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My Drabbles from Tolkien Weekly  by Mirkwoodmaiden

Fathers and Sons - Arathorn , Elrond and Aragorn.

"Aragorn, son of Arathorn"  Estel said to himself still unable to think of himself by the patronymic.  Until this morning he was Estel Elrondion, son of Elrond. The father who had loved him, taught him, healed his scrapes and encouraged his triumphs was not his father. This he knew, but a name and a history changed something within. Now this destiny, this new life demanded attention.  He looked up and found he was standing at the pedestal of the sword-that-was-broken. "The sword is yours, it always was." Adar spoke. A single tear, for the boy he was no longer, dropped.


Fathers and Sons - Denethor and Faramir

"Boromir would have brought me a mighty gift! He was not some wizard's pupil!" Denethor spat out and stumbled backwards.  Faramir rushed forward, his immediate impulse to help and heal, but he stopped himself.  Looking at his father's pitiable form near to weeping, Faramir wanted to go forward. But he just stood there, the twin decisions warring within; to go forward to help his father up and risk almost certain rejection or to leave him, knowing that his help was not wanted. He closed his eyes. Whatever decision it would be the wrong one for he was the wrong son.


Fathers and Sons - Faramir and Elboron

"Papa! Papa!" Faramir looked up and saw his ten-year-old son running into his study, carrying what looked like a large piece of paper with him. "Look!" he held an archery target with a scattering of holes loosely custered in the middle of the target.

Faramir looked at the target, "Elboron, is this yours?" The child nodded vigorously. "Well done, my son!" He kissed the top of the child's blond head, "I'm very proud of you."

"Master says I can pull the large bow very soon!"

"Well, if that's what Master says I'm sure that's true." Faramir affirmed confidently.

Elboron beamed.


Fathers and Sons - Oropher and Thranduil

Thranduil stood and looked upon the massive trees of Greenwood the Great. He breathed in the forgotten scent of his forest home. Seven years of brutality, regret and sorrow.  He looked at the remnants of his father's army.  He stopped himself. His army now.  He saw faces that he had fought and bled with. And beside them he swore saw the faces of those they had lost in the 'victory' in Mordor.  He thought that name with bitterness.  Lastly, he swore he saw the face of his father. "We are home, Father," he whispered, "we will rebuild and we will remember."


Fathers and Sons - Thranduil and Legolas

The Enchanted river flowed ever onwards.  Thranduil sat on the riverbank peering into the black murkiness, seeing his reflection clear for a few seconds in an eddy close to his hand nearest the water. It would distort and he was left with his thoughts again.  Beloved. Would that the river could work its dark magic upon him so that he could forget the pain in his heart, in his soul.  He neared the water, its dark powers of oblivion beckoning. "Ada!" he stopped. Blond hair and the blue eyes so like hers. He knew he could never leave him alone.


Fathers and Sons - Sam and Frodo-lad

Sam sat on the riverbank. The sun warmed his back as his hands were cooled by the mud as he dug for worms to bait Frodo-lad's hook. He just needed a few more and he could then teach his son how to properly bait a hook. He grubbed the last two and held them up wiggling to his son.  "There we are my boy! Just enough!" Frodo-lad giggled with joy.  For just a second or two the look in his son's eye reminded him of Frodo, laughing.  Sam smiled. The Shire had been saved. Frodo had given him this moment.

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