B2MeM
Challenge: “And in that very moment, away behind in some
courtyard of the city, a cock crowed. Shrill and clear he crowed,
reckoning nothing on wizardry or war, welcoming only the morning that
in the sky far above the shadows of death was coming with the
dawn.”—The Siege of Gondor.
But the cock also must have
had mundane origins, since it was a real, physical being. My question
is, where did the cock come from? And why was it still in the city,
since all the other cocks have apparently
disappeared
Format: Ficlet
Genre: Character
study
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Characters: OFC
Pairings:none
Summary: An
old woman remains in the City during the siege of Gondor.
The
characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has
been, nor will be made from this story.
A/n Some words are taken
directly from Tolkien.
Idril
had refused to leave the City when the other women were evacuated to
Lossarnach. At her age what did it matter? She’d die soon enough in
any case and much preferred to depart in her own bed, the bed in
which she was born.
And
who would look after her cat and her chickens if she left? The wily
Beren might be able to fend for himself, but Fëanor and her poor
hens would end up on some soldier’s dinner plate most likely. She
wasn’t having that, not if she could help it! Her chickens must be
the last left in the city, come to think of it. Fëanor reigned
supreme in her small courtyard, strutting around his domain ,
protecting her and his hens.
If
only this dreadful darkness would lift. It wasn’t natural, it
wasn’t. It was putting the hens off laying, and since it had
started Fëanor hadn’t crowed to greet the morning like he usually
did. The mornings felt all wrong when Fëanor didn't herald the dawn.
She’d slept late today without his crowing to rouse her at daybreak
and was all behind with everything. He hadn’t even chased Beren, as
was his wont, when the old tom had strolled across the yard. It
always made her laugh to see her chickens, led by Fëanor chase the
usually confident cat up on to the sanctuary of the wall, but even
that diversion was no more.
Idril
wondered if any of them would live to see the end of this day. The
enemy had assailed the City all night and those terrible black riders
were abroad. She had glimpsed one the other day, given her quite a
turn it had. She’d never been so scared in her life and that was
saying something. She doubted the City could stand much longer
without reinforcements and where would they get some from? She could
only hope her death might be swift and painless and her poor
creatures would not not suffer.
Master
Maeglin the baker brought her what scraps of news he could gather in
the streets. None of it was good. It was said that Lord Boromir had
been slain in some faraway land. What had he been doing in foreign
parts anyway? They had needed him here to command the men. He’d
been a bit too full of himself for her liking, but he knew how to
raise folk’s spirits and that was just what they needed right
now.
Then
Maeglin had heard that Lord Faramir had been struck down by some
enemy weapon and now lay close to death. That was grim news indeed.
She liked Lord Faramir. He had a nice way about him and always had a
smile and a kindly word for the old folk like herself. If she’d had
a son or a grandson, she’d have been proud to have one like him.
Yet, it was said that Lord Denethor paid little heed to him, much
preferring his brother. Well, he’d have to now, wouldn’t he with
Lord Boromir gone? But wasn’t Lord Faramir at death’s doorstep ?
Oh, it was all too much for an old lady to take in.
And
what was Lord Denethor doing? Maeglin said he’d not been seen in
days. Surely, he should be abroad overseeing the troops and
encouraging his people during these dark days. Maeglin thought that
Mithrandir had taken over the City defences. Whatever was Lord
Denethor thinking of? She didn’t hold with wizards herself. There
was something unnatural about them. She didn’t much hold with Lord
Denethor either. He always looked fit to turn the milk sour. It was
sad that he’d lost that lovely wife of his all those years ago, but
lesser folk had their sorrows too and managed to bear them with a
cheerful countenance, at least in front of their neighbours.
If
only Captain Thorongil were still here! Now he was indeed a great
captain. He’d lift their spirits and drive those murdering devils
away, he would! Idril thought wistfully of the one time she had met
him. How long ago must it be since that day? At least forty years. No
doubt Thorongil was long since dead. alas. He had been behind her at
market one day and had picked up her gloves, which she had dropped
without knowing in the crush of people surrounding the fish stall. He
had handed them to her and smiled. Oh such a smile! She’d never
seen such a one as he before, so tall and handsome! Maybe Lord
Faramir was a little like him, if an old woman such as she were still
permitted to notice if a young man were good looking or not.
Well,
it was no use lying here in bed, brooding, Idril thought. It must be
around dawn, though it was hard to tell without Fëanor crowing.
She
sat up, causing Beren to leap from his place on the bed by her feet
with an indignant yowl. She lit a candle and dressed by its
flickering light. Going into her kitchen, she went to the bin that
contained the dwindling supply of grain for her hens. She’d give
them a good meal today, as it was likely to be their last.
And
in that very moment, Fëanor broke his silence. Shrill and clear he
crowed, reckoning nothing on wizardry or war, welcoming only the
morning that in the sky far above the shadows of death was coming
with the dawn.
Idril's
spirits lifted. If Fëanor could welcome this day so bravely, so
would she.
It
was then that she heard the horn calls in the distance. They were not
the horns of the Enemy, but others, loud and clear. Help was coming!
Maybe she and her brood would live to see another day.
Fëanor
crowed again and Idril was filled with a sudden wild joy. She
laughed. The darkness would not endure.
Of Cats and Kings
B2MeM
Challenge: Picture Prompt – Thieving Cat
Format: Short
story
Genre: Character study, humour
Rating: G
Warnings:
none
Characters: OFC, Aragorn, Faramir
Pairings: none
Summary:
A cat steals a chop and an old woman reluctantly attends a
coronation.
The characters are the property of the Tolkien
Estate. No profit has been, nor will be made from this story.
A/n
Some words are taken directly from Tolkien.
Fëanor‘s crowing woke Idril from a deep slumber. She yawned as she tried to recall what was supposed to be happening that day. Ah yes, they were going to crown that new king, Elessar, or whatever his name was. The standard of the Stewards would fly over Gondor for the last time today. She was not pleased by this turn of events at all. Who was this Elessar fellow to think he could just help himself to Gondor’s crown? What did he know about the land and her people? She hadn’t liked Lord Denethor, but Lord Faramir was different. He would have made a good Steward, but this Elessar was usurping his birth- right and all because he claimed descent from someone who died thousands of years ago!
At
least Lord Faramir had recovered, thanks to this Elessar,or so folk
said; well maybe poor Lord Faramir felt so obliged to him that he
offered him the crown. Well, she didn’t intend to traipse all the
way down to where the main gate had stood to see Elessar crowned. She
had a nice chop for her noonday meal and once she had been to the
fishmonger to get Beren a treat, she would stay at home for the rest
of the day.
Beren mewed and sat up from where he had been
curled beside her on the bed. She stroked his soft ginger head for a
few moments until he began his morning ablutions, which Idril always
took as a sign to begin her own.
She washed and dressed as
quickly as her old bones would allow then went outside to feed Fëanor
and the hens before collecting the eggs. Fëanor strutted around,
condescending only to take the best grains from her. It seemed the
rooster had already forgotten the hardship of the siege. It was a
beautiful spring morning and Idril decided to brush the courtyard
when she returned from the fishmonger. That would be a far more
productive way to spend the day than watching some king strutting
around like her old cockerel!
Idril went back inside and
checked her larder. The chop looked succulent and delicious and her
mouth watered at the thought of the meal she would have later. She
had better get moving, for the merchants would close early
today.
She put on her cloak, made her way to the fishmonger,
and bought a large fish for Beren. The big ginger tom was a good
companion and deserved the best. She would cook the fish in milk just
the way he liked it. She bumped into several acquaintances on the way
home and paused to talk to them. It seemed they were all going to the
coronation. A small flicker of doubt started to attack Idril’s
resolve. Maybe she was missing something. Her resolve strengthened
again. No, she wasn’t going to watch poor Lord Faramir have his
rights taken from him. Why she might say something that could get her
into trouble and then where would her poor creatures be? She would
enjoy her chop and spend a pleasant day with Beren and the
chickens.
As she entered her courtyard, she caught sight of a
flash of ginger fur. Beren raced past her out into the street,
clutching her chop in his mouth! Idril stood there clutching the
fish. “Bad cat, come back!” she cried. Beren ignored her. He
leapt up on to a nearby wall and began to eat his prize.
Her
neighbour, Maeglin was looking out of his window and laughing his
head off. Idril glared at him. “What is so funny?” she demanded.
“Beren has stolen my noonday meal!”
Maeglin laughed. “Well
you did name your cat after the one who stole a jewel from the Evil
One’s crown,” he said. “But why are you cooking today? There
will be food aplenty at the coronation feast.”
Idril snorted
and went inside. She realised at once that she had left the larder
door unfastened and the wily Beren had been swift to take advantage
of her carelessness. There was nothing for it but to cook the fish
for her own noonday meal. She picked it up and looked at it
doubtfully. It seemed to glare at her balefully with its dead eyes.
Idril decided she didn’t fancy fish today. She sighed. Maybe she
should go to the coronation after all, not that she held with this
Northern nobody supplanting Lord Faramir.
She washed the smell
of fish from her hands and changed her gown. Not for Elessar, but in
case any of her neighbours saw her. She didn’t want them thinking
her shabby. She went out through the courtyard, bidding Fëanor guard
the house. Beren still sat on the wall, carefully washing his
whiskers. She glared him. He ignored her.
Idril slowly made
her way down to where the main gate used to be before those murdering
devils destroyed it. Her spirits lifted as she walked. The weather
was perfect for a stroll and the City was decorated with flowers.
Despite the damage from the war, it looked fairer than she had ever
seen it.
She could hear music playing as she approached the
wide space in front of the walls and could see musicians playing
harps and viols to entertain the crowd. She was still quite early and
was able to find a good vantage point.
After a while, the
music stopped and a procession approached. First came a bunch of
Elessar’s Northern cronies, trust them to be given pride of place,
then a tall man who was clad in black mail girt with silver, over
which he wore a white mantle. There was something oddly familiar
about him. With him were that meddling wizard and one of those
fair-haired horse lords and Prince Imrahil. Shame on him for taking
part in this spectacle to replace his nephew! Then came four richly
garbed small figures. Idril thought at first they were children, but
their faces were too old to be. Then she realised they must be
Perian! Such tales she had heard about these little folk! People were
saying two of them went to the Black Country and set fire to the Dark
Lord’s tower! Surely, that couldn’t be true. They looked such
harmless little creatures.
A single trumpet then sounded and
Lord Faramir appeared together with Húrin of the keys. They were
followed by four Citadel Guards bearing a large casket.
To
Idril’s disgust, Faramir knelt before the tall man in black and
offered him a white rod. He took the rod and immediately gave it
back, saying: ‘That office is not ended, and it shall be thine and
thy heirs’ as long as my line shall last. Do now thy
office!”
Idril’s opinion of the stranger softened. He was
not dismissing Lord Faramir after all. He was smiling at the Steward.
It was then that she recognised him. It was Captain Thorongil! Well
she never did, coming back after all these years and still as
handsome as ever!
Then Faramir stood up and faced the crowd.
Idril had never seen him look so radiantly happy before. He spoke in
a clear voice: “People of Gondor , hear now the Steward of this
Realm! Behold! one has come to claim the kingship again at last. Here
is Aragorn son of Arathorn, chieftain of the Dúnedain of Arnor,
Captain of the Host of the West, bearer of the Star of the North,
wielder of the Sword Reforged, victorious in battle, whose hands
bring healing, the Elfstone, Elessar of the line of Valandil,
Isildur’s son, Elendil’s son of Númenor. Shall he be king and
enter into the City and dwell there?”
The people all cried
“Yea” and Idril added her voice to the shouts. If ever a man was
right kingly and deserved a crown, it was Captain Thorongil! To think
that she had almost missed all this. The Valar be praised that Beren
had stolen her chop. She would cook him that fish as soon as she got
home. Such an excellent cat he was!