.

Aragorn knew he must leave, but to do so now! He cared about his men and many were good friends. It would hurt Ecthelion so much,maybe damage his already failing health. Would the old man ever understand that Aragorn had acted out of love both for him and for Gondor by leaving?

Then if he left now would he ever return? Denethor would never offer him the crown. Would his son be any different or even his grandson? It would be too late to win Arwen's hand in marriage. How could he ask her to forsake the life of the Elder for a few short years at his side?

Aragorn looked out again. They were about to make land at Dol Amroth. The white sands and the great castle gleamed in the moonlight. This land was so fair!

The moon then vanished behind a cloud plunging everywhere into darkness. Aragorn felt the darkness in his heart was even deeper. Surely this was his grimmest hour.

He placed letters and reports he had written on the table in his cabin, including a note for Ecthelion and his son. Then gathering his belongings together, he prepared to slip away into the night.

B2MeM Challenge Roles and names of Aragorn1- king; Carolling- You could almost say it glowed;Canon couples Earendil/Elwing; Emotions- courage; Facets of Faramir - mentor;Book Titles: Skin and Other Stories
Format: ficlet

Genre: general

Rating: G

Warnings: none

Characters: Aragorn, Faramir

Pairings: Earendil/Elwing

Summary: Aragorn is suspicious of Faramir's loyalty.

These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.

Aragorn was starting to have suspicions about his Steward. He instinctively liked the young man, and had sensed a noble spirit when he had called him forth from the darkness in which the Black Breath had trapped him. Now, though, the King was beginning to wonder if Faramir was not all he seemed to be.

In the days following his coronation, Aragorn had several times observed his Steward making his way towards a disreputable part of the City without his guards in attendance. When he had greeted him, Faramir had flushed and looked uncomfortable, though he denied anything was wrong. As a healer, Aragorn knew that skin told its own story.

The King began to wonder if Faramir regretted handing over power to him. He was, after all, Denethor's son and his family had ruled Gondor for almost a thousand years unchallenged.

One afternoon, after seeing Faramir furtively slip away yet again, Aragorn decided to follow him. He needed to be able to trust his Steward completely if they were to work in harmony together to rebuild Gondor. Most likely his suspicions were completely unjustified, but he needed to know.

Using all his Ranger skills to move stealthily, Aragorn followed Faramir down to the first circle. The war damage was severe here and most of the buildings were in need of repair. Faramir entered a house, which was intact save for the windows.

Aragorn could hear voices inside. At first a murmur and then Faramir's voice, strong and clear.

"I know the times are hard for you children," said Faramir. "But have courage. The King is returned. Moreover, is he not of the line of Eärendil and Elwing? Remember how Eärendil alone was brave enough to summon help from the Valar when Middle-earth faced the greatest hour of need? Elwing despaired and cast herself into the sea, but Lord Ulmo changed her into a great white bird. Now she and her husband sail across the night sky in the Vingilot while the light from the Silmaril on the prow brings hope to Men."

Aragorn felt himself flushing with shame at his unjust suspicions. He inwardly debated what to do next. He felt like slinking away but knew that was the coward's way. He would have courage.

The King knocked on the door. It was answered by a flustered looking young woman, with such rosy cheeks you could almost say they glowed. She obviously did not recognise him. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"I believe Lord Faramir is here," said the King. "May I speak to him?"

"Of course," said the young woman. "We are much indebted to Lord Faramir. He is such a wonderful man and a kindly mentor to the orphans here. He pays for their food and lodging and cheers and inspires the children by telling them stories."

At the mention of his name, Faramir joined the woman in the doorway. He gestured for her to return to the children before speaking to Aragorn. "I promise I am not neglecting my work, sire," he said. "I shall finish the report you asked me to write before the morning."

"Do not fret about the report, Lord Faramir," said Aragorn. "I confess I was curious why you were visiting this part of the City. Now that I know. I would learn how I might best help these children. The Royal Treasury will pay for anything they need."

Faramir beamed. "I will tell Mistress Haleth," he said. "I was just about to bis her and the children farewell."

King and Steward walked back to the Citadel together.

"I apologise for my intrusion, Faramir," said Aragorn. "I should not have followed you."

"I should have told you about the orphans, sire, but I feared you would think me neglectful of my duties as Steward."

"You do not have to tell me how you spend your free time," said Aragorn. "You are a good and conscientious man, Faramir. I would have you tell me if know there is need, though, that I might help."

"I was wondering, sire." Faramir hesitated.

"Please ask of me what you will."

"I was wondering if I might accompany you to visit the orphans,"

"The children would be delighted to meet you, my lord."

As they reached their apartments, King and Steward went their separate ways. Aragorn returned to his chamber with much to think upon. As King, he knew now he must get to know his people and learn their needs. He also needed to get to know his Steward better. The young man remained an enigma as he resisted all Aragorn's attempts to befriend him. Yet Aragorn could sense the young man liked him. Why then was he so uneasy in his King's company?

March 28: Gondor

Title: Defender of the White Tree

Author: Linda Hoyland

Characters/Pairing: Aragorn,OCs

Rating: PG

Warnings: OC death

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:

There was no avoiding it; the letter had to be composed...

Who will receive this letter? An uncle? A lover? The High-King? Why is there "no avoiding it"? Circumstances? Or is Mother watching with arms crossed? Will the letter be written in haste? Or will each phrase be meticulously crafted?

Write a story or poem inspired by this line (you do not need to use the exact quote), or create a piece of art that reflects this situation.

There was no avoiding it; the letter had to be composed Aragorn sighed deeply as he picked up the pen. Out of all his duties as King, this was the one of those he liked the least. If a man had given his life for Gondor, though, the very least he could do was write a letter of condolence to their loved ones.

Mercifully in these times of peace it was not something that he had to do very often, but there were still skirmishes with surviving groups of Orcs or rebel groups of Southrons or Easterlings, and fighting led to casualties.

This particular death saddened him especially. Denborn had been one of the Citadel Guards, a likeable young fellow with a wife and small daughter. He recalled one morning seeing the young woman in the Court of the Fountain, clutching her little girl's hand when Denborn had first been given the honour of guarding the White Tree. The child had been puzzled why her daddy could not talk to her while on duty.

The King had been passing and had stopped to explain to the child a little about why the tree was special to all the people of Gondor.

A Citadel Guard's duties were mainly ceremonial, which made matters even worse for the bereaved family. Whoever could have foreseen that a mad man would attack the White Tree with an axe? Denborn had hurled himself in front the tree to protect it and had been brutally cut down before his comrades could overpower the lunatic.

The tree bore only a small cut upon its trunk as result of the attack,but a good man was dead as result.

Aragorn dipped his quill in the ink and began to write; praising Denborn's courage and devotion to duty. The words sounded hollow and patronising to him, even as he penned them. He remembered so clearly the little girl asking him if the tree was more important to her father than she was. He had assured her it was not. Now the child was bereft of her father on account of that tree! She was too young to understand that this tree represented the very soul of Númenor, the spirit that Sauron could not destroy; sprung from the fruit that Isildur had almost given his life for. Denborn's name would be added to a list of great heroes who had fought to preserve the Tree and all it stood for over the ages.

Aragorn picked up the letter. He had met these people. He felt like a coward sending a letter of condolence instead of facing them.

He would visit the family and as well as delivering the letter. he would assure them that they would be provided for. If they were angry then would listen to them, and if they wept, he would weep with them, genuine tears for the loss of a precious life.

In defending the White Tree, Denborn had given his life for Gondor and her King.

B2MeM Challenge: Wisdom.
"And this the Valar did, desiring to amend the errors of old, especially that they had attempted to guard and seclude the Eldar by their own might and glory fully revealed; whereas now their emissaries were forbidden to reveal themselves in forms of majesty, or to seek to rule the wills of Men and Elves by open display of power, but coming in shapes weak and humble were bidden to advise and persuade Men and Elves to good, and to seek to unite in love and understanding all those whom Sauron, should he come again, would endeavour to dominate and corrupt."
Format: ficlet
Genre: friendship
Rating: PG
Warnings: mention of rape and murder
Characters: Aragorn, Faramir
Pairings: Aragorn/Arwen
Summary: Aragorn and Faramir discuss justice and mercy.
Disclaimer: The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.

"You look thoughtful, mellon nîn," said Aragorn. Together with his Steward, he returning to his apartments for the noonday meal after a morning spent judging and sentencing prisoners. Faramir had been invited to dine with the King and Queen as Éowyn was in Ithilien with the children.

"I was thinking that had my father judged those miscreants, they would be all facing the gallows rather than just one," Faramir replied.

Aragorn regarded his friend quizzically. "You disapprove?" he asked.

"Not at all. It gladdens my heart that you temper justice with mercy."

"They were very different cases," Aragorn said thoughtfully. "The first, I had no hesitation in condemning that tailor to death."

"Neither would I," said Faramir. "A man who violates a woman then kills her to silence her is lower than any wild beast."

"That was my view too," said Aragorn. "And a wild beast can neither be tamed nor trusted, so he had to die. The other prisoners, though, I felt deserved a second chance."

"A drunken brawl can too easily lead to tragedy," said Faramir. "That is one reason why I am careful not to partake of too much wine."

"It is not in your nature to be violent," said Aragorn. "You become sentimental after too much wine, unlike the mason I sentenced today. I am certain he did not mean to kill, though. It seemed sheer misfortune that the man he punched fell on his own sword when he landed and died as result."

"He was full of remorse," said Faramir.

"Which is why I sentenced him to exile in the North," Aragorn replied. "I doubt he will overindulge in drink again. In the North, he can build a new life far away from the family and friends of the man he killed."

"I feel for them," said Faramir.

"As do I," said Aragorn. "I have ordered that a part of the mason's wages must go to support the victim's family.

"A wise decision," said Faramir. "So too was your treatment of the deserter."

"The young fool!" Aragorn exclaimed. "Had he but asked, his captain would most likely have granted him leave to visit his newborn son. I pity the young man, but even more so the wife whom he has caused so much heartache. Then what must his comrades feel? They need to be able to trust one another on the battlefield completely."

"Your punishment was just," said Faramir. "Hard labour helping to refurbish the barracks and dismissal from the army. He should count himself fortunate. My father would have had him flogged, then hung. Those were different times, though."

"I was fortunate to have a very wise teacher," said Aragorn. "One of Gandalf's favourite sayings was "Do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement."

"Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them?" Faramir added. "He often said that to me too."

"We were fortunate to have him share his wisdom with us," said Faramir.

"Daily I try to live by it," said Aragorn. "The Valar sent him to teach men to unite against Sauron in love and understanding."

"Alas that my father did not heed him!" said Faramir.

"Even Saruman fell away from wisdom and he was one of the Istari like Gandalf," said Aragorn.

Just then a bell rang proclaiming the hour.

"We are late for the noonday meal," said Aragorn. "We must hurry. Arwen will be wondering where we are."

"No wise man keeps his lady waiting!" said Faramir and laughed.

B2MeM Challenge: Heroism

"At that time Nimloth was dark and bore no bloom, for it was late in the autumn, and its winter was nigh; and Isildur passed through the guards and took from the Tree a fruit that hung upon it, and turned to go. But the guard was aroused, and he was assailed, and fought his way out, receiving many wounds; and he escaped, and because he was disguised it was not discovered who had laid hands on the Tree. But Isildur came at last hardly back to Rómenna and delivered the fruit to the hands of Amandil, ere his strength failed him."

Format: short story

Genre: general, angst

Rating: PG

Warnings: alcohol consumption

Characters: Aragorn, Faramir, OMC

Pairings: none

Summary: Aragorn, Faramir and Tahir discuss the nature of heroism over a bottle of wine.

With thanks to Raksha

Aragorn stretched out his long legs across the cushions and took another sip of the wine, which Ambassador Tahir had produced for this evening at his house. The Harradrim drank wine only on special occasions, usually preferring mint or sherbet tea. Today, though, Tahir had opened a bottle to celebrate the Khan's birthday. It was a fine vintage that he had not tasted before. The taste was rich and fruity with a hint of spice. Aragorn had no idea that the Haradrim produced such fine wines. Those he had sampled during his travels in that land had been nowhere near as satisfying.

Beside him, Faramir drained his glass and licked his lips in obvious pleasure.

"Let me refill your glass, esteemed friend," said Tahir, pouring more wine into the Steward's glass. "You honour me, my esteemed friends, by partaking of this wine. It is grown in a fruitful oasis owned for countless generations by my honoured ancestors, may they forever dwell in the celestial Oasis!"

"We are honoured that you will share it with us, my friend," said Faramir, taking a sip from his overfull glass.

"You have not yet told us if you accept our invitation," said Aragorn, moving to sit upright against his cushions. "We would be delighted if you would come to our celebration of the war heroes. It would show all that peace exists between our lands after so many generations of warfare between us."

Tahir's brown eyes clouded over with sorrow. "I think not, esteemed friends. My presence would offend many."

"I would be honoured by your presence," said Faramir, reaching across to clasp Tahir's shoulder.

"The folk are offended are those who most need healing of the mental hurts they carry," said Aragorn. "Hatred is like a poison. I want to show my people that there is now a lasting peace between our lands and that there are good and courageous men who were once our enemies."

"I do not belong amongst heroes, esteemed friends," said Tahir. He took a long swallow of his wine. "I fought against those in the war whom I now know were right. The former Khan, cursed be his bones, told us that the Men of Gondor sought to conquer us and defile our women and enslave or kill our little ones. Therefore, I rode off to battle in the bodyguard of my honoured kinsman, who is now our glorious Khan."

"You were wounded, were you not?" asked Aragorn.

"It was but a scratch. I was carried from field, full of fear lest your men capture me and sacrifice me to your tree god as I had been told! So you see, esteemed friends. I have no place amongst heroes!"

"I think you have," said Aragorn. "You fought when you thought you were battling monsters. When the war was over, you came here to work for peace. That takes great courage. You should take your place alongside Faramir and me next week at the celebration."

Faramir, who had been listening to the conversation morosely, suddenly spoke.

"Éowyn is more worthy than I to stand by your side when we remember the heroes!"

Aragorn regarded his friend in astonishment. "But why, Faramir?"

"I did no great deeds during the war," the Steward replied. While my wife was slaying the Witch king, I was lying close to death!"

"From a wound received while fighting against hopeless odds," said Aragorn.

"But I did nothing heroic." Faramir took another swallow of the wine and slumped back against the cushions. "My brother was a mighty warrior, not I! I cannot compare with your great deeds! You fought at Helm's Deep then summoned the Army of the Dead, the fought at Pelennor Fields and then fought at the Black Gate and …."

"I think the wine has clouded your judgement, mellon nîn," Aragorn said, gently interrupting him. "It is stronger than what we are accustomed to. You will feel differently in the morning. What Frodo and Sam achieved excelled my deeds by far. We all had our parts to play, and you played yours with honour and courage. It takes especial courage to be a man who loves peace in times of war. You held your men together during the retreat from Osgiliath in the face of creatures that make my blood run cold, you went out to fight against hopeless odds, then bravest of all, you gave Frodo, Sam, and their burden safe passage through Ithilien, despite your father and lord's wrath. Some of the bravest heroes did not do their greatest deeds upon the battlefield. Isildur was a doughty warrior, but we remember him best for stealing a fruit from the White Tree under Sauron's nose!" He patted Faramir's shoulder comfortingly.

"Wise words, esteemed friend," said Tahir. "Lord Faramir has worked harder than any to bring about the treaty between Harad and Gondor and faced the wrath of many on both sides who prefer war! You are both heroes, my esteemed friends and I salute you! Let us drink a toast to heroes!"

"To heroes!" Faramir echoed him.

"To all our heroes of both war and peace!" said Aragorn, draining his glass.

Faramir began to sing softly in a pleasant baritone,

"It's of dear wine to you I'll sing,

And to dear wine I'll always cling,

I like my cup filled to the brim,

And I'll drink all you'd like to bring.

And it's oh, dear wine, thou art my darling,

And my joy both night and morning.

Before I'd part with you, my dear."

Aragorn took up the next verse in a sonorous bass,

Now since this liquor's all drunk up,

Methinks to you I'll hand this cup,

And when you've filled it up with rain,

I'll drink your health all 'round again.

Tahir hummed along to the tune and the three sang cheerfully until there was no wine left in the bottle.

A/n. The drinking song is adapted from a traditional one. Faramir saves Aragorn in several of my stories.

B2MeM Challenge: Vanity

""He it was that now rode out, and with him came only a small company of black-harnessed soldiery, and a single banner, black but bearing on it in red the Evil Eye. Now halting a few paces before the Captains of the West he looked them up and down and laughed.

'Is there anyone in this rout with authority to treat with me?' he asked. 'Or indeed with wit to understand me? Not thou at least!' he mocked, turning to Aragorn with scorn. 'It needs more to make a king than a piece of elvish glass, or a rabble such as this. Why, any brigand of the hills can show as good a following!'"

"And last of all the mounting wave, green and cold and plumed with foam, climbing over the land, took to its bosom Tar-Míriel the Queen, fairer than silver or ivory or pearls. Too late she strove to ascend the steep ways of the Meneltarma to the holy place; for the waters overtook her, and her cry was lost in the roaring of the wind."

Format: ficlet
Genre: angst, friendship.
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Characters: Aragorn, Faramir, OMC,OFC
Pairings: OMC/OFC
Summary: Aragorn and Faramir visit Tahir,
Disclaimer: The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.
A sequel to "Heroes"

"We should, of course, honour our heroes, but I confess I am always relieved when the ceremonies are over," said Aragorn. He leaned back against the cushions scattered across the floor in Tahir's residence and stretched out his long legs on the marble floor.

"I am thankful that your people accepted my presence, esteemed friends," said Tahir. "I feared that they might jeer at the sight of one who fought against them."

"I am glad they did not," said Faramir. He drained his cup of sherbet tea and placed the empty cup on the tray in front of him. "I was pleased to see how much loved my lady and the King are, but I too, am always glad when this day is over. It brings back too many memories." He closed his eyes and murmured. "My poor brother's death, my father's madness, the Nazgûl…" His voice trailed away.

"I recall how we set out to battle so proudly and so convinced that we would triumph," said Tahir. " I had no love for the false Lord of Gifts or the then Kha Khan who was his puppet, but I believed I was defending my family and homeland from a fearsome enemy. I knew some good men dwelt in the West, but I was certain their leaders wanted to destroy us. How deluded we were, esteemed friends! My worst memory is the fear I felt at our defeat. I was so afraid that my fair blossom would be dishonoured and my children killed or sold into slavery. We believed you would have done the same harm to us as we intended to do to you during those evil times!"

Aragorn sipped his tea thoughtfully. "Sauron has deceived many throughout the ages, my friend, not least the folk of Númenor, who in their foolish vanity sought to conquer Valinor after Sauron told them they would live forever if they did."

"I have heard something of the story, esteemed friend," said Tahir. "The people drowned did they not?"

"A great wave swallowed up Númenor and all who dwelt there," said Aragorn. "Some deserved their fate, but many others did not. I wept when I learned the story in my youth. Lore tells us that Ar-Pharazôn's Queen, Tar-Míriel, was a good woman, faithful to the law of the Valar. It is said that when the great wave approached, she tried to seek refuge on the holy mountain, Meneltarma, but the waters carried her away ere she reached the summit."

"That story grieves me too," said Faramir. "I hope that she found peace beyond the circles of the world."

"It troubles me sometimes that men like Ar-Pharazôn were of my kin," said Aragorn. "The Men of Númenor have done much good, but also much evil when they succumbed to vanity. One of my most disturbing memories of the war was the meeting with the Mouth of Sauron."

"It must have torn your heart to believe that Frodo and Sam were captured and being put to torment," said Faramir.

"It did truly," said Aragorn. "The thought made my blood run cold. What haunts me now, though, is that the Mouth of Sauron was once a Númenórean. Had I taken the Ring, which Frodo rightly said I had the right to, I would have become like that foul creature!" Aragorn shuddered and touched the green gem he wore upon his breast. "The Mouth of Sauron spoke of this precious gem as "a piece of elvish glass". If I had fallen under the Ring's influence; that is how I might have perceived it! The Mouth of Sauron was wholly evil; a minion of Sauron's utterly consumed with his own vanity. We gathered from his words that he had hopes of being Lord of Orthanc. Yet that foul creature was once a man like me!"

"Not like you at all!" said Faramir. "You have not a vain bone in your body! Never are happier than when you can go unnoticed amongst the humble folk."

"You sit beside us on the floor, esteemed Lord Aragorn and do not insist that we kneel before you," said Tahir. "Never would I have believed so a great and mighty lord would act with such humility. It seems that the Men of Númenor are much like the Men of Harad, a mixture of bad and good."

"You speak wisely, my friend," said Faramir.

Just then, Lady Adiva appeared with a plate of cakes flavoured with ginger and lavender. Behind her walked her faithful maid, Falah, bearing more tea.

Aragorn and Faramir greeted the lady and accepted a cake each from her and allowed Falah to fill their cups.

Aragorn took a bite and smiled. "I doubt that the Men of Númenor at her height ever produced such delicious cakes!" he exclaimed.

"Ah," said Lady Adiva. "That will be the ginger. It grows the lands of the Easterlings, esteemed friends. We trade our silks to obtain it and have done for many generations. It would honour me greatly if you would take some cakes for the esteemed Lady Arwen and Lady Éowyn."

"We would be happy to," said Aragorn. "Our ladies will much enjoy them."

"Will you sit with us for a while, my fair blossom?" said Tahir. "Our hearts are shadowed with memories of the dark days of the false Lord of Gifts. Speak to us of happier matters."

"Gladly, honoured husband," said Adiva, settling herself on one of the cushions beside Tahir. "I will tell you of the first time I saw the great spice caravans that cross our lands laden with ginger and other spices." I was but a child and so excited to see so many camels. They stretched as far as the eye can see, or so it seemed. I wanted to go with them and see faraway lands." She gazed fondly at her husband. "Now I have travelled much further than in my wildest dreams to dwell here beside you."

Events take place many years after the first chapter.

B2MeM Challenge:Image prompt: Murmuring Creek
http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/the_winterwitch/13030705/5895/5895_original.jpg

Format: Ficlet
Genre: Family, friendship, fluff
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Characters: Aragorn, Faramir, Arwen, OFC
Pairings: Aragorn/Arwen, Faramir/Éowyn
Summary: Aragorn, Faramir and their families enjoy a summer afternoon in Ithilien.

Fair Ithilien was the perfect place to be on a hot summer day. The King's Family, together with Faramir, Éowyn, their children and Elbeth had taken a picnic into the woods to escape from the heat.

After the meal was finished and packed away, the adults reclined beneath a great oak in a forest clearing while their children played and the horses grazed nearby.

“I think I will stretch my legs,” said Faramir.

“I will come with you,” said Aragorn. “We former Rangers find it hard to sit still for too long!”

“I will stay here a while,” said Arwen. She leaned back against the tree and began to sing softly.

Éowyn yawned. “It is too hot to move just yet.”

The two men wandered down to the edge of the clearing where a crystal- clear stream rippled. Both men knelt beside it to drink.

“This reminds me of my days wandering in the North,” said Aragorn. “I remember one warm day such as this in my youth when Halbarad led me to such a stream. I was yet unaccustomed to the hardships of the wild and was very hot and thirsty. I quenched my thirst in the stream and told Halbarad that nothing tasted sweeter than water. He replied that when I was King, I would have such fine wines that water would lose its savour. Ah, Halbarad never doubted my destiny, would that he had seen it come to pass!” Aragorn fell silent, lost in memories.

“And has water lost its sweetness?” Faramir asked after a few moments had passed.

“For once, Halbarad was wrong. It has not.” Aragorn cupped his hands and took another draught. "I wish he could be with us today so I could tell him."

"I am sure he is smiling beyond the circles of the world and rejoicing that being King has not changed you," said Faramir.

“Ada!” a small voice called.

“Farawyn!” cried Arwen. “Come back!”

“Want Ada!”

Farawyn toddled up beside her father. He called back to Arwen. “Farawyn is safe with me, vanimelda.”

The little girl eyed the stream curiously. “Fishes!” she cried, pointing to the darting minnows and almost overbalancing. Aragorn caught hold of her and steadied her. “Shall we catch you a fish? Naneth will have a cup for you to put it in.”

Farawyn shook her head.

“Would you like to paddle in the stream then, my sweet?”

Farawyn beamed.

“What a good idea!” Faramir exclaimed. He started to pull off his boots and stockings. Aragorn first helped his little daughter remove hers, then did likewise, before rolling up the legs of his breeches.

“Farawyn’s gown will get wet,” said Faramir.

“It will soon dry in the sun. It should not trouble her; she is after all a Ranger’s daughter as well as a little Princess!”

Aragorn took one of his daughter’s hands and Faramir took the other as they waded into the shallow stream. Farawyn squealed then decided she liked the feeling of cool water against her skin. She splashed her feet happily.

The three waded upstream where the trees grew more thickly, and pine fronds overhung the water. The bed of the stream became more rocky. The water foamed as it rippled over the moss- encrusted rocks. Farawyn laughed delightedly.

In the distance, the other children could be heard playing while Arwen sang.

B2MeM Challenge: Faramir, Aragorn, Éowyn, wedding gift
Faramir wants to get his bride-to-be a special gift but is uncertain what he should give her. He wants it to be special, something she will treasure, but he is having difficulty deciding what to give her. He can consult Aragorn or Aragorn can see that Faramir is struggling with a problem and offer to help him. Aragorn's suggestions can be good or bad. The gift can be anything and Eowyn's reaction to it can be anything you want it to be.
Format: Short story
Genre: friendship, romance
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mention of horse breeding
Characters: Aragorn, Faramir, Éowyn
Pairings: Aragorn/Arwen, Faramir/Éowyn
Summary: Faramir's wedding gift to his bride has far reaching consequences.

Aragorn tried to visit Roheryn as often as he could. The horse had been his faithful companion for many years and he was determined that now he was King he would not neglect his old friend. He was able to provide well for his steed. Minas Tirith had spacious stables in the sixth circle as well as a pasture on the outskirts of the City, where the horses could graze when they were not needed.

One morning,he requested some carrots from a somewhat bemused kitchen maid and took advantage of a gap between official duties to walk down to the stables. Truth to tell, he was weary of being indoors and welcomed some fresh air.

Rather to his surprise, he found his Steward in the stable yard. Faramir was rather glumly contemplating a magnificent chestnut horse. Aragorn greeted Faramir then went over to Roheryn's stall and fed the stallion the carrots.

When he emerged, Faramir was still there. The Steward was caressing the chestnut's mane and speaking to it softly, but he still looked troubled.

"What a fine horse!" Aragorn exclaimed. "I have not seen it before."

"She is a wedding gift from King Éomer, my lord," Faramir replied. "Her name is Iavas. Never have I owned such a fine horse before." He stroked her head affectionately.

"She is indeed fair," said Aragorn. "Why then do you look so downcast?"

"It will seem a foolish problem to you, sire," said Faramir.

"Why not tell me about it then so I can decide?" Aragorn sat down on a bench at the far side of the yard and patted the place beside him, indicating that Faramir should sit down. Faramir sat and for a few moments, they remained together in silence, broken only by the neighing of the horses. At last, Aragorn said, "I should like to be a friend to you as well as your liege lord, Faramir."

Faramir sighed and looked down at his hands, adorned with his ring of office and his betrothal ring. "You will think me very foolish, sire, but I cannot think of a suitable wedding gift for Éowyn. I always believed that ladies appreciated jewels, but Éowyn seems to have little interest in them. She will, of course, have my mother's jewels and some pieces I have commissioned for her featuring our emblems entwined, but I doubt they will give her much pleasure. I want to give her something that will light up her face with joy when she receives it."

"Ah," said Aragorn. "A tricky dilemma indeed. I found it very hard to find a suitable gift for Arwen. I think though, I have an idea for a gift that will please your lady."

"You do, sire?" Faramir's eyes lit up.

"You should give her a horse, Faramir."

The Steward's air of dejection returned. "She does indeed love horses, sire, but she deems those of Gondor inferior to those of her homeland."

Aragorn laughed ruefully. "Sadly, Lady Éowyn is correct in her observations. Gondor is somewhat lacking in fine horses. I intend to do something about that now I am King. I was thinking not of a Gondorian horse, though, but an Elven horse."

Faramir looked thoughtful. "Éowyn and I have discussed our future plans for when we dwell in Ithilien and she tells me she desires to breed horses, an endeavour I fully support. She has spoken longingly of the beauty of the horses that the Queen and her kindred ride. I am certain she would appreciate an Elvish horse, but where might I get one for her? I am certain Lady Arwen would not desire to sell hers!"

"Indeed she would not," said Aragorn. "Sometimes I think she loves that grey mare above all other creatures! There are many more like her in Rivendell, though. I could write to Master Elrond and his sons and ask them to send a fair colt or filly for you to purchase as a wedding gift."

"Thank you so much, sire." Faramir rewarded the King with a beaming smile. "I am certain Éowyn will be delighted."

"I am happy to help you, Faramir." Aragorn patted the younger man's shoulder. "Now we had better return to the Citadel. The Council meeting cannot begin without us, much though I wish they could."

Many years later

Éowyn emerged from the stables oblivious to her stained gown and disordered hair. She smiled happily at her husband who was waiting outside the stall for her. "A beautiful foal is safely delivered. She is grey with a darker blaze on her forehead."

Faramir bent to kiss her brow. "Glad tidings indeed, my love, but you look weary. You should have let me keep watch for a while."

"Synne is young and skittish like many a first time mother," said Éowyn. "I was determined to stay with her until the foal was born. She is suckling her now. I was thinking this is Telmund's tenth foal and each one has been perfect. There is another foal on the way, too as he covered the mare Adiva gave me. We will need a larger stable soon."

"Maybe I should have given you a mithril necklace instead of a horse as a wedding gift then? We would have far fewer mouths to feed!"

Éowyn punched his arm playfully. "Indeed not! What use is a necklace, save to adorn silly girls who are trying to catch a young man's eye?"

Faramir looked out towards the paddocks where the horses grazed and sighed contently. "Aragorn once said that Gondor lacked fine horses. He could not say that now."

"Your wedding gift gave me the idea to search out fine horses wherever they might be found," said Éowyn. "I have horses from Harad, Arnor, and Dale as well as from the Riddermark, but Telmund remains my favourite breeding stallion. I dearly love Windfola but none of his offspring have matched him."

"You should thank Aragorn," said Faramir. "He made all the arrangements with the Elves."

"We could gift him this newest foal when she is weaned," said Éowyn. "She would make a fine addition to his stables."

"An excellent suggestion," said Faramir. "Come now, though, the children are waiting for news of the new arrival and then you should rest."

Éowyn took his proffered arm and leaned against him contentedly. She gazed out at the peacefully grazing horses. "Am I not the most fortunate of women!" she exclaimed. "To be blessed with such fine horses and children." She paused, her eyes twinkling then kissed Faramir tenderly. "And a most precious jewel for a husband."

B2MeM Challenge: Faramir, Aragorn, Éowyn, wedding gift
Faramir wants to get his bride-to-be a special gift but is uncertain what he should give her. He wants it to be special, something she will treasure, but he is having difficulty deciding what to give her. He can consult Aragorn or Aragorn can see that Faramir is struggling with a problem and offer to help him. Aragorn's suggestions can be good or bad. The gift can be anything and Eowyn's reaction to it can be anything you want it to be.
Format: Short story
Genre: friendship, romance
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mention of horse breeding
Characters: Aragorn, Faramir, Éowyn
Pairings: Aragorn/Arwen, Faramir/Éowyn
Summary: Faramir's wedding gift to his bride has far reaching consequences.

Aragorn tried to visit Roheryn as often as he could. The horse had been his faithful companion for many years and he was determined that now he was King he would not neglect his old friend. He was able to provide well for his steed. Minas Tirith had spacious stables in the sixth circle as well as a pasture on the outskirts of the City, where the horses could graze when they were not needed.

One morning,he requested some carrots from a somewhat bemused kitchen maid and took advantage of a gap between official duties to walk down to the stables. Truth to tell, he was weary of being indoors and welcomed some fresh air.

Rather to his surprise, he found his Steward in the stable yard. Faramir was rather glumly contemplating a magnificent chestnut horse. Aragorn greeted Faramir then went over to Roheryn's stall and fed the stallion the carrots.

When he emerged, Faramir was still there. The Steward was caressing the chestnut's mane and speaking to it softly, but he still looked troubled.

"What a fine horse!" Aragorn exclaimed. "I have not seen it before."

"She is a wedding gift from King Éomer, my lord," Faramir replied. "Her name is Iavas. Never have I owned such a fine horse before." He stroked her head affectionately.

"She is indeed fair," said Aragorn. "Why then do you look so downcast?"

"It will seem a foolish problem to you, sire," said Faramir.

"Why not tell me about it then so I can decide?" Aragorn sat down on a bench at the far side of the yard and patted the place beside him, indicating that Faramir should sit down. Faramir sat and for a few moments, they remained together in silence, broken only by the neighing of the horses. At last, Aragorn said, "I should like to be a friend to you as well as your liege lord, Faramir."

Faramir sighed and looked down at his hands, adorned with his ring of office and his betrothal ring. "You will think me very foolish, sire, but I cannot think of a suitable wedding gift for Éowyn. I always believed that ladies appreciated jewels, but Éowyn seems to have little interest in them. She will, of course, have my mother's jewels and some pieces I have commissioned for her featuring our emblems entwined, but I doubt they will give her much pleasure. I want to give her something that will light up her face with joy when she receives it."

"Ah," said Aragorn. "A tricky dilemma indeed. I found it very hard to find a suitable gift for Arwen. I think though, I have an idea for a gift that will please your lady."

"You do, sire?" Faramir's eyes lit up.

"You should give her a horse, Faramir."

The Steward's air of dejection returned. "She does indeed love horses, sire, but she deems those of Gondor inferior to those of her homeland."

Aragorn laughed ruefully. "Sadly, Lady Éowyn is correct in her observations. Gondor is somewhat lacking in fine horses. I intend to do something about that now I am King. I was thinking not of a Gondorian horse, though, but an Elven horse."

Faramir looked thoughtful. "Éowyn and I have discussed our future plans for when we dwell in Ithilien and she tells me she desires to breed horses, an endeavour I fully support. She has spoken longingly of the beauty of the horses that the Queen and her kindred ride. I am certain she would appreciate an Elvish horse, but where might I get one for her? I am certain Lady Arwen would not desire to sell hers!"

"Indeed she would not," said Aragorn. "Sometimes I think she loves that grey mare above all other creatures! There are many more like her in Rivendell, though. I could write to Master Elrond and his sons and ask them to send a fair colt or filly for you to purchase as a wedding gift."

"Thank you so much, sire." Faramir rewarded the King with a beaming smile. "I am certain Éowyn will be delighted."

"I am happy to help you, Faramir." Aragorn patted the younger man's shoulder. "Now we had better return to the Citadel. The Council meeting cannot begin without us, much though I wish they could."

Many years later

Éowyn emerged from the stables oblivious to her stained gown and disordered hair. She smiled happily at her husband who was waiting outside the stall for her. "A beautiful foal is safely delivered. She is grey with a darker blaze on her forehead."

Faramir bent to kiss her brow. "Glad tidings indeed, my love, but you look weary. You should have let me keep watch for a while."

"Synne is young and skittish like many a first time mother," said Éowyn. "I was determined to stay with her until the foal was born. She is suckling her now. I was thinking this is Telmund's tenth foal and each one has been perfect. There is another foal on the way, too as he covered the mare Adiva gave me. We will need a larger stable soon."

"Maybe I should have given you a mithril necklace instead of a horse as a wedding gift then? We would have far fewer mouths to feed!"

Éowyn punched his arm playfully. "Indeed not! What use is a necklace, save to adorn silly girls who are trying to catch a young man's eye?"

Faramir looked out towards the paddocks where the horses grazed and sighed contently. "Aragorn once said that Gondor lacked fine horses. He could not say that now."

"Your wedding gift gave me the idea to search out fine horses wherever they might be found," said Éowyn. "I have horses from Harad, Arnor, and Dale as well as from the Riddermark, but Telmund remains my favourite breeding stallion. I dearly love Windfola but none of his offspring have matched him."

"You should thank Aragorn," said Faramir. "He made all the arrangements with the Elves."

"We could gift him this newest foal when she is weaned," said Éowyn. "She would make a fine addition to his stables."

"An excellent suggestion," said Faramir. "Come now, though, the children are waiting for news of the new arrival and then you should rest."

Éowyn took his proffered arm and leaned against him contentedly. She gazed out at the peacefully grazing horses. "Am I not the most fortunate of women!" she exclaimed. "To be blessed with such fine horses and children." She paused, her eyes twinkling then kissed Faramir tenderly. "And a most precious jewel for a husband."

At the Sign of the Prancing Pony

B2MeM Challenge: Aragorn's first visit to Bree, maybe in the company of Gandalf or with another Ranger. Were the Bree-folk always so suspicious of the Rangers, or did something happen to cause that?

Format: short story

Genre: friendship

Rating: PG

Warnings: none

Characters: Aragorn, Halbarad, OMCs

Pairings: none

Summary: Aragorn visits the Prancing Pony for the first time.

The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.

A/n I know nothing about ale and borrowed the description of Butterbur’s ale from a local brewer’s website.

“We deserve a drink before we return to the camp,” said Halbarad. “Those Orcs will never trouble these lands again. Luckily, the Bree folk lost only a few livestock and had no idea of the danger they were in.”

“Such seems to be the Rangers’ lot,” said Aragorn. “We try to remove the evils that could threaten simple folk before they are even aware they exist.” He took a swig from his water skin and regarded his kinsman with a slightly puzzled air as Halbarad made no move to quench his thirst. “I thought you wanted a drink?”

“I meant a proper drink at the inn,” said Halbarad. “Butterbur’s ales are spoken of with awe by every Ranger who has ever sampled them.”

“Who is Butterbur?” asked Aragorn.

“A Ranger for a year now and you don’t know who Ryeman Butterbur is!” Halbarad snorted. “He is the landlord of “The Prancing Pony", as were his father and grandfather before him and no doubt several generations before that. The recipe for his famous ale has been passed from father to son for generations. Much like the shards of Narsil, only tastier, come to think of it!”

“This Butterbur’s ale hardly helped destroy the Enemy,” Aragorn said rather icily.

“Peace, kinsman, I did but jest, but you will get my meaning once you taste the ale.”

The two Rangers strode through Bree and made their way up the sloping street, which led to the imposing inn. The building was adorned by a large sign depicting a fat white pony prancing on its hind legs.

Aragorn looked at it in wonder. There were small taverns in some of the Ranger villages, but the “Pony” was huge by comparison.

Halbarad led the way up the steps, but paused before he reached the top and whispered in his kinsman’s ear. “I am known as “Stalker” in these parts. You may as well be “Strider”.

“Why?”

“It will suit you with those great long legs of yours.”

“I already have two names,” Aragorn grumbled. “Do I now have to have three?”

“You might gain even more ere too long.” Halbarad grinned. He led the way into the inn’s common room before Aragorn could protest further.

It was dark inside the inn, compared to the evening sunlight outside and it took Aragorn’s eyes a few moments to adjust to the gloom. Visibility was not helped by the clouds of smoke from the many pipes being smoked and the fire in the corner. His keen hearing detected a good deal of muttering about the newcomers, none of it complimentary. When his eyes grew accustomed to the light within the large smoke hazed room he saw it was filled with a mixture of Hobbits and Bree-folk. They had all paused in their eating and drinking to glare at the two Rangers.

A thin brown-haired man approached them and frowned. “We don’t serve no vagabonds here,” he said. “This is a respectable 'ouse.”

Before Aragorn and Halbarad could reply, a short plump man pushed forward and rebuked the other. “Now, now, Ned, we serve anyone who has good coin, even that strange old wizard.”

“’e might turn us into something unnatural like pigs,” said Ned. “We ‘as to serve ‘im, even if ‘e does look as dirty as these two.”

“Baths are hard to come by in the wild places where we wander,” said Halbarad coolly.

“My apologies, good sirs,” said the fat man. “Ryeman Butterbur at your service. What might I be getting for you, sirs?”

“Two pints of your best ale please, Ryeman,” said Halbarad. “We will sit in my usual place.”

“Very well, Mr Stalker,” said Ryeman. “I’ll be fetching it at once for you and Mr-“

“Strider,” said Aragorn. “You can call me Strider.”

Halbarad led his kinsman to a table by the wall and the two sat down. “They’ll soon stop staring at us, especially as this table is in the shadows,” he said. “The folk here see anyone who is different to them as a threat.”

“I dread to think then what they would make of the horrors they know not of,” said Aragorn grimly.

“Such is the Ranger’s lot, to labour day and night for nought but hostile stares in exchange from those we protect,” said Halbarad.

“I wonder if the wizard they spoke of was old Gandalf,” said Aragorn, changing the subject. “He visits Master Elrond from time to time. A somewhat tetchy old fellow, but quite likeable from what I’ve seen of him. He seems interested in me for some reason.”

“Little wonder given your heritage,” said Halbarad. What other wizard is likely to come here? From what I've heard of Saruman he would not be seen dead in a public inn. It seems Gandalf is little better liked than we are.”

“But why do they hate us so?” asked Aragorn.

“We are much taller than they and no doubt appear grim and threatening in their eyes,” said Halbarad. “Then we appear after their sheep have gone missing or worse, so the Bree-folk accuse us of the ill fortune that befell them, as little do they know of the fell creatures that truly committed the crimes against them. It is better thus that they live their lives free from a care that would consume them all. You will get used to it in time, even with your cosseted upbringing.”

“I wonder,” said Aragorn.

“Cheer up, old Butterbur will bringing our ale any moment now,” said Halbarad.

“It had better be worth it,” said Aragorn morosely. He thought longingly of Rivendell and the fine quality wines served with every meal. He had over the past year become accustomed to the ale drunk in the Ranger villages, but it was poor stuff by comparison. He doubted the Bree-folk’s brew would even taste as good as that!”

Butterbur came bustling along to the secluded table, balancing two foaming tankards on a metal tray. “Sorry, sirs,” he said. “It be right busy tonight with it being market day and all.”

Halbarad reached for his purse and paid the innkeeper.

“You Rangers might be queer wandering folk, but you always pay your bill with good coin,” said Butterbur as he bustled away.

Halbarad picked up a tankard and licked his lips. “What are we waiting for? Now drink, young Strider and remember this day!” He raised the drink to his mouth with a flourish.

Aragorn took a cautious sip then another and another. The ale was rich and golden in colour, with a hint of hops and a very pleasant lingering, mildly bitter but malty aftertaste. It was delicious. He smiled blissfully.

“What did I tell you?” said Halbarad.

“I think I’m growing to like “The Prancing Pony,” said Aragorn. “We must come here again.”

TBC

A/N. Written for the 2015 BTMEM Challenge.

B2MeM Challenge: "Wouldn't Barliman Butterbur be astonished to have the High King come striding in for a glass of 'proper fourteen-twenty'?"
Format: short story
Genre: friendship
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Characters: Aragorn, Faramir, Butterbur
Pairings: none
Summary: Aragorn returns to "The Prancing Pony" as King and introduces Faramir to Butterbur's best ale.
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.

Return to the Prancing Pony.
For elenbarathi

Ignoring the curious gazes of the villagers, Aragorn and Faramir strode up the steps and into "The Prancing Pony." Their guards made to follow, but Aragorn insisted that they wait outside.

As they entered the familiar common room, Aragorn was overwhelmed by memories. How long ago was it since he had first set foot here? Sixty years? It was seventy more like, or even more, since Halbarad had first brought him here to sample Butterbur's ale.

The thought of faithful Halbarad made the tears prickle in his eyes. It was the cruellest twist of fate that he had been slain before he could take his rightful place as friend and advisor to his King. Aragorn blinked away the tears as he led Faramir to a table in the shadows set against a wall. The very place where he had sat with Halbarad so many years before. The tables and chairs were unchanged apart from gaining more chips and scratches over the years.

"Are you well, mellon nîn?" asked Faramir.

The King forced himself to smile. He had lost one friend and adviser but found another he had come to love as dearly maybe even more so. He just could not but help wishing sometimes that both men were at his side. "This place holds many memories from long before you were born, some happy, some sad. But I didn't bring you here to listen to tales of my youth, ion nîn. You are long overdue in sampling Butterbur's fine ale."

"So you have been telling me ever since you planned this visit to your Northern Kingdom."

"It is the best ale in both kingdoms."

"Better than the Dragon's Breath you favour at home?"

"Better even than that. The recipe has been in the Butterbur family for generations. Old Barliman's grandsire was brewing it when I first came here. "

As if in response to a summons, a small plump man appeared. He was red faced and bald headed. "Good afternoon, sirs," he said. "What may you be wanting?"

"Two mugs of your best ale, please," said Aragorn.

"Will you be preferring the private parlour or be staying here in the common room?" asked Butterbur. "It's pretty quiet here at the Pony today what with the King visiting and all. The village is full of all manner of queer folk."

"We will stay here in the common room," said Aragorn.

Butterbur looked at him closely. "Begging your pardon, sir, but you look familiar, though your name slips my mind for the moment."

"I've been here before," said Aragorn with a smile, though he made no move to enlighten the innkeeper.

"Will you be wanting anything else with your drinks, sirs?" asked Butterbur.

"No, thank you, I brought my friend here specially to sample your best ale."

"Very well, sirs." Butterbur bustled away.

"I thought he would remember your name," said Faramir.

Aragorn laughed. "Old Butterbur would forget his own name if folk weren't shouting for him by it all day." He stretched out his long legs. "Ah, all I need is my pipe and I could be a young man again!"

"You do not need a pipe to be young. Think what your lady would say not to mention how it would make me cough!"

"Peace, Faramir, those days are gone now. I was careful to bring you here early before the common room fills with smoke. In the evenings, the common room is so smoky from the fire and pipe-weed fumes that it is hard to see across the room."

"I would not enjoy frequenting northern taverns often then. I would struggle to become accustomed to them."

"It depends where you are brought up."

"I suppose so," Faramir said rather doubtfully.

"I think a few more customers are arriving," said Aragorn. "Prepare to be the object of their curiosity."

A group of men who looked like farmers entered. Aragorn recalled how they would come to the "Pony" after selling their beasts at the market and celebrate with Butterbur's best ale. The newcomers took a table at the far side of the room, but their eyes never left Aragorn and Faramir. They started muttering together in low tones. Aragorn grinned at them. The farmers hastily looked away, but still kept stealing glances across the room.

Butterbur returned, balancing two full glasses on a tray and placed them in front of the King and Steward. "Here you are, sirs," he said. "It came to me who you remind me of,sir, it's that Ranger, Strider, or what he might look like after a bath and dressed in fine quality clothes."

"Your memory does not fail you, Barley," said Aragorn. "I am indeed Strider."

Butterbur's eyes grew wide. "Strider!" he exclaimed. "The wizard and the little folk said you'd left rangering to be king, hundreds of miles distant, so you'll be far away in your great castle drinking wine out of a golden cup, not sitting here in my bar!"

"I am indeed here in your bar," said Aragorn. He sipped his drink and sighed contentedly. "You beer is just as good as I remember it."

"The King here at the Pony! Well, I never did!" Butterbur bowed awkwardly then sat down heavily on a nearby chair, then jumped up again. "Begging your pardon, sir."

"No offence is taken," said Aragorn. "Did my friends not tell you I would return one day? I'm a man of my word. You can put as sign outside now, saying the King comes here for your best ale. "

"I shall indeed, sir," said Butterbur. "Well I never did. I don't doubt it, sir, In all my born days, I've never heard the like of this!"

"You have other customers waiting to be served, Barley," said Aragorn. "Deal with them, then come and sit with us and tell me about how things are in Bree these days and I'll introduce you to my friend."

Barliman appeared to notice Faramir for the first time. "Next you'll be telling me he is a prince or something!"

Aragorn laughed. "He is Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien in fact."

"Well, I never did!" Butterbur repeated. "I'm going to fetch Nob in, cleaning the stables can wait for another day." He bustled away.

"What do you think of old Butterbur, then?" said Aragorn.

"He is quite the character. He reminds me a little of good Dame Ioreth."

"Indeed. They could both talk the hind leg off a donkey," Aragorn replied then turned his attention to Faramir's still untouched glass. "You haven't tasted your ale, Faramir. Drink up, then we can have another glass before we have to be on our way."

Faramir eyed the ale suspiciously. "I'll drink it as not to hurt the old innkeeper's feelings, but you know I am not very partial to ale."

"I promise you, you will like this. It puts many a so called fine wine to shame." Aragorn raised his glass and drank deeply then licked his lips appreciatively.

Faramir took a cautious sip then another and another. He smiled contentedly. "It is good," he said. "We must come here again."

Aragorn burst out laughing.

"What is so funny?" asked Faramir a trifle indignantly.

"You spoke the exact same words as I did when I first tasted the ale here," Aragorn replied. "I have missed this fine northern brew. I am thinking of asking Butterbur to send a regular supply to Gondor."

"An excellent idea," said Faramir. "I should still like to come here again, though!"

Saying Farewell

B2MeM Challenge: Gondor: Boromir, Faramir, (Denethor optional) Boromir preparing to leave for Rivendell for the council, perhaps a discussion between the two brothers?

Format: short story

Genre: Family, angst

Rating: PG

Warnings:none

Characters: Denethor, Boromir, Faramir.

Pairings: none

Summary: The night before Boromir departs for Imladris, he has a conversation with Faramir.

“You should rest now, my son, you will be leaving early in the morning,” said Denethor."I shall retire to my chamber now.” He rose from his place at the head of the table and his sons scrambled to their feet.

“Father, it is still not too late,” said Faramir. “I beg you to let me go in Boromir’s stead. The vision came first to me and I had it thrice.”

“Nonsense, boy!” said Denethor. “It has been decided that your brother should undertake this errand. He is the older and hardier. It is his by right. I have already told you this.”

“But Boromir is needed here in Gondor,” Faramir protested. “He has many duties.”

“As so do you with the Rangers of Ithilien,” Denethor replied coldly. “I shall not change my mind. Your judgement is more easily swayed than your brother’s. He shall seek for Imladris, not you. I bid you both goodnight.” He swept from the room in a flurry of black robes.

Boromir and Faramir stared after him.

“Do not look so downcast, little brother,” said Boromir. “You know that Father never changes his mind once it is made up. It will be a long and arduous journey which only the strongest can undertake.” Faramir opened his mouth to protest, but Boromir spoke before he could. “I know you will protest, Faramir, but just look at you. You are as slender as a reed; I often fear that a stiff breeze might blow you over!”

“You are studier than I, brother, but I do not think you are stronger!”

Boromir laughed and affectionately clapped Faramir on the shoulder. “Let us not quarrel tonight of all nights, my little brother. Come to my room and we will share a cup of wine ere we sleep.”

“Most gladly,” said Faramir.

The two brothers walked side by side until they reached Boromir’s chambers. They were plainly furnished and only the large comfortable furnishings and thick rugs, marked it out as belonging to the Heir to the Stewardship. Two comfortable chairs stood either side the empty hearth, unlit due to the July heat. Boromir opened the windows, letting in a balmy breeze from the courtyard below. He called for a servant to bring wine.

Faramir stood beside his brother at the window, absently watching the Guards protecting the dead White Tree taking up their positions as the Watch was changed. “This view makes me sad,” he said after a moment. “To see the White Tree, the symbol of kings, so dead and bare.”

“That is all it is, a symbol,” said Boromir. “The kings are long gone, but Gondor still endures thanks to her doughty warriors.”

“I dream of the King returning and tree blossoming anew,” said Faramir. “The dream gives me hope in these troubled times.”

“You were ever the dreamer,” said Boromir. “But who knows, little brother, maybe if I succeed on this mission, I will one day become king.” He was interrupted by a tap on the door. “Come in!” he called.

“Your wine, my lords.” The servant placed a tray containing a tray and two goblets on the table then withdrew.

The brothers moved away from the window. Boromir filled the goblets and handed one to Faramir. “Let us drink a toast to my success!”

“May the Valar protect you and bring you safely home!” said Faramir, taking a sip of the wine.

“I know you object to me taking this mission, but it will be for the best,” said Boromir. “These are perilous times.”

“That is what troubles me,” said Faramir. “You are Heir to the White Rod, yet you have no heir.”

“Nor ever shall do.” Boromir laughed. “At least not one born in wedlock. I love variety too much to chain myself to one woman when there fair maids aplenty at every other tavern. It is you who are suited to endure the tedium of being tied to a wife and siring a legitimate heir.”

“How could it be tedious to spend each day with the woman you loved and watch your children grow together? “ Faramir retorted. “I would find it hard to leave their side save when I must.”

“Do not look so shocked, brother,” said Boromir. “I would simply far rather be with my men engaging in feats of arms, than rocking a cradle. Are you still angry with that I am setting out for Imladris rather than you?”

“I could never be angry with you for long, Boromir,” said Faramir. “You are my brother and I love you. I just feel uneasy about this mission. The sky was so dark in the East in our dream, though light yet remained in the West. The dream spoke too of doom. I feel it is too great a risk for our Captain General to undertake. Father should have allowed me to go instead. He never trusts me, though I have served Gondor faithfully ever since I could wield sword and bow.”

“You defy father in your friendship with Mithrandir,” said Boromir. “Maybe that is why he does not trust you as he ought.”

“No one knows more lore than Mithrandir. I have learned so much from our conversations. I wonder if he dwells in Imladris. Maybe you will see him there?”

Boromir laughed. “It is plain to me now why Father does not want you to go. He fears once you reached such a centre of lore and learning, you would never want to leave again!”

“I wonder if they have beautiful music there?” Faramir said wistfully. He took another sip of his wine. “And maybe you will see he Sword that was broken, the heirloom of the Kings!”

“I shall be certain to tell you about it if I do and see if I can beg some tunes for your lute too,” said Boromir. He drained his glass and yawned.

“You are weary, I should leave you to rest.” Faramir got to his feet.

“Stay with me tonight, it may be a long time before we see one another again, little brother.” Boromir laid a restraining hand on Faramir’s arm.

“Gladly.”

The two brothers prepared for bed and were soon curled up alongside one another as they had so often slept in childhood. Boromir fell asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow. Faramir though, remained wakeful. A troubling thought came to him. Speaking of Gandalf had reminded him of something the old wizard had once said, “Always listen to your dreams, dear boy, as they might be messages from Lord Irmo, the master of visions and dreams.” What if the dream was indeed a message from the Higher Powers, a summons to him that he was not obeying? Faramir shuddered. He knew there was no way he could persuade his father to let him go in Boromir’s stead, but how he feared some ill might befall his brother. With this unsettling thought in his mind, he finally drifted off to sleep.

Title: The Blizzard

Author Name: Linda Hoyland

Prompt: A blizzard rages outside and makes travel impossible. Two or more characters are trapped indoors together until the storm passes.

Summary: Aragorn and Halbarad are caught in a blizzard.

Rating: PG

Beta: none

Author's Notes: Short story, should appeal to fellow angst h/c fans

Aragorn stamped his feet to warm them and looked up at the darkening sky. "There will be snow ere nightfall, I warrant," he said. "The wind is blowing from the east."

"We should find shelter," said Halbarad. " Alas, the nearest settlement is many leagues from here."

"There is a ruined village about two leagues away," said Aragorn. "The surviving villagers abandoned it after an Orc attack and moved to the Angle where they felt safer. We will make for there."

"I hope we are in time," said Halbarad. "I can smell snow in the air."

Although it was only just past midday, the sky darkened ominously and the east wind grew increasingly bitter, sometimes snatching the breath away from the two Rangers. They had had not gone more than a league when the heavens opened and the snow began to fall, at first just a few flakes and then with increasing intensity until Aragorn and Halbarad could hardly see the way ahead of them.

"Fine Rangers we are to get caught out in a snowstorm," said Aragorn, shouting to hear himself heard over the howling wind.

"A few more years in the wilds will show you that even the most experienced can sometimes be caught out by the weather," Halbarad replied.

The two trudged wearily onwards. They ceased to converse. Speaking took up too much energy, which was better spent battling against the elements.

After what seemed like an age, a small cluster of buildings came into sight. Halbarad quickened his footsteps until he reached a cottage with its walls and roof intact. "This will suffice," he said. He stumbled through the doorway and paused for a minute to get his breath back now he was out of the wind. The shelter seemed perfect for their purposes. There was even some broken furniture left by the former occupants that would serve as kindling. Once they had a fire going, they could make themselves quite cosy until the storm passed. There were provisions enough in their packs to survive for several days if need be. "This should serve us well enough, Aragorn," he said. There was no answer. The Chieftain seemed to have vanished into thin air.

Halbarad forced down the sense of panic that welled up within him and tried to force himself to think clearly. When he had last seen Aragorn? They had been together when they had passed a great tree. He recalled they had both almost knocked into it, as visibility had been so poor, they had hardly been able to see their own feet.

The Ranger knew he must retrace his steps and as swiftly as possible before all traces of his previous tracks were obliterated by the driving snow. Halbarad set out again to face the elements. Going back was easier than going forward had been. The snow was not blowing into his face and he did not have to fight the wind for every breath he took. It took all of his Ranger skills, though to find the trail. Then he had to find Aragorn. He frantically called his name. He was beginning to despair of ever finding his Chieftain when he almost stumbled into a ditch. There at the bottom of it, lay Aragorn, almost buried in the fast-falling snow. It seemed he too had lost his footing but been less fortunate than Halbarad and fallen in. The Ranger leapt down into the ditch and knelt beside Aragorn. The young chieftain lay motionless and did not respond to his kinsman's pleas to wake up. Halbarad's heart lurched. Was the carrier of all his people's hopes and his dearest friend, destined to perish in a blizzard?

Pushing his dark fears aside, he somehow pulled Aragorn from the ditch, and half dragged, half carried him back to the ruined cottage, all the while battling against the wind and snow. By the time they reached the shelter, Halbarad was panting from the exertion and felt as if his back would break.

He carefully laid Aragorn down in front of the hearth. His fingers were too numb to examine Aragorn for a pulse, so he busied himself in making a fire and lighting the tallow candle that he had in his pack.

Once it was blazing, he felt the side of Aragorn's neck and managed to detect a faint flicker of life. Halbarad almost wept with relief. He rummaged in their packs for blankets then swiftly divested Aragorn of his outer, snow – sodden garments and wrapped him in the blankets, all the while talking to him and begging him to wake up. Aragorn neither moved nor stirred and remained deathly cold to his touch. Halbarad was no healer. He wished fervently that he were able to take Aragorn to Rivendell and place him in Master Elrond's skilled care. That was out of the question, though. They were many leagues from Rivendell, their horses were at their base camp and the weather was impossible to travel in. it was likely they would have to stay in this deserted hovel for several days. It was up to him and him alone to save his Chieftain.

Halbarad threw more wood on the now blazing fire and pulled off his outer garments. He then lay down next to the prone form of his chieftain and held him close, then pulled the blankets around them both.

Halbarad recoiled as Aragorn felt like a block of solid ice in his arms. He was soon shivering, but his heart soared when Aragorn began to shiver too. After what seemed an age, Aragorn gave a groan and his eyes flickered open.

"Welcome back!" said Halbarad.

"Where am I?" muttered Aragorn.

"We are sheltering from a blizzard in a ruined cottage," said Halbarad. "You fell down in the snow."

"Head hurts- so thirsty," Aragorn muttered.

"You must have hit your head when you fell down the ditch," said Halbarad. "I will make you some tea." He crawled out from beneath the blankets and pulled his tunic back over his head. He took a pan and some herbs from his pack, then opened the door a little, letting in an icy blast of air. He managed to fill the pan with snow to melt on the fire for tea. Once it was ready, he poured the tea into a pewter mug and held it to Aragorn's lips.

The Chieftain had to wait for his teeth to stop chattering before he could drink. "I feel weak as a kitten!" he complained once he had ingested some of the warming drink.

"You are lucky to be alive," said Halbarad. "I feared I had lost you, the hope of Middle-earth! You will have to rest and recover for a while."

Aragorn sighed. "We should be on patrol."

"Even if you were in perfect health, we can do nothing but stay put in this weather. We are snowed up here together."

Aragorn sighed again then settled back into the blankets. "I could do far worse for company, I suppose," he said. "You could be an Orc!"

"Be thankful I am not," Halbarad retorted.

"Your pardon, kinsman. I believe you saved my life and I have not yet thanked you." Aragorn reached out his hand from under the blankets and feebly gripped that of his kinsman.

"My pleasure," Halbarad said gruffly. "Now get some rest and try to regain your strength." He stretched out by the hearth the other side of Aragorn so that the Chieftain could enjoy more of the fire's heat.

The blizzard continued to rage unabated outside, but the two Rangers slumbered safe and warm by the fire.

On the fourth day, a wintry sun broke through the clouds and the wind changed direction. Halbarad and Aragorn were finally able to leave the ruined cottage and rejoin their comrades who were becoming anxious concerning their whereabouts. The next day they resumed their patrols protecting their people from danger.

A/n Written for the 2014 BTMEM Challenge.

Title: A Leader of Men

Author Name: Linda Hoyland

Prompt: "There came a time of winter, when night was dark and without moon; and the wide plain of Ard-galen stretched dim beneath the cold stars, from the hill-forts of the Noldor to the feet of Thangorodrim. The watch-fires burned low, and the guards were few; on the plain few were waking in the camps of the horsemen of Hithlum." (The Silmarillion, "Of the Ruin of Beleriand and the Fall of Fingolfin")

Write a story or create art from the point of view of the foot soldiers or horsemen who participated in any of the battles in Middle-earth.

Summary: A young soldier fears to march to Mordor

Rating: PG

Warnings: none

Beta: none

Author's Notes: OC-centric. Some lines are taken directly from Tolkien from whom I've borrowed the canon characters and settings.

Túrin had always considered himself a brave enough man. Had he not volunteered to join the Lord of Lossarnach’s Guard when he was fifteen and fought courageously in countless battles against the Enemy?

This time, though was different; before when he had marched into battle, he had always cherished some hope of returning home to his family, however small that hope might be. This time there was no hope of defying the odds and surviving. All he could hope for that he would die bravely with his sword in his hand.

This place too, chilled his heart. Never had he thought he would be told to march boldly into Mordor. Surely, his commanders had taken leave of their senses? It was madness to attempt to defeat the Dark Lord with a force of a mere seven thousand or so when Sauron had so vast a host at his command.

Once they left Ithilien behind, some of his comrades quaked with fear when they beheld the desolation before them. Horses refused to go forward while men froze in their tracks seized with dread.

Túrin knew little of the Captain from the North, or was he a King, as some were saying? It was all very confusing. He, together with the White Wizard, was leading them. Maybe he would feel better if Lord Furlong had not been slain or Lord Boromir? Lord Faramir was a leader he admired too, but he was still recovering from his wounds. He knew and trusted them, but what did this Northerner know of Gondor? Túrin did know that the stranger carried the emblems of Elendil and had helped turn the tide of battle a few days before, but he was not one of them like Lord Forlong or the Steward's sons.

The nearest captains tried to urge the stragglers onward. “Come on,” cried one. “Do you want to be hung for desertion?”

“Better to hang that to fall into the Dark Lord’s clutches,” muttered one man nearby .

A hush fell over the group as the Captain from the North rode towards them. “Let there be no talk of hanging,” he said. “Any man who wishes can leave. Now.”

Túrin’s spirits soared. Could he really go home to his wife and baby son and abandon this futile death march?”

A murmur broke out amongst the men. Some looked up hopefully while others shuffled their feet and stared at the ground.

The Northern Captain raised his hand for silence. “I know and understand the horror that has seized your hearts,” he said. “You are young men and far from home. To many of you, Mordor was but a whispered name in dark tales. You now feel as if you are in some evil dream from which there is no awakening. I Aragorn, son of Arathorn tell you go! Keep what honour you may, though, and do not run! And there is a task which you may attempt and so be not wholly shamed. Take your way south-west till you come to Cair Andros, and if that is still held by enemies..., then re-take it, if you can; and hold it to the last in defence of Gondor and Rohan!”

Many of Túrin’s comrades turned about and prepared to depart in joyful amazement at this unexpected turn of events. Túrin was about to thankfully join them when he looked up and met Aragorn’s gaze. He saw stern features and keen grey eyes, but there was such compassion and understanding in those eyes too. He had much admired Lord Furlong, but never had he looked at his men like this Captain from the North did. This Aragorn was a great leader of men, the like of which, Túrin had never seen before. This was no reckless seeker after glory, but a leader who truly cared about his men.

His courage returned and with it his hope. He noticed that some of the men around him had turned about again. For an instant, Túrin wavered. He could win honour at Cair Andros and not be shamed in the eyes of his comrades or his family. He need never set foot in the dread Black Land. Then he knew he no longer wanted to turn back. He wanted to follow this Aragorn, even if meant following him to his death. Túrin could think of far worse ways to die that at this man’s side.

A/n. Written for the 2014 BTMEM Challenge.

Title: Wondrous Fair
Author Name: Linda Hoyland
Prompt: In many parts of the world, autumn brings with it some of the most beautiful scenery of the year, yet that beauty is also touched with sorrow. Write or create art about something that is both beautiful and tragic.
Summary: Faramir realises that he loves Éowyn
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Beta: (optional)
Author's Notes: Double drabble
Disclaimer: The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.

She is wondrous fair, surpassing any maiden I have ere beheld. Her hair is like spun gold, her eyes shimmer like twin stars and she moves with lithe grace.

Éowyn! She stirs my heart most strangely. I know not why this should be. Maybe it is because our future is so uncertain. Her beauty is like a flame illuminating the darkness that threatens us all. Maybe her sorrow draws me to her, as I sense something within her that mirrors my own heaviness of heart. We were both wounded, both saved from death by the same hand, and we both mourn.

I know too another sorrow burdens her heart. She loves the Lord Aragorn who loves her not. A tragedy indeed that a maid should offer her love to one who cannot accept it. I would count myself the most fortunate of men should she turn her affections towards me.

I would comfort her. What joy it would be to see her smile and hear the sound of her laughter.
Éowyn! I was first drawn to ease your sorrow, but now I know that I love you. My heart is now in your keeping. I would make you my wife!

The Stronger Sex

• Mar. 10th, 2013 at 7:34 PM

B2MeM Challenge: Inner vs Outer Strength

Format: 500 word FLF

Genre: family

Rating: PG

Warnings: mention of childbirth

Characters: Aragorn, Arwen, Eldarion, OFC

Pairings: none

Summary: Aragorn enlightens his son.

“Tell me a story, ada, please!” begged Eldarion.

“Very well, ion nîn.” Aragorn smiled indulgently and settled himself comfortably on the couch. “What would you like the story to be about?”

“Strong heroes and brave deeds,” said Eldarion.

And what would you like, Farawyn?” Aragorn turned to where his small daughter was preoccupied in playing with her dolls.

“A story with girls in!” said Farawyn and returned to her game.

“That would be boring,” said Eldarion. “Girls are weak and don’t do anything brave!”

“What about Aunt Éowyn?” asked Aragorn. “She fought in the great battle of Pelennor Fields and slew the Witch King whom no man could slay!”

“She was the only lady to do anything like that, and in any case, Master Merry helped her. Girls usually just sit at home and do dull things while men go off and do great deeds. Naneth did not ride off to war like Aunt Éowyn, neither did all the other ladies.”

“And that was one of the hardest things I ever did, ion nîn. Watching your ada go out on his most perilous adventure yet,” said Arwen who had appeared in the doorway. Aragorn beckoned her to come and sit beside him. Farawyn immediately clambered up on her lap.

“Maybe, I had the easier part of it, vanimelda,” said Aragorn, tenderly kissing her cheek. “I know only I could not have triumphed in battle without your loving support and knowing that you were waiting for me.”

Eldarion looked far from convinced. “Men do all the exciting and dangerous things, though,” he said.

Aragorn and Arwen exchanged a look then Aragorn said, “Women do the bravest thing of all when they bring children into the world. That takes great strength. A mother endures as great pain, even more than any hero wounded upon the battlefield.”

“And after the pain comes the most exciting adventure, that of meeting your child,” said Arwen, gazing fondly at her offspring.

“I remember seeing my foal born and that was exciting,” Eldarion conceded.

“Women are just as brave as men, but in different ways,” Aragorn said gravely. Your Naneth is one of the bravest heroes I know. When you are older, you will understand. Strength is more than wielding a sword and winning battles. You were brave and when you didn’t cry when you hurt your finger yesterday and strong when you didn’t grumble when Farawyn wanted to play with your toys.”

“Dolly is brave,” said Farawyn, wriggling on her mother’s lap. “She never cries!”

“So she is,” said Arwen, laughing. “And you will be strong too when you grow up.”

“You promised me a story,” Eldarion reminded his father.

“So I did, and you shall have one. Once upon a time, there lived a young man who was brought up amongst the Elves. One day he was walking in the woods and he was singing…”

“Does it end happily ever after?” Eldarion interrupted.

“It does indeed,” Aragorn gave Arwen a knowing smile. “Very happily indeed.”

B2MeM Prompt and Path:"Think in the morning. Act in the noon. Eat in the evening. Sleep in the night." William Blake. Purple Path.
Format: Short story
Genre: Humour
Rating: G.
Warnings: None
Characters: Arwen, Elanor Gamgee, Aragorn, OCS
Pairings: Aragorn/Arwen, OMC/OFC
Creator's Notes (optional): With thanks to shirebound for the plot idea. Dedicated to shirebound on the occasion of her birthday. With thanks to med_cat

Summary: Elanor helps Arwen and Lady Adiva undertake an important new quest of their own, whilst their husbands are occupied with equally important state affairs.

"My home is your home, honoured guests," said Lady Adiva, embracing Arwen as she spoke.

"A pleasure to see you again, dear friend," Arwen replied. "I have brought my newest maid of honour, Elanor, from the Shire to meet you. She has never met anyone from Harad before."

"Do you ride a camel?" asked Elanor shyly, once the pleasantries were concluded and the ladies were seated comfortably on cushions.

Adiva laughed. "I fear not, honoured mistress, though my husband owns many camels. I did not even learn to ride a horse until after I was married."

Just then, Falah arrived, bearing a tray laden with cups of sherbet tea and sweet delicacies.

"Esteemed Mistress Elanor, meet Falah my handmaid," said Adiva. "My esteemed parents bought her for me when I came to womanhood."

"The poor lady is a slave!" Elanor sounded horrified.

"Falah free to go if she pleases, but stays for love of mistress," said the maid. "Mistress obey honoured king's laws."

Elanor flushed and busied herself nibbling a sugared almond.

"I believe their friendship is something like your father and Frodo enjoyed," said Arwen. " The two ladies are close friends as well as mistress and maid. Elanor, I have no official duties today while Estel is meeting with the ambassadors, so you can spend the afternoon as you please once we leave Lady Adiva's home."

"Thank you, Lady Arwen. I'd like to bake a cake then if that's all right with you."

"Why certainly, but one of the cooks would make you a cake, you only have to ask. You don't have to bake in your free time when you could be doing something enjoyable."

"I really enjoy making cakes," said Elanor. "Don't you, Lady Arwen?"

"I have never made a cake," said Arwen.

"But begging your pardon, Lady Arwen, aren't you about two thousand years old and you never made a cake? Why you don't know what you're missing!" Elanor regarded the Queen with an expression of sheer horror on her face.

"I never had cause to make one," Arwen replied. "My parents and my grandparents employed excellent cooks. I was taught by my Grandmother to bake lembas, as is the custom, but I had little aptitude for the task."

"Ladies do not bake cakes in Harad, esteemed mistress, so I have never made one either," said Adiva.

"You have never baked, my lady? That must be awful!" Elanor exclaimed in dismay.

Adiva beamed at her friends as a sudden thought struck her. "Maybe you could show us how you bake your cakes, esteemed Mistress Elanor?"

Arwen opened her mouth to say something but hesitated as Elanor was almost bouncing with excitement.

"That would be such fun!" the young Hobbit girl exclaimed, a happy smile lighting up her features.

"I had planned to spend the afternoon with the children," Arwen protested.

"We have nursemaids, esteemed Lady Arwen," said Adiva. "They can take care of our children. What do we need to bake this cake, esteemed Mistress Elanor?"

"We require flour, sugar, fresh butter and eggs for my favourite recipe," said Elanor.

"I shall go to the market and fetch ingredients for honoured mistress," said Falah.

"Thank you," said Adiva. "Should we make the cake here or in your kitchens, esteemed Lady Arwen?"

"There is everything needed to make a good cake in the Citadel kitchens," said Elanor. "My Ma just couldn't believe how many mixing spoons we have when I wrote and told her."

"I have no such items, alas," said Adiva. She brightened. "Falah could buy some at the market, though."

"There is no need. We will meet in the Citadel this afternoon then and set to work," said Arwen without much enthusiasm.

"Making cakes is fun, not work," said Elanor. "I can hardly wait!"

000

The ladies reconvened in the Citadel kitchens shortly after the conclusion of the noonday meal. Arwen had told the kitchen servants to leave and not to return until it was time to prepare the day meal. They looked rather puzzled but hurried off to enjoy their unexpected afternoon of freedom.

Elanor quickly found some aprons on a peg and handed them out.

"We have to wear these, esteemed mistress?" Adiva queried.

"Your lovely robe would get flour all over it if you didn't," Elanor explained as she helped Arwen fasten the protective garment over her elaborate gown.

Adiva nodded to Falah, who secured the apron strings for her mistress.

Elanor bustled around the kitchen, using a stepping stool to help her reach the store cupboards. She took out four mixing bowls and bags of flour and sugar. "Do you have the butter and eggs?" she asked Falah.

"Yes, esteemed mistress Elanor." Falah picked up the bag she had brought from a corner of the floor and unpacked three dozen eggs and an enormous chunk of butter.

Elanor rolled her eyes. "That would suffice to feed a dozen Hobbits!" she said. "We need a little salt and baking powder too." She climbed on the stool again and opened a cupboard.

"How do you know where everything is?" asked Arwen.

"I often come here and make cakes," said Elanor. "The cooks don't mind and it reminds me of home." She placed the baking powder and salt on the table. "Now we begin by mixing the butter and sugar together like this in the mixing bowl."

Adiva and Falah set to work with enthusiasm. Meanwhile, Arwen stirred the mixture very slowly.

"Now we beat the eggs," said Elanor.

Adiva promptly dropped two eggs in the bowl complete with shells and started beating them.

"No, no!" cried Elanor. "You don't include the shells, my lady! They will spoil your cake."

"I am so sorry, honoured mistress."

"Never mind, my lady," said Elanor cheerfully."There are plenty of ingredients to spare. We just have to start your cake again."

Before long, all the ladies were beating their shelled eggs, or rather three of them were. Arwen stirred hers as languidly as if drawing a needle through a tapestry. Eventually, Elanor took pity on her and went to assist.

"Now we add the flour and baking powder and a pinch of salt," said Elanor once the eggs were beaten to her satisfaction.

Arwen promptly tipped in all the flour. Elanor groaned. "My lady, you are supposed to sieve it in. It will be all lumpy. We will have to begin the cake again. You sieve the flour, thus, and then stir it into the mixture."

Meanwhile, Adiva had added half the contents of the salt cellar to her cake.

"No, no, my lady!" cried Elanor. "That will taste dreadful."

"We value salt in the desert," said Adiva. "I thought more would make the cake taste nicer. I am sorry, honoured mistress."

"Never mind, we will start again," said Elanor. "We have enough ingredients to make many cakes."

After what seemed like an eternity filled with further mishaps, all four ladies' cakes were mixed and poured into tins. Elanor placed them carefully in the oven, noting which was which as she did so. "We can wash up and tidy the kitchen while the cakes are baking," she said.

"Wash up, esteemed mistress?" said Adiva as if she had never heard of the process.

"I will do it, honoured lady," said Falah.

Arwen regarded the intricately embroidered sleeves of her gown doubtfully. They were already covered in flour despite her apron.

"I will do it, my lady," said Elanor. "If you and Lady Adiva sit down over there by the table, Falah and I will do the washing up."

"Baking is such hard work," said Arwen. "Even making lembas is far easier than baking cakes. Embroidery is so much easier."

"I'd rather bake than sew," said Elanor.

"Yet you have a good hand for embroidery," said Arwen

"I learned to sew and embroider when I was very little," Elanor replied. "I helped Ma make cakes when I was little more than a baby, though, as I got to lick the spoon if I stirred the mixture."

"Your esteemed mother must be very proud of you," said Adiva.

"That's kind of you to say, my lady," said Elanor. "I reckon our Rose is going to be far better at needlework than I am, and maybe Primrose too, though it's too soon to tell yet."

oooo

Elanor and Falah wiped, scoured, scrubbed and cleaned until both dishes and kitchen were spotless. Their mistresses were engaged in conversation when a delicious aroma filled the kitchen and Elanor concluded that the cakes were baked.

"I'm going to take the cakes out of the oven," she called to the ladies.

Adiva clapped her hands."This is so exciting, esteemed mistress Elanor! The aroma is quite enchanting."

"Estel will be delighted I baked him a cake," said Arwen. "How happy he will be tonight. Shall we help you take them out of the oven?"

"No thank you," Elanor said hastily. "Falah and I can manage. You ladies might burn yourselves or your dresses." With Falah at her side, she opened the oven door. One perfect and one passable cake met their eyes together with two sad specimens that dipped in the middle.

Elanor hesitated for an instant before she removed the perfect cake from the oven and brought it over to where Arwen sat. "Here is your cake, my lady."

Arwen beamed. "It looks delicious. Estel will be so proud of me."

Adiva was equally delighted. "My esteemed husband will be amazed at how quickly I have learned to bake!" she exclaimed.

Elanor discretely disposed of the two ruined cakes in the fire beneath the kitchen range, hoping the ladies would not enquire about the results of the maids' baking.

000

That evening, Arwen bade a servant serve Aragorn the cake for his dessert. The King nibbled it appreciatively then licked the crumbs from his fingers. "Mmm," he said. "Delicious. This tastes like a Hobbit cake."

"I made it myself with a little help from Elanor," said Arwen. "Baking is very complicated, though, I think it is best left to Hobbits."

Aragorn's eyes twinkled. "I agree with you, beloved. None can surpass a Hobbit when it comes to cooking.

000

At the Ambassador's residence, Tahir was nibbling his cake gingerly. "You have done well to master the making of this western recipe, fair blossom," he said. "I would not have you labour doing this baking for me, though. It sounds like most tedious labour."

"I quite enjoyed it, esteemed husband," said Adiva. "I think I would rather ride my horses or read poetry, though."

000

Exhausted, Elanor climbed into bed. Just before she drifted off to sleep, a vision came into her mind of what the expression on the King's face would have been had Arwen presented him with the cake she actually made. Elanor burst out laughing then fell into a dreamless sleep.