Oh, my son, my son, he spoke without words. Arathorn struggled with a sudden wave of rancor. You should have been born in a great Numenorean city, Annúminas or Minas Tirith, and wrapped in lordly raiment, not a plain woolen blanket. Your birth should have been trumpeted across the North and South Kingdoms; and men of the East and South should have heard of your coming and sent envoys to bear you kingly gifts. Your grandfather should have lifted you to his lap and laughed as you pulled his beard, instead he lies cold in an unmarked grave, cruelly slain by hill-trolls. What kind of life can I give you, little son, but an endless trial of battles and wandering in the shadows?
He had never aspired to the kingship of his longfathers, but now Arathorn remembered it with anger and sorrow. He tightened his grip on the infant. My precious boy, you are the heir to the throne of Arnor and Gondor, yet you are born in a half-ruined old fortress in the Angle, surrounded by the threadbare tents of our people.
Perfect.
I don't remember the paraphrased line. But I do love Marion Zimmer Bradley's Darkover novels, novellas, and short stories. Lots of inspiration there for me. Did you know MZB wrote at least one Tolkien fanfic? All I remember is that the one I read included Arwen. I found it online years ago and did not keep a copy.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2015-03-07 07:59 am (UTC)This is my favorite part:
Oh, my son, my son, he spoke without words. Arathorn struggled with a sudden wave of rancor. You should have been born in a great Numenorean city, Annúminas or Minas Tirith, and wrapped in lordly raiment, not a plain woolen blanket. Your birth should have been trumpeted across the North and South Kingdoms; and men of the East and South should have heard of your coming and sent envoys to bear you kingly gifts. Your grandfather should have lifted you to his lap and laughed as you pulled his beard, instead he lies cold in an unmarked grave, cruelly slain by hill-trolls. What kind of life can I give you, little son, but an endless trial of battles and wandering in the shadows?
He had never aspired to the kingship of his longfathers, but now Arathorn remembered it with anger and sorrow. He tightened his grip on the infant. My precious boy, you are the heir to the throne of Arnor and Gondor, yet you are born in a half-ruined old fortress in the Angle, surrounded by the threadbare tents of our people.
Perfect.
I don't remember the paraphrased line. But I do love Marion Zimmer Bradley's Darkover novels, novellas, and short stories. Lots of inspiration there for me. Did you know MZB wrote at least one Tolkien fanfic? All I remember is that the one I read included Arwen. I found it online years ago and did not keep a copy.