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b2memB2MeM Challenge:
Format: Chaptered fic
Genre: Family, Adventure
Rating: PG
Warnings: I've never written Onodrim before...
Characters: Morwen, Theoden, Faramir, Quickbeam, Treebeard, OCs
Pairings:
Creators' Notes (optional): I'm sorry if this *chapter* seems too hasty! It was finished in the middle of the night...
Summary: The next morning, the company sets out to seek the Elves, but they won't get to Dwimordene without trouble and adventures along the way...
As it turned out, Théoden’s resolve was swayed the next morning – by his mother of all people. When Morwen Steelsheen found out what it was her son intended to do, and why, she shook her head.
“Nay, ion-nin. I will not permit it.”
“You will not permit it, Naneth?” Théoden raised an eyebrow. “I am to sit idle when there is a threat to my realm?”
“I would not see the child spirited away in thine absence, ion-nin. The King must remain within Edoras. If Curunir truly has designs on the throne, must it be made easy for him? Lórien is not precisely next door.”
“Someone must go,” Théoden said quietly. “The Lady may tell me where Gandalf is hid.”
“She may not,” Morwen countered. “That would be the Lady’s prerogative, not thine. The Elves are not subject to thee, Théoden.”
“Who would I send?” Théoden asked.
“Send Elfgar,” Morwen replied, “and I will ride with him. For is he not as thine own brother, and doth he not serve thee faithfully?”
“Let it be Elfgar, then,” Théoden replied. “But Faran needs you, Naneth.”
“I propose to take the lad and his kin with me,” Morwen replied.
Théoden sighed, but he raised no objection. His mother was not nicknamed Stýlescýne, Steelsheen, for naught. Once she made up her mind, she would not be moved. He merely nodded. “I will leave you to wake the lad and see to the packing then, Naneth. I must go to Elfgar and make ready.” Luckily, his brother-by-law resided within Meduseld, so it was no trouble to go to him.
Mother and son parted, and Meduseld was shortly thrown into disorder as preparations were made. Last of all to be woken, when all else was made ready, was Faramir.
He woke to find himself drawn into Morwen’s lap, the Queen cradling him and stroking his dark hair. “Wilt thou come with me to see the Ælfcynn, cousin?” she asked. “The Edhil of Lórien?”
Faramir’s eyes widened, and he nodded. “Do you think they will like me?”
Morwen gave her little cousin every reassurance, and soon she had him prepared and they were on their way. They travelled chiefly on horseback, with Faramir – Faran, he told himself again, and Morwen together in the one waggon the company brought. They travelled with all speed during the nights, following the course of the Snowbourn to the River Entwash, and landscape changed little as they followed the course of the river with all haste. When they reached the Entwash for the first time, Faramir tumbled out of the waggon to stretch his legs, and wandered over to the water, alone. He heard the cry of a seabird, to his surprise – so far inland? But there it was, diving for fish, and the little boy thought perhaps he might do well to tickle up a fish for supper, himself. Wouldn’t Uncle Targon, Cousin Orodben, Cousin Queen Morwen and Lord Elfgar be surprised? Of course, he’d never caught fish by himself, but he’d seen Brom do it; that ought to have been enough, Faramir thought.
He thought quite wrongly.
Faramir tumbled into the shallows of the Entwash, trying to catch fish the way Brom had done it, and endured being dragged out by Thegn Elfgar; the late Queen Elfhild’s brother gave the lad a light shake.
“Do not be a fool, Faran,” Elfgar growled. “You had no one watching you, no one to help you; Morwen Cyninge would skin me if she knew you had nearly drowned, my lad, do you hear me?” He had good reason to fear the wrath of his sister’s mother-in-love, especially when it came to this boy. Faramir gulped and nodded. Elfgar scooped up the dripping boy and carried him back to camp, where Faramir had to endure being dried by the heat of a low-burning fire, coupled with Morwen’s disapproving looks; from there, after breaking camp, they turned north, toward the land of the Onodrim – Fangorn Forest.
Fangorn! Finduilas had used to sing to her sons of Fangorn, the wood was held to be secretive, wild, and perhaps dangerous, more dangerous even than Lothlórien. Yet, Morwen made the company draw near, and Elfgar, one day as they camped within sight of the wood, asked about it.
“Milady Queen…why Fangorn? Surely,” Elfgar said cautiously, “we court danger enough by seeking out the Ælfcynn of Dwimordene. Must we chance this wood, Morwen Cyninge?”
“Elfhild was not such a milk-blooded weakling,” Morwen snapped, and Elfgar’s cheeks flushed as much from pain as from shame – his sister’s death, even ten years previously, was still somewhat raw. “Elfhild would not have turned in fear from a mere wood. There is naught to fear in Fangorn Forest, Thegn Elfgar. If there be legends that walk there, they are not our enemies.”
“They may not be our friends, with respect,” Elfgar said to Morwen.
“Well, well…as my son is wont to say, and as my husband said once on a time, the Elder Peoples of the world are not tame. But they are, or should be, good at the least. Yes, I believe we will find something there, Elfgar. But perhaps we shall make an ally.”
Friends would be good, Faramir thought, listening. Friends might help him get home, wherever home was meant to be. They might get Uncle Targon out of trouble with Father the Lord Denethor, and help him get safely to Ada.
For once, under the eaves of Fangorn, they felt sure of sleeping well; all but Faramir. Just before dawn, when the rest of the camp had settled down to sleep, the little son of Earntungol slipped off into the wood – it got wilder and more tangled the further he went. He wondered if he would ever find these friends and allies Cousin Morwen the Queen had spoken of.
“Mae govannen,” Faramir called softly. “Im estannen Faran.” He called out his greeting, and gave his name, another time just to be sure – he was sure something had moved just there, yes, and – “Oof!” The little boy yelped as he was whisked suddenly high into the air by a branch-like arm. Upside down, Faramir tried to make out what had hold of him. It was very like a tree, if a tree was a person – or if a person was a tree, he thought. Anyhow it looked somewhat like a young giant, maybe even almost a troll…tree. Faramir squinted. “Mae govannen,” he tried again, eyes round.
“Hmm, yes, greetings to you, small one. Good day, for in fact it is day, and well met, hm. You speak Westron?” At Faramir’s nod, the being went on, “Yes, very good. I am Bregalad – that is Quickbeam – and I am considered hasty and young, rather like you, and of course Quickbeam is only a nickname. Faran, you said, I think that must be a nickname too, yes? I must bring you to Fangorn, Treebeard, this is his wood, and then we shall get on better.” Faramir cried out as Quickbeam began carrying him away.
“Quickbeam, wait! My friends, the Queen, they are outside, they don’t know I’m gone!”
“Hasty indeed!” Quickbeam laughed. “The Queen, you said? What does the Queen of Rohan so far from her son’s hall?”
“We’re going to ask the Elves to help us find Mithrandir!” Faramir yelped as Quickbeam finally righted him. “Gandalf the Grey!”
“Gandalf! Yes, we know Gandalf, we Ents. He is not far from here. Not far, that is, as we Ents count it; that is quite far for your stumps of legs, child of Men. But why is it, ha, hmm, that you want the Elves to help you find him?”
“Saruman’s gone bad!” Faramir cried in distress, and Quickbeam made his strides even quicker. “I dreamed it, the King says it's true, Saruman wants to hurt Rohan!”
“Well, hm, that is certainly business for the Ents, and we will discuss it. But as for you, little one, Faran, you will be safe with me until we have talked it over. We will not be hasty in our decisions, if Treebeard is there! And your folk will join us before all is said and done.”
Faramir’s head was whirling, and all he could do was nod as Quickbeam carried him along – rousing the Ents as they went.
For better or worse, Treebeard awaited. The little boy was feeling sick and faint with fear, and wondered what punishment might fall upon him once he was found again. If Elfgar wished to thrash him for it, he would not protest – not that the Rohir had struck him yet, but Faramir figured it was just a matter of time, now.
Suddenly the wood opened up into a circle…a circle of Ents. Faramir was placed in their midst, upon a flat stump. There, sore, frightened, and weary with his dizzying journey, he curled up and went to sleep amidst the rumbling of the Onodrim in their quite un-hasty tongue.
Format: Chaptered fic
Genre: Family, Adventure
Rating: PG
Warnings: I've never written Onodrim before...
Characters: Morwen, Theoden, Faramir, Quickbeam, Treebeard, OCs
Pairings:
Creators' Notes (optional): I'm sorry if this *chapter* seems too hasty! It was finished in the middle of the night...
Summary: The next morning, the company sets out to seek the Elves, but they won't get to Dwimordene without trouble and adventures along the way...
As it turned out, Théoden’s resolve was swayed the next morning – by his mother of all people. When Morwen Steelsheen found out what it was her son intended to do, and why, she shook her head.
“Nay, ion-nin. I will not permit it.”
“You will not permit it, Naneth?” Théoden raised an eyebrow. “I am to sit idle when there is a threat to my realm?”
“I would not see the child spirited away in thine absence, ion-nin. The King must remain within Edoras. If Curunir truly has designs on the throne, must it be made easy for him? Lórien is not precisely next door.”
“Someone must go,” Théoden said quietly. “The Lady may tell me where Gandalf is hid.”
“She may not,” Morwen countered. “That would be the Lady’s prerogative, not thine. The Elves are not subject to thee, Théoden.”
“Who would I send?” Théoden asked.
“Send Elfgar,” Morwen replied, “and I will ride with him. For is he not as thine own brother, and doth he not serve thee faithfully?”
“Let it be Elfgar, then,” Théoden replied. “But Faran needs you, Naneth.”
“I propose to take the lad and his kin with me,” Morwen replied.
Théoden sighed, but he raised no objection. His mother was not nicknamed Stýlescýne, Steelsheen, for naught. Once she made up her mind, she would not be moved. He merely nodded. “I will leave you to wake the lad and see to the packing then, Naneth. I must go to Elfgar and make ready.” Luckily, his brother-by-law resided within Meduseld, so it was no trouble to go to him.
Mother and son parted, and Meduseld was shortly thrown into disorder as preparations were made. Last of all to be woken, when all else was made ready, was Faramir.
He woke to find himself drawn into Morwen’s lap, the Queen cradling him and stroking his dark hair. “Wilt thou come with me to see the Ælfcynn, cousin?” she asked. “The Edhil of Lórien?”
Faramir’s eyes widened, and he nodded. “Do you think they will like me?”
Morwen gave her little cousin every reassurance, and soon she had him prepared and they were on their way. They travelled chiefly on horseback, with Faramir – Faran, he told himself again, and Morwen together in the one waggon the company brought. They travelled with all speed during the nights, following the course of the Snowbourn to the River Entwash, and landscape changed little as they followed the course of the river with all haste. When they reached the Entwash for the first time, Faramir tumbled out of the waggon to stretch his legs, and wandered over to the water, alone. He heard the cry of a seabird, to his surprise – so far inland? But there it was, diving for fish, and the little boy thought perhaps he might do well to tickle up a fish for supper, himself. Wouldn’t Uncle Targon, Cousin Orodben, Cousin Queen Morwen and Lord Elfgar be surprised? Of course, he’d never caught fish by himself, but he’d seen Brom do it; that ought to have been enough, Faramir thought.
He thought quite wrongly.
Faramir tumbled into the shallows of the Entwash, trying to catch fish the way Brom had done it, and endured being dragged out by Thegn Elfgar; the late Queen Elfhild’s brother gave the lad a light shake.
“Do not be a fool, Faran,” Elfgar growled. “You had no one watching you, no one to help you; Morwen Cyninge would skin me if she knew you had nearly drowned, my lad, do you hear me?” He had good reason to fear the wrath of his sister’s mother-in-love, especially when it came to this boy. Faramir gulped and nodded. Elfgar scooped up the dripping boy and carried him back to camp, where Faramir had to endure being dried by the heat of a low-burning fire, coupled with Morwen’s disapproving looks; from there, after breaking camp, they turned north, toward the land of the Onodrim – Fangorn Forest.
Fangorn! Finduilas had used to sing to her sons of Fangorn, the wood was held to be secretive, wild, and perhaps dangerous, more dangerous even than Lothlórien. Yet, Morwen made the company draw near, and Elfgar, one day as they camped within sight of the wood, asked about it.
“Milady Queen…why Fangorn? Surely,” Elfgar said cautiously, “we court danger enough by seeking out the Ælfcynn of Dwimordene. Must we chance this wood, Morwen Cyninge?”
“Elfhild was not such a milk-blooded weakling,” Morwen snapped, and Elfgar’s cheeks flushed as much from pain as from shame – his sister’s death, even ten years previously, was still somewhat raw. “Elfhild would not have turned in fear from a mere wood. There is naught to fear in Fangorn Forest, Thegn Elfgar. If there be legends that walk there, they are not our enemies.”
“They may not be our friends, with respect,” Elfgar said to Morwen.
“Well, well…as my son is wont to say, and as my husband said once on a time, the Elder Peoples of the world are not tame. But they are, or should be, good at the least. Yes, I believe we will find something there, Elfgar. But perhaps we shall make an ally.”
Friends would be good, Faramir thought, listening. Friends might help him get home, wherever home was meant to be. They might get Uncle Targon out of trouble with Father the Lord Denethor, and help him get safely to Ada.
For once, under the eaves of Fangorn, they felt sure of sleeping well; all but Faramir. Just before dawn, when the rest of the camp had settled down to sleep, the little son of Earntungol slipped off into the wood – it got wilder and more tangled the further he went. He wondered if he would ever find these friends and allies Cousin Morwen the Queen had spoken of.
“Mae govannen,” Faramir called softly. “Im estannen Faran.” He called out his greeting, and gave his name, another time just to be sure – he was sure something had moved just there, yes, and – “Oof!” The little boy yelped as he was whisked suddenly high into the air by a branch-like arm. Upside down, Faramir tried to make out what had hold of him. It was very like a tree, if a tree was a person – or if a person was a tree, he thought. Anyhow it looked somewhat like a young giant, maybe even almost a troll…tree. Faramir squinted. “Mae govannen,” he tried again, eyes round.
“Hmm, yes, greetings to you, small one. Good day, for in fact it is day, and well met, hm. You speak Westron?” At Faramir’s nod, the being went on, “Yes, very good. I am Bregalad – that is Quickbeam – and I am considered hasty and young, rather like you, and of course Quickbeam is only a nickname. Faran, you said, I think that must be a nickname too, yes? I must bring you to Fangorn, Treebeard, this is his wood, and then we shall get on better.” Faramir cried out as Quickbeam began carrying him away.
“Quickbeam, wait! My friends, the Queen, they are outside, they don’t know I’m gone!”
“Hasty indeed!” Quickbeam laughed. “The Queen, you said? What does the Queen of Rohan so far from her son’s hall?”
“We’re going to ask the Elves to help us find Mithrandir!” Faramir yelped as Quickbeam finally righted him. “Gandalf the Grey!”
“Gandalf! Yes, we know Gandalf, we Ents. He is not far from here. Not far, that is, as we Ents count it; that is quite far for your stumps of legs, child of Men. But why is it, ha, hmm, that you want the Elves to help you find him?”
“Saruman’s gone bad!” Faramir cried in distress, and Quickbeam made his strides even quicker. “I dreamed it, the King says it's true, Saruman wants to hurt Rohan!”
“Well, hm, that is certainly business for the Ents, and we will discuss it. But as for you, little one, Faran, you will be safe with me until we have talked it over. We will not be hasty in our decisions, if Treebeard is there! And your folk will join us before all is said and done.”
Faramir’s head was whirling, and all he could do was nod as Quickbeam carried him along – rousing the Ents as they went.
For better or worse, Treebeard awaited. The little boy was feeling sick and faint with fear, and wondered what punishment might fall upon him once he was found again. If Elfgar wished to thrash him for it, he would not protest – not that the Rohir had struck him yet, but Faramir figured it was just a matter of time, now.
Suddenly the wood opened up into a circle…a circle of Ents. Faramir was placed in their midst, upon a flat stump. There, sore, frightened, and weary with his dizzying journey, he curled up and went to sleep amidst the rumbling of the Onodrim in their quite un-hasty tongue.
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Date: 2015-03-15 03:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-03-15 04:26 pm (UTC)Today's Specials: 3/15/2015 B2MEM Marketplace Additions (As of 6pm CST)
Date: 2015-03-15 10:56 pm (UTC)RE: Today's Specials: 3/15/2015 B2MEM Marketplace Additions (As of 6pm CST)
Date: 2015-03-16 12:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-03-16 05:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-03-16 05:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-03-21 12:26 am (UTC)Funny as I'm reading this chapter, all the Elf names popping up. I love your research, both Tolkien and Anglo Saxon. It makes my toes curl it does, just like Quickbeams roots!
Oh and extra extra points for Quickbeam the Hasty! LOL
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Date: 2015-03-21 03:46 am (UTC)Extra extra points? Yay! :) Thank you!