Stories of Arda - Lord of the Rings Fan-Fiction Archive

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

A quartet of drabbles jointly written with Raksha the Demon for the Antagonistic Arwen challenge in the There and Back Again LJ community

“Can you imagine the pair, brother?” asked Rúmil of Orophin, newly returned from Lórien’s borders. “The Lady’s grand-daughter choosing a mortal wanderer, on Cerin Amroth itself!”

“A pity.” Orophin answered. “Undómiel could have wed any Elf, yet will lower herself to a Man‘s bed. Strange tastes must run in her Peredhel blood.”

“Lower?” A chill voice spoke. They turned and beheld the Evenstar herself, in a pale cold fury. “You speak ignorance. Perhaps you might speak again, with more care.”

Later, the brothers agreed that they would prefer tracking a hundred rampaging Orcs to raising the ire of Arwen Undómiel.

Éomer had meant to mumble some excuse, but he could not. The Queen’s eyes seemed to pierce the depths of his soul. “We were sparring and I was careless,” he confessed.” My folly grieves me deeply.”

Arwen slowly rose from her chair. He quailed before her piercing gaze. How could one so fair be so terrible? Yet, was she not kinswoman to the Sorceress of the Golden Wood? Far rather would he face a hundred rampaging Orcs than this woman’s wrath. For a moment, she glared at him, then swept purposefully from the room.

“What have you done to him?” Arwen Undómiel stood tall and fell, eyes blazing silver fire. Though Faramir had long withstood his father‘s withering stare, he was unused to such wrath in Aragorn’s gentle Queen. He would rather face a hundred rampaging Orcs, for at least he knew how to fight them.

Faramir rose shakily. “My lady, the King is merely resting. We finished the trade agreement…”

The King in question grinned cheerily, cup in hand. “Vanimelda! Drink with us! ’Tis-it is a new batch of Dorwinion.”

“So I see,” she said, her face softening. “Well, let us celebrate together.”

“How could you, Estel?” Arwen glared at her husband while contemplating her bedraggled son. “You both look as if you had been dragged through a hedge backwards”

“We were,” Aragorn admitted wryly. ”I was showing him how Rangers concealed themselves.”

Aragorn quailed. He would rather face a hundred rampaging Orcs than his angry wife.” I am sorry, beloved, the work of your hands is wondrous fair, but is this son we made together not fairer still?”

“It is your bedtime, Eldarion.” Arwen’s expression suggested she would not be angry for long. “Estel, come!”

Boromir, lounging in the largest tub the inn could provide, seemed unperturbed by her presence.

The girl knew she should avert her eyes, yet could not help but steal a glance at the firmly muscled chest and broad shoulders of the Steward’s heir.

She did so, turning to leave as he rose from the water, oddly reluctant to do so.

Aragorn gazed sadly at his fallen comrade. They had not been close friends. Many had been the disagreements between them. How could it be otherwise for two great warriors, born to lead Gondor when only one could rule?

Yet Aragorn’s grief was sincere. He had respected Boromir’s courage and prowess. He remembered him as a babe in arms, the darling of his proud parents.

Aragorn tore a strip from his shirt and soaked it in the river. With it he gently bathed the dead man’s face, washing away the blood and grime.

“She saw it with her own eyes. He saved Lord Faramir from the Black Breath with his healing hands. So shall the rightful king be known, it is said.”

“These are certainly momentous circumstances for all the city, from the Citadel to the Gates if the King truly has returned after so long.”

At the doors of the Houses many were already gathered to see Aragorn, and they followed after him; and when at last he had supped, men came and prayed that he would heal their kinsmen or their friends whose lives were in peril through hurt or wound, or who lay under the Black Shadow. And Aragorn arose and went out, and he sent for the sons of Elrond, and together they laboured far into the night. And word went through the City: ‘The King is come again indeed.’ And they named him Elfstone, because of the green stone that he wore, and so the name which it was foretold at his birth that he should bear was chosen for him by his own people.

His sister scampered through the gardens clutching his favourite toy. "I want it!" she cried.

Angered, Farawyn threw it with all her might. It landed with a splash in a muddy puddle.

“No, look what you’ve done!” Eldarion exclaimed, wading in to retrieve his toy, oblivious of the mud staining his boots and breeches.

“Nonsense, soap and water can wash even a very dirty dragon clean,” nanny quickly reassured him.

A/N Farawyn is my name for Aragorn and Arwen's eldest daughter. This was my first attempt to write about her and about Smaug whose further adventures are detailed in some ficlets. I have written for the AA Group which will eventually be published here.

You can also see these drabbles with graphics chosen to illustrate them on my website at

Arwen’s eyes blazed. ”Ada, you cannot! That is cruel, that is evil! He is mortal, his days are not like ours.”

“Precisely, my child. You need time to reflect on your choice. Aragorn is great amongst Men, but he is still destined to die.”

“Remember you have chosen a hard path,” Elrond replied. “Your doom will be bitter at the ending.”

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

He had dreamed of the coming of the King, envisioned the dead tree blossoming and imagined Gondor renewed.

Now the King was here, greater by far than he had imagined, victor over Sauron, commander of the Army of the Dead and blessed with healing hands, those hands, which combined with words of kindness, had restored Faramir’s life.

He recalled his father's scornful voice, calling him a wizard's pupil, comparing him to his brother. Denethor said Boromir would never put his trust in strangers.

Hoping

He had not been born to be Steward, far less to relinquish the Office of his longfathers.

Was he right to do this, renounce the care of Gondor to this almost unknown heir of Isildur? What if the man proved a tyrant?

Yet, his foresight told him, he was right to yield. Had Aragorn not saved his life, even though he could have barred his path to the throne?

His new lord approached. His piercing yet kindly gaze met Faramir’s. He knew then that he could trust this new King

“Try not to worry, mellon nîn, she is strong and the midwife is skilled,” Aragorn soothed, getting up from his seat and placing a reassuring hand on Faramir’s shoulder.

“I know, but much can go wrong,” Faramir fretted. ”It is taking so long!”

A scream pierced the air, followed by a high-pitched wail. Faramir shuddered and buried his face in his hands.

Arwen entered the room, a broad smile on her face. ”You have a fine son, and Éowyn is well,” she announced.

You can read a longer version of the birth of Faramir’s son in “Roses have Thorns” also on this site.

The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate
With thanks to Raksha

Lothlórien need not fail. Her fair Realm could endure as long as Arda lasted.
The Mallorns would even bloom in winter. Blossoms would spring up wherever she trod. Elanor and niphredil would flourish in every field. Cerin Amroth would be the centre of a vast kingdom.
She could widen her borders; all would bow before her, the beautiful and terrible Queen!
Galadriel gasped; if she took it, she would swiftly fall as low as Sauron.

Suddenly, the glorious vision faded. She smiled wistfully at Frodo and remained Galadriel.

Despite his pain, he smiled, grasping my hand. I remembered our first meeting, he was yet hale, a man already in his prime, when I was but a gangling youth. Initial reserve soon turned to close friendship. He saved my life many times. Alas, I could not save his.

“Do not grieve,” he whispered. ”I foresaw this ending. I die content. You will triumph, Envinyatar!”

He sighed and breathes his last. Silently, he moved beyond this world.
Alas, Halbarad! The victory was dearly bought.

Arwen sat in her bower surrounded by the fairest blossoms. She sang sweetly to herself, while working at her embroidery. Beside her Eldarion sat on a blanket, playing with his toys.

Unobserved, Aragorn entered the garden and stood watching his wife and son, his heart filled with love at the fair sight they presented.

Surely the music of the Ainur could not have sounded so beautiful as Arwen’s song? Yet was it not itself part of that music? Had Ilúvatar inspired every note, or had the creation in turn inspired the creator?

Aragorn sat down at his desk and began working on the stack of paperwork that governing the Reunited Kingdom entailed. It was important the treaty with Harad should be finalised today.
The door opened and a small head peeped through. ”Ada, will you play with me?”

He had looked like an Elven lord when I first beheld him again, or even the King of Men he was born to be.

He takes my hand. “I do not know what may befall ere we see each other again," he sighs.

His lips meet mine, a touch both tender and ardent. Were he King of Númenor, his kisses could not be sweeter.

He sits high upon the throne, mighty and glorious. The Sea of Kings of Old must have looked thus in their prime.

I wonder if even at the height of its splendour, was any King of Númenor more lordly.

The greatest in Gondor wait in line to pledge their fealty to Aragorn Elessar. As Steward it falls first to me, to kneel and kiss his hand.

I know now what my dream foretold; not destruction, but that Númenor would rise again from the depths.

Land that was once desolate now bloomed. Shoots sprang from the saplings planted over what was once laid waste.

Flowers blossomed profusely amongst the verdant grasses.

Elves sang as they lovingly tended the young trees.

“You have worked marvels here, my friend,” said Aragorn, looking around him. “The land flourishes again under your watchful care. Gondor needs Elves to help restore the bounty she once enjoyed.”

“This is my legacy, “ said Legolas. “When I am gone, I hope folk will walk here and remember the Firstborn. These trees will outlast many generations of Men.”

Overhead, the gulls screamed mournfully.

“You wish to wed the Steward of Gondor?” Éomer sounded incredulous. ”The last time I saw you, sister, you were in love with Aragorn and would consider no other!”

“That was but a young maid’s fancy,” Éowyn replied. ”I have found true love now. Faramir is the right man for me. Marrying Aragorn would be as absurd as marrying Merry. I love them both as friends and sword - brothers, but could never consider joining in wedlock with either.”

Éomer shook his head in bewilderment. He would never comprehend women, even if he had a Númenorean lifespan in which to try.

I hope all the drabbles are visible now.My apologies if you were unable to see the last few.

I have also added two more drabbles to my "Further Impressions " collection on this site.

Aragorn smiled indulgently while Eldarion raced around the garden with his new puppy, a birthday gift from Faramir and Éowyn.

Eldarion threw a stick, which the pup swiftly retrieved, no matter in which direction the boy threw it. Gracefully, she leapt and chased and dived, always one step ahead of the young prince.

“The Nimrodel herself could hardly be more nimble,” Arwen observed, joining her husband on the bench. “Have you chosen a name for her yet, Eldarion? “ she called.

“I must be losing my old Ranger skills,” Faramir lamented. “I have failed to catch anything.”

“How our wives will tease us!” groaned Aragorn. “I wanted to show Arwen I was still as skilled a hunter and tracker as in my youth.”

“Maybe it was not a good idea to promise to provide a deer for the banquet,” the Steward said dolefully. “I thought Oromë would smile on us, since we kill only for need, not pleasure.”

With thanks to Raksha

A pastry for Pippin

Have this, it’s freshly baked!” Bergil pressed a pastry into Pippin’s hand.

The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate.
Co written with Raksha for the "There and Back Challange"

Alas for the Ents, to have lost all trace of their wives!” exclaimed Aragorn with the pity only a recent bridegroom could feel. He fingered the keys thoughtfully. ”Might they now return?”

“I met Quickbeam and his wife, Silverbark, long before Númenor fell," Galadriel recounted. "She was fair as a Mallorn in springtime. But they quarrelled often, being of different tempers. When she sang to the wind, he would have her be silent. After she left, Quickbeam sang of his loss, hoping that the winds would carry his regret to her. Now he has grown querulous, and sings no more."

Oblivious that he was observed, the boy gazed enraptured at the robin perched on a branch mere inches away from his face.

Only when its mate called from the far side of the garden, did the bird fly away.

“Mithrandir!” the boy rose to his feet. “It is good to see you again, but why are you smiling so?”

“You reminded me of an old friend then, Faramir,” the wizard said. “ Radagast alone could be so radiant in the company of wild things as you are. He would sit enthralled, surrounded by birds and beasts; taming them by his presence.”

Head bowed, the young Steward picked this way through the rubble. Mithrandir had advised against it, yet he felt he must see where his father had died. He swallowed hard. It was such a sordid way for a great lord to perish.

Faramir started at the King’s voice. “How can you be so certain, my lord?” he enquired.

“I too, encountered the Dark Lord in the palantír. Merry later told me that it seemed I had aged twenty years in one night. It was a bitter struggle, ere I bent it to my will.”

“Do not forget that I am Isildur’s heir. I used the stone but once,” Aragorn said gently.

“Alas, that my father ever touched the cursed stone!” Faramir said bitterly. ”Our House now lies in ruin, our honour shattered like these walls.”

“I think not,” Aragorn replied, placing a comforting hand on the distressed young Steward’s shoulder. ”Your father acted unwisely, yet ‘twas out of love for Gondor and her people. Sauron’s sordid schemes did not prevail.”

The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate.
Written for the "There and Back " Challenge

Your tutor tells me you have not been paying attention,” Faramir said sternly.

“I hate history!” Elboron grumbled. "Nothing but turgid prose about long dead people! What do they matter now?”

Faramir picked up the book and studied it. “These people were your longfathers, Turgon, your great-great grandfather, for example, saw Sauron again take up residence in Mordor.”

“Had Turgon not lived, you would not be here today,” Faramir informed him dryly.

“Perhaps he is not so turgid after all.” Elboron finally settled with his book.

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

The man, who was elsewhere called Thorongil, looked up from his drink to meet the girl's eyes. She was pretty for a tavern pleasure-woman, still young with clear skin and lustrous black hair, which reminded him of Arwen's.

"Does she not please you?" The innkeeper's voice interrupted his reverie. The girl's eyes widened with fear. Thorongil knew she would be punished if he rejected her.

The girl led him by the hand towards the stalls at the back. The cries of pleasure from behind the curtains left no doubt as to the nature of the customers' gratification.

"Come!" She slowly started to unfasten her robe, revealing shapely curves beneath it. Swiftly, Thorongil averted his eyes.

"There is no need for shyness." She sat down beside him. Suddenly, she was kissing him, her full sensuous mouth pressing against his own. Her hands fumbled with Thorongil's robe. Her silken tresses fell across his face. They smelt of jasmine.

Thorongil hastily rose to his feet. "My friends await me," he lied. "I will tell your master you pleased me greatly."

He stumbled out into the street; eager to put this place and its unsavoury temptations behind him. The sooner he could leave Umbar the better.

Written for the "There and Back Challenge"
With grateful thanks to Raksha.
The characters are the property of the Tolkien estate.

Soaring to the Stars

He kissed her. At first tenderly, almost as if he feared she might break; then with increasing ardour when she responded with a passion equal to his own.

His arms entwined around her. She nestled into his embrace, revelling in his arms both gentle and strong. Lovingly, he stroked her tender skin.

She had anticipated this moment for so long, but could never have imagined its sheer rapture. Soaring to the stars visiting Varda's domain could not bring more joy.

Written for the "There and Back Challenge"
With grateful thanks to Raksha.
The characters are the property of the Tolkien estate.

The bridge was a makeshift affair, little more than two rotting planks, which threatened to give way and tumble the men into the raging waters.

Aragorn dislodged a rock and aimed it at the rickety timbers, hoping to weaken them.

The wargs followed. Unable to bear their weight, the planks splintered and snapped.

Written for the "There and Back Challenge"
With thanks to Raksha.
The characters are the property of the Tolkien estate.

X - like excruciating exertions
on the way to that crucial cross
on the mouldering map.

“It is not far now according to the plan. Come, Farawyn, I will carry you. Eldarion, you take the map. Be careful, it is very old!” Aragorn scooped up his little daughter in his arms, realising her short legs could carry her no further.

The children, always fascinated by their father’s tales of summoning the Army of the Dead, were eager to see where he had emerged from the mountain.

They proceeded in silence for a while. Aragorn called a halt to study the map when he found no trace of the doorway under the mountain.

“Naneth said you were the greatest tracker on Arda!” Eldarion said reproachfully.

“I have endured many long and arduous wanderings during my life,” their father told them. “This is but a minor setback. It was dark when I was last here and I was weary.“ He studied the map again, then looked around him. ”Now I remember! We should have turned left half a league ago.”

The children brightened and there was a new spring in Eldarion’s steps when he followed his father. Farawyn contentedly tightened her chubby arms around him.

“I released them long ere you were born,” Aragorn reassured the little girl.

“I’m not scared with you, ada,” said Farawyn. “I’m an explorer now, overcoming exhausting exertions just like you used to!”

Aragorn laughed, then lovingly embraced both children. Together with his fair Arwen, they were the true destination of all his arduous journeys.

Written for the "There and Back Challenge"
The characters are the property of the Tolkien estate.

The King and Queen sat upon makeshift thrones erected on the Pelennor, watching the Harvest celebrations. It had been a good year and the people had assembled to give thanks to Yavanna for her bounty.

Children danced and presented offerings of sheaves of grain and baskets of fruit and flowers.

Aragorn and Arwen smiled, enjoying the obvious happiness of their young subjects.

Then came the speeches. One by one the farmers rose and detailed their crop yields and their gratitude to the Valar for the fruitfulness of the land.

Aragorn’s eyelids began to droop. Arwen surreptitiously nudged him back to full wakefulness. “Try to look interested, beloved,” she chided.

“If you are bored, you think how poor Yavanna must be yawning having to listen to them throughout Arda!” the Queen responded. “You have to preside over but one celebration!”

When the next speech was concluded, the King rose from his seat and said in a loud voice. “People of Gondor, my brothers and sisters. Let us rejoice today. Freed from the shadow, our beloved land is bountifully blessed! Yavanna be praised!”

Written for the "There and Back Challenge"
The characters are the property of the Tolkien estate.

Co written with Raksha.
This, I think was the hardest of the lot. After a fruitless struggle to make something out of this prompt, Raksha and I worked on it together and she came up with this, which was based on my original idea.
But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.

Wings of Eagles

The ravens had marked the Battle of the Peak. Fierce flared the flames when wizard and Balrog zoomed ‘round Zirak-zigil in celestial combat.

Vultures and crows watched the wizard die. Yet they kept their distance, for he was more than mortal, and they refused to rend the flesh of one from the West. They squawked and cawed in surprise when he returned, and flew away in the light of his awakening.

The lord of the Eagles came last to Zirik-zigil, sent by Galadriel, gliding down the air on great wings that gleamed in the wintry sun. He screamed his joy when he sighted his old friend, for Gandalf still lived.

Gwaihir took up the naked wizard as gently as he would grasp one of his own newborn chicks. Back to Caras Galadon he gladly bore his burden. Around the Windlord flew many birds, shield and sigil to the new-made White Wizard: Falcons, hawks, wedges of winter-roaming geese, and finally, an exultation of trilling larks to trumpet the return of Gandalf the White.

The Eagle bowed his head to the Lady, and she thanked him for his strength and speed. “Tell your brothers,” Galadriel said; “That the tide shall yet turn.”

Gwaihir willingly bore his burden. Lighter than a feather he seemed, clothed only in the sun’s rays.

The Lady of the Golden Wood had sent him hither. Fierce flickered the flames when wizard and Balrog were zooming around zirakzigil, locked in celestial combat.

Higher we rose above the clouds. The frail body seemed aglow, as if the Balrog burned away all earthly essences.

Gladly Galadriel greeted us; the wisest of women bade me tell my brothers that the tide was turning. I played my part.

Special Characters

Disclaimer: The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. The story was written for pleasure not profit.

An E with dots like Fëanor’s Spots

Eldarion say hunched over his desk, frowning in concentration and biting his pen.

“What are you writing, my son?” Aragorn enquired.

“My tutor says I must write about Fëanor, but I find his name so hard to spell!” the boy replied.

“An E with dots like Fëanor’s spots!” Aragorn told the boy. “That is how my tutor taught me to remember the spelling. Imagine if Elves could catch measles!”

“You found it hard too?” Eldarion asked incredulously.

“Do not forget that that I was once young.” Aragorn smiled. “Now put your books away and I will tell you Fëanor’s story.”

*****

(The G-rune)- like Gandalf is no goon.

The boy watched while the Wizard copied from the ancient scrolls

Why do you keep drawing a little tree?” Faramir asked, unable to contain his curiosity any longer.

“That is the G rune, by which I sign my name,” Gandalf explained.

“G? But your name is Mithrandir.” The boy sounded bewildered.

“It is, but in the North, they call me Gandalf. I have many names.”

”However do you remember them all?”

Gandalf’s eyes twinkled.” I cannot always, my dear boy, so that is why I sign my name with a rune, lest I forget which guise I am travelling under!”

*****

Ð - eth - like a thirsty Third Marshal on the Thrihyrne. Théoden listened to Éomer’s report with a glazed look as if he were not truly hearing. He looked constantly towards Wormtongue like a child seeking approval.Éowyn hovered soliciously, but the King hardly heeded her.

Éomer felt stifled here. It no longer felt like home.

Tomorrow, he would ride to Helm’s Deep and join his cousin. He would rather hunt Orcs in the shadow of the Thrihyne than stay here to witness the decline of the once proud House of Eorl.

Tonight,he would drown his sorrows. At least the ale still tasted good in the Golden Hall. The thirsty Third Marshall drank deeply.

****

Þ - thorn - like Þoughtful Þéoden.

Tomorrow, and Tomorrow and Tomorrow

The light burned low in Théoden’s tent. He knew he should rest, but could not. Tomorrow they would reach Minas Tirith and fight alongside their allies.

Éomer stirred in his sleep. Théoden looked wistfully upon his nephew. If only he had heeded his advice and not listened to Wormtongue! How he had wronged the young man, yet Éomer’s generous heart forgave.

Then there was Éowyn. His sister-daughter had suffered too from his neglect. Yet she would make a worthy Queen, if he and Éomer fell on the morrow.

Théoden smiled. Tomorrow he would have the chance to regain his honour.

A/N Written for the “There and Back Alphabet challenge”.

Alphabet of Arda by Linda Hoyland