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b2memB2MeM Challenge:
Format: Chaptered fic
Genre: Family, Adventure
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mention of corporal punishment of children (though none actually carried out) Mention of treason. High-on-Palantir!Denethor. x_x
Characters: Aragorn, Gilraen, Ivorwen, Arnorian OCs, Denethor, Hurin, Boromir, a couple Gondorian OCs
Pairings:
Creators' Notes (optional): This takes place at approximately the same time as Chapter Six/Seven. I decided I had better introduce more Arnorian OCs before I got too far along. I also felt I had better begin to resolve what happened to Mallor. (Haldorn is the name of two of my OC's - the Arnorian one was named for the Gondorian one.)
House of Arador:
1. Arathorn m. Gilraen
a. Aragorn m. Arwen
- Faramir (Finduilas)
(Faramir's half-sibs won't be born for a while yet)
2. Arneth m. Handoron "Hawkeye"
a. Hallatan
- Haldorn (10)
b. Halbarad
- Halboron (11)
3. Brennil m. Taithir
a. Thalanir
- Thanguron (6)
4. Glasdes m. Herthedir "Strongbow" (middle son of Dirhael and Ivorwen)
a. Idhrenor
- Hissael (8)
- Gwenhel (5)
- Golwenor (5)
- Bronweg (0)
5. Targon "Ironbow" (15 years older than Aragorn)
a. Bregomir (10)
b. Borlas (10)
(Also, "corn-husk", refers to maize's leaves, so as not to confuse my British readers :) )
Summary:
We leave Faramir for a bit (he should be safe in Fangorn for a while, at least) and catch up on what's been going on with Aragorn and Denethor - I know people have been wondering about Denethor and Mallor, particularly...
Aragorn sat on the bunk that had been his when he first came to his people. It lay unused, but a few belongings still hung over it, from the bunk above and on the wall; boxes made of wood and leather, a drinking vessel, the boy's bow and arrows he had been gifted when he first came to Tâduin, and a leather sling, with a pouch of smooth, round stones. A stuffed rabbit, made of rabbit skin and stuffed with wool, lay on the pillow, and he picked up the rabbit, holding it close. The toy, called Luin, was the only nod to childhood that yet remained here, and it was well tended; eighteen years in Imladris had seen it kept free of care.
He had not slept with the toy since he was nine or so before returning to his people. It surprised him, then, twenty or not, that he wished the rabbit's comfort. Gilraen had found it no surprise; nor had Ivorwen.
"You are still young, daerion-laes," Ivorwen had said kindly. "Only on the cusp of manhood; you have not yet begun to grasp what being a man amongst the Dunedain, what being Chieftain will truly mean for you. Besides, you are considered young and untried by most of those who will be your councillors; you never had a chance to experience boyhood amongst our folk. Until you prove yourself a child of the Dunedain, you will not be wholly accepted as a man grown amongst them."
Aragorn had raised his eyebrows at that, but found himself comforted by Luin - named for his blue button eyes. In the weeks and months that followed, he had followed gamely in the steps of younger cousins. He submitted to learning the chores assigned to the children, and the history of Arnor as their men had lived it, before being permitted to accompany the men at last. Now...
Now Luin would gain a new master. A smaller master, by far, he thought wryly, stroking a greying ear and looking down into blue eyes. He hoped that his son would be as well served by Luin's comfort as he, himself, had been.
Aragorn came out of the lodge when he heard the sound of children shouting. Haldorn - named for a friend of Hallatan's in Gondor - and Halbarad's son Halboron were chasing each other, the cousins laughing and shouting as they ran. Ten and eleven, the boys had been readied for their places as Aragorn's next-heirs, until he had won Arwen to wife. That time was not yet. Now would it ever be so? Their fathers, the brothers Hallatan and Halbarad, were his own first cousins, and his heirs presumptive. But now, he had Faramir.
He almost had Faramir, Aragorn corrected himself. By all accounts, Faramir had made it safely to Rohan. But Rohan was not Arnor. Rohan, Calenardhon of old, had once been Gondor's domain, and Rohan was not yet safe for his child. He prayed his son would make it across Arnor's border, and to Tâduin, in safety.
Hallatan and Halbarad’s sons were joined by other cousins - Thanguron, Hissael, Gwenhel and Golwenor. The last were fraternal twins, sister and brother, and just Faramir's age. Aragorn hoped they would prove true companions to his son, but now they were clamoring for a story.
"What sort of story would you like, little ones?" he asked, causing the older boys to scowl.
"A story about the lost prince," Gwenhel said, bouncing with her corn-husk doll in her arms. "Is the prince really returning?"
"Lost prince," Hissael, her older brother scoffed. "He's just a little boy. Like you, Golwenor." Golwenor spun around and kicked Hissael.
"Stop that at once," Aragorn said, stepping closer to Hissael and looking at him gravely. "Come here, Hissael."
The boy did as he was bid, though he was clearly unwilling. "Yes, my lord."
"Tell me, Hissael, how old you are."
"Eight winters, my lord." Hissael gave his Chieftain, his father's cousin a sidelong glance. Surely Lord Aragorn knew that.
"Eight winters. Old enough to know the difference between right and wrong. You know how disobedience is dealt with in your mother's village," Aragorn said quietly.
Hissael did. He had lived among his mother's kin for two seasons. "They...use a switch on the children. All of them, no matter which one it was."
"Then you may be grateful we do not do so in Tâduin," Aragorn said. Hissael bit his lip.
"Yes, my lord."
Aragorn turned Hissael and gave him a gentle push toward Golwenor. Hissael bowed his head.
"I'm sorry, brother."
Golwenor nodded. "It hurt."
"I'll try not to do it again."
The call to lessons was given, and story forgotten, the children ran away. Aragorn followed at a slower pace; he found Master Idhrenor, his uncle Herthedir and aunt Glasdes’ son, lining the children up before him in their rows, on their deerskin mats. “Idhrenor,” Aragorn said. “By your leave, I would borrow Golwenor a moment.”
“Of course, Cousin,” Idhrenor replied. He bowed. “Golwenor, the Chieftain requires your presence.”
Golwenor got up from his mat in the front of the group, and felt all eyes on him as he trotted to Aragorn, bowing as he had seen Idhrenor do. “Cousin Chieftain Aragorn, my lord sir, are you mad with me?” he stammered out, and by the time he had finished addressing Aragorn, all Aragorn’s irritation had melted away. He smiled wryly.
“Am I mad with you, Golwenor? No. I understand you were angry with Hissael. He spoke unkind words to you. But does that make it all right to kick him in return?”
“Um…” Golwenor paused. “No?” he hazarded.
“No,” Aragorn echoed with a nod. “It does not.”
“Are you going to switch me, like Auntie from Naneth’s village?” Golwenor asked meekly. “I’m big now, I’m five, so she would.”
“You are a big boy now. I think you understand enough to see that you mustn’t kick any more. Is that right?” Aragorn suggested.
“Um…yes, sir,” Golwenor said slowly.
“What must you do instead?” Aragorn asked. Golwenor frowned, brow creasing in thought.
“Tell a grown up?”
Aragorn nodded. “It might be well to tell Hissael, or anyone else, that you were hurt by their words, instead of trying to hurt them back, also,” Aragorn suggested. Golwenor nodded.
“I will,” Golwenor said, greatly relieved. “I’ll say sorry to ‘Sael now.”
“Good boy,” Aragorn replied, pleased his little cousin had come up with that without prompting, and the little one dipped a quick bow and all but tumbled back to his mat, twisting round to see Hissael behind him.
“Sorry, ‘Sael.”
“It’s all right, Golwenor,” Hissael said, and Golwenor nodded, relieved. Spectacle over, Idhrenor called his class to order, and Aragorn settled back to watch and muse again on his younger days.
Meanwhile, far to the south, the Lord Steward's fury knew no bounds. He had finally got his hands on the traitor, Captain Mallor, and he was going to deal with him as he saw fit.
“My Lord Steward…” Mallor gasped as he was forced to his knees in front of the Chair. The Steward he had served in love and faithfulness sat before him, proud, cold and hard. It was as though his heart had died with his lady, Mallor thought dimly, trying to see the man to whom he had sworn his vassal’s vows for who he had been.
“You will be silent,” Denethor said. He stared down at the warrior he had ordered after Captain Targon. “Where is my son?”
“The child was not—“ Mallor choked on his words with a gasp as one of the guards backhanded him with a gauntleted hand.
“Where is my son?” Denethor repeated. “I will tell you where my son is. He is in Rohan, at the court of Theoden King. You let him escape. Rohan refuses to give the boy up. This means war.”
Mallor swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. “My lord, Rohan is our ally of old – the Oath of Eorl and Cirion still holds – “
“You are living proof that oaths can be broken. Traitor,” Denethor said icily. Mallor found himself trying desperately not to be sick. To be judged a traitor…it only meant one thing.
“You know your duty, Captain,” Denethor said. Captain Haldorn, father of Húrin, and uncle to Mallor, had listened to his brother-by-law’s raving with mounting horror; Húrin, standing beside his cousin Boromir, shuddered. Nevertheless, Haldorn bowed obediently, realising that this was his Steward, not his heart-brother speaking.
“I do.” He looked at his elder brother's son and heir with eyes that begged forgiveness. Mallor's eyes, bright with unshed tears, held no condemnation - only fear. And Haldorn knew in that moment that he, too, was afraid.
Format: Chaptered fic
Genre: Family, Adventure
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mention of corporal punishment of children (though none actually carried out) Mention of treason. High-on-Palantir!Denethor. x_x
Characters: Aragorn, Gilraen, Ivorwen, Arnorian OCs, Denethor, Hurin, Boromir, a couple Gondorian OCs
Pairings:
Creators' Notes (optional): This takes place at approximately the same time as Chapter Six/Seven. I decided I had better introduce more Arnorian OCs before I got too far along. I also felt I had better begin to resolve what happened to Mallor. (Haldorn is the name of two of my OC's - the Arnorian one was named for the Gondorian one.)
House of Arador:
1. Arathorn m. Gilraen
a. Aragorn m. Arwen
- Faramir (Finduilas)
(Faramir's half-sibs won't be born for a while yet)
2. Arneth m. Handoron "Hawkeye"
a. Hallatan
- Haldorn (10)
b. Halbarad
- Halboron (11)
3. Brennil m. Taithir
a. Thalanir
- Thanguron (6)
4. Glasdes m. Herthedir "Strongbow" (middle son of Dirhael and Ivorwen)
a. Idhrenor
- Hissael (8)
- Gwenhel (5)
- Golwenor (5)
- Bronweg (0)
5. Targon "Ironbow" (15 years older than Aragorn)
a. Bregomir (10)
b. Borlas (10)
(Also, "corn-husk", refers to maize's leaves, so as not to confuse my British readers :) )
Summary:
We leave Faramir for a bit (he should be safe in Fangorn for a while, at least) and catch up on what's been going on with Aragorn and Denethor - I know people have been wondering about Denethor and Mallor, particularly...
Aragorn sat on the bunk that had been his when he first came to his people. It lay unused, but a few belongings still hung over it, from the bunk above and on the wall; boxes made of wood and leather, a drinking vessel, the boy's bow and arrows he had been gifted when he first came to Tâduin, and a leather sling, with a pouch of smooth, round stones. A stuffed rabbit, made of rabbit skin and stuffed with wool, lay on the pillow, and he picked up the rabbit, holding it close. The toy, called Luin, was the only nod to childhood that yet remained here, and it was well tended; eighteen years in Imladris had seen it kept free of care.
He had not slept with the toy since he was nine or so before returning to his people. It surprised him, then, twenty or not, that he wished the rabbit's comfort. Gilraen had found it no surprise; nor had Ivorwen.
"You are still young, daerion-laes," Ivorwen had said kindly. "Only on the cusp of manhood; you have not yet begun to grasp what being a man amongst the Dunedain, what being Chieftain will truly mean for you. Besides, you are considered young and untried by most of those who will be your councillors; you never had a chance to experience boyhood amongst our folk. Until you prove yourself a child of the Dunedain, you will not be wholly accepted as a man grown amongst them."
Aragorn had raised his eyebrows at that, but found himself comforted by Luin - named for his blue button eyes. In the weeks and months that followed, he had followed gamely in the steps of younger cousins. He submitted to learning the chores assigned to the children, and the history of Arnor as their men had lived it, before being permitted to accompany the men at last. Now...
Now Luin would gain a new master. A smaller master, by far, he thought wryly, stroking a greying ear and looking down into blue eyes. He hoped that his son would be as well served by Luin's comfort as he, himself, had been.
Aragorn came out of the lodge when he heard the sound of children shouting. Haldorn - named for a friend of Hallatan's in Gondor - and Halbarad's son Halboron were chasing each other, the cousins laughing and shouting as they ran. Ten and eleven, the boys had been readied for their places as Aragorn's next-heirs, until he had won Arwen to wife. That time was not yet. Now would it ever be so? Their fathers, the brothers Hallatan and Halbarad, were his own first cousins, and his heirs presumptive. But now, he had Faramir.
He almost had Faramir, Aragorn corrected himself. By all accounts, Faramir had made it safely to Rohan. But Rohan was not Arnor. Rohan, Calenardhon of old, had once been Gondor's domain, and Rohan was not yet safe for his child. He prayed his son would make it across Arnor's border, and to Tâduin, in safety.
Hallatan and Halbarad’s sons were joined by other cousins - Thanguron, Hissael, Gwenhel and Golwenor. The last were fraternal twins, sister and brother, and just Faramir's age. Aragorn hoped they would prove true companions to his son, but now they were clamoring for a story.
"What sort of story would you like, little ones?" he asked, causing the older boys to scowl.
"A story about the lost prince," Gwenhel said, bouncing with her corn-husk doll in her arms. "Is the prince really returning?"
"Lost prince," Hissael, her older brother scoffed. "He's just a little boy. Like you, Golwenor." Golwenor spun around and kicked Hissael.
"Stop that at once," Aragorn said, stepping closer to Hissael and looking at him gravely. "Come here, Hissael."
The boy did as he was bid, though he was clearly unwilling. "Yes, my lord."
"Tell me, Hissael, how old you are."
"Eight winters, my lord." Hissael gave his Chieftain, his father's cousin a sidelong glance. Surely Lord Aragorn knew that.
"Eight winters. Old enough to know the difference between right and wrong. You know how disobedience is dealt with in your mother's village," Aragorn said quietly.
Hissael did. He had lived among his mother's kin for two seasons. "They...use a switch on the children. All of them, no matter which one it was."
"Then you may be grateful we do not do so in Tâduin," Aragorn said. Hissael bit his lip.
"Yes, my lord."
Aragorn turned Hissael and gave him a gentle push toward Golwenor. Hissael bowed his head.
"I'm sorry, brother."
Golwenor nodded. "It hurt."
"I'll try not to do it again."
The call to lessons was given, and story forgotten, the children ran away. Aragorn followed at a slower pace; he found Master Idhrenor, his uncle Herthedir and aunt Glasdes’ son, lining the children up before him in their rows, on their deerskin mats. “Idhrenor,” Aragorn said. “By your leave, I would borrow Golwenor a moment.”
“Of course, Cousin,” Idhrenor replied. He bowed. “Golwenor, the Chieftain requires your presence.”
Golwenor got up from his mat in the front of the group, and felt all eyes on him as he trotted to Aragorn, bowing as he had seen Idhrenor do. “Cousin Chieftain Aragorn, my lord sir, are you mad with me?” he stammered out, and by the time he had finished addressing Aragorn, all Aragorn’s irritation had melted away. He smiled wryly.
“Am I mad with you, Golwenor? No. I understand you were angry with Hissael. He spoke unkind words to you. But does that make it all right to kick him in return?”
“Um…” Golwenor paused. “No?” he hazarded.
“No,” Aragorn echoed with a nod. “It does not.”
“Are you going to switch me, like Auntie from Naneth’s village?” Golwenor asked meekly. “I’m big now, I’m five, so she would.”
“You are a big boy now. I think you understand enough to see that you mustn’t kick any more. Is that right?” Aragorn suggested.
“Um…yes, sir,” Golwenor said slowly.
“What must you do instead?” Aragorn asked. Golwenor frowned, brow creasing in thought.
“Tell a grown up?”
Aragorn nodded. “It might be well to tell Hissael, or anyone else, that you were hurt by their words, instead of trying to hurt them back, also,” Aragorn suggested. Golwenor nodded.
“I will,” Golwenor said, greatly relieved. “I’ll say sorry to ‘Sael now.”
“Good boy,” Aragorn replied, pleased his little cousin had come up with that without prompting, and the little one dipped a quick bow and all but tumbled back to his mat, twisting round to see Hissael behind him.
“Sorry, ‘Sael.”
“It’s all right, Golwenor,” Hissael said, and Golwenor nodded, relieved. Spectacle over, Idhrenor called his class to order, and Aragorn settled back to watch and muse again on his younger days.
Meanwhile, far to the south, the Lord Steward's fury knew no bounds. He had finally got his hands on the traitor, Captain Mallor, and he was going to deal with him as he saw fit.
“My Lord Steward…” Mallor gasped as he was forced to his knees in front of the Chair. The Steward he had served in love and faithfulness sat before him, proud, cold and hard. It was as though his heart had died with his lady, Mallor thought dimly, trying to see the man to whom he had sworn his vassal’s vows for who he had been.
“You will be silent,” Denethor said. He stared down at the warrior he had ordered after Captain Targon. “Where is my son?”
“The child was not—“ Mallor choked on his words with a gasp as one of the guards backhanded him with a gauntleted hand.
“Where is my son?” Denethor repeated. “I will tell you where my son is. He is in Rohan, at the court of Theoden King. You let him escape. Rohan refuses to give the boy up. This means war.”
Mallor swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. “My lord, Rohan is our ally of old – the Oath of Eorl and Cirion still holds – “
“You are living proof that oaths can be broken. Traitor,” Denethor said icily. Mallor found himself trying desperately not to be sick. To be judged a traitor…it only meant one thing.
“You know your duty, Captain,” Denethor said. Captain Haldorn, father of Húrin, and uncle to Mallor, had listened to his brother-by-law’s raving with mounting horror; Húrin, standing beside his cousin Boromir, shuddered. Nevertheless, Haldorn bowed obediently, realising that this was his Steward, not his heart-brother speaking.
“I do.” He looked at his elder brother's son and heir with eyes that begged forgiveness. Mallor's eyes, bright with unshed tears, held no condemnation - only fear. And Haldorn knew in that moment that he, too, was afraid.
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cute cat
Date: 2015-03-20 07:16 am (UTC)http://www.hollisterpraha.com (http://www.hollisterpraha.com)
RE: cute cat
Date: 2015-03-21 04:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-03-20 01:58 pm (UTC)I like this look at Aragorn awaiting his son's arrival.
no subject
Date: 2015-03-20 06:46 pm (UTC)I'm glad you like Aragorn waiting for Faramir! :) Thanks for your review :)
no subject
Date: 2015-03-20 05:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-03-20 06:47 pm (UTC)Definitely poor Mallor, but perhaps Haldorn of Gondor can get his nephew out of trouble...hmm...I'm trying to figure out a way! I hate the idea of Mallor's execution as much as my readers do, I'm sure...
no subject
Date: 2015-04-03 07:01 am (UTC)But it does not bode well for poor Mallor! Traitor's death is not pleasant or fast. I hope Haldorn or Boromir come to the sneaky rescue!
no subject
Date: 2015-04-03 05:18 pm (UTC)No, a traitor's death is not pleasant or fast. Haldorn maybe - but Boromir is only ten, after all. Still....hmm...He might be able to help. We shall see :) Thank you!