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| Light Lingering by Nol | 2 Review(s) |
|---|---|
| Fimbrethil | Reviewed Chapter: 1 on 6/29/2025 |
| What about Eldarion?” Faramir interjected. An uncharacteristic silence fell on the two boys. Elboron suddenly looked down into his plate. That was not good, the lord of Ithilien thought. The seventeen-year old heir to Gondor had only recently returned home from a long sojourn with his mother’s people – an eleven-year stay that seemed strange beyond words to everyone except, to all appearances, the young man’s parents. Faramir remembered the one brief meeting he had had with the prince in the week since his own arrival in the city. He remembered a small, brooding boy, hardly moving, not speaking at all, the wish that he might be elsewhere writ large on his pale little face. Oh. And he is 17? I have never read where he was raised in Imladris like his fathers, before. That is not so surprising,” Éowyn spoke. “I am told he does not – fight.” So it was true, then, Faramir thought quickly. Elessar’s son did not know how to use a sword. {What! He is Aragorn’s son, and not to mention half raised by his uncles and in Arnor, and he doesn’t fight!? I suppose that sounds good, but I meant with a sword.} Faramir was listening, but barely. In his mind was another boy, silent and troubled, torn between a hatred of spilt blood and loud company and the compelling sense of duty that had driven him to learn to defend the land he loved. Faramir for Gondor. A sudden compassion, borne of understanding, filled him. Who were his son and that cheeky comrade-in-arms of his to condemn what they did not understand? Did Gondor not need men of peace, too? It was rude, nay, downright wrong, that a misunderstood child be thought ill of for having the courage not to fight. Yes, for that was true courage. That was nobility. That was truth. {Ah I see. Perhaps you should not have named your son after your brother. Or not told as many heroic stories about him.} In his left hand was a sword, and he was dancing. That, or it was something else that Faramir had no words to describe. Thrust, parry, thrust, parry; strong, sure movements that could have been borne of nothing short of endless hours of practice. A graceful spin, a flick of his wrist, a quick sidestep. Suddenly, catlike, he slid down on to his haunches. A lock of hair fell into the over-large eyes. Without missing a beat, he sent the sword into the air, brushed the offending locks away, and leaned out to catch the falling blade in his right hand. Up. Thrust, parry. He was smiling as he whirled faster and faster in his dance, to a rhythm Faramir could hear just by looking at the patterns of his feet on the dusty floor, until he almost blurred against the light, a dark little flame of grey and black amid the sunlit storm of dust he was disturbing. [Ah. Of course he can fight. I should have known. And left handed, too. (I am left handed.] I suppose he held back for fear Elboron and the others wouldn’t be able to keep up with his Elvish training.] I just thought. : “Thank you for not killing my son.” And the others. Ah Celeborn! And awww, the fact Eldarion forgot Faramir’s grandfather. And of course it was his other grandfather, for Ecthelion died when he was like 1. Faramir was not a vain man – far from it – but he had never yet met a seventeen-year-old who did not know his grandfather’s name off-hand. [heeeheee. But which one? E. I suppose.] War must be,” he said gently, “even for those who love not the sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. We love only that which we defend. [Awww, this is, as we know, a great line.] Only every now and then,” Faramir said with a straight face. It was little known that Aragorn’s grasp of Adûnaic was somewhat rudimentary, but it was more or less public knowledge that Faramir’s was anything but. heehee. (Sorry this is rather long, but it does include quotes) | |
| Lindorien | Reviewed Chapter: 1 on 3/6/2004 |
| It's about time you posted this here, Nol! A fine fic. A truly fine fic. I also really like the detail of the sword dancing. And I like that Elboron is a little ignoble and not perfect. I like that everybody is not perfect. not perfect is good. I should know - I'm an expert on the matter. hugs, Lindorien Author Reply: Thanks, Lindorien! Yes, not perfect is good. Unless one is an elf. Which we are not. Phewzie. hugs right back, Nol. | |