Who Now Remembers?
Oct. 25th, 2004 06:30 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
ithiliana.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
the_five_armiesTitle: Who Now Remembers?
Author: Ithiliana
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not any characters of mine, just borrowing and visiting.
Wanted to write a piece to celebrate this wonderful new community but have now ended up crying all over my keyboard (which is why I mostly write AU!). But here is...something. Perhaps a start, or perhaps just a short piece, I'm not sure which at this point. I don't usually write *short* pieces, but you never know.
He came silently through the streets in the early days of high summer under a full moon. No shadows veiled the stars or moon and the night air was soft, tempting people to linger late in the streets. Dark had lost its fear since the King returned some ten years past. Despite the warmth, he wore a cloak drawn close about him, shadowing his face. Few noticed him pass for he walked quietly, footfalls as light as if he walked on soft grass under green leaves. He needed no torch or guide, knowing the way from years past when he had accompanied his brother to his favourite tavern.
Stories had come to his ears from the start, after the first gathering. Then, cold in his grief, he had paid little attention, burying his feelings in work. Even after some years passed, he dared not enter for fear of seeing his guilt reflected in their eyes. To this day, he woke some nights from a dream, hearing a voice, wondering what would have changed had he gone, had he defied their father and taken the charge upon himself. Even now he hoped few would be there.
This day was not one many would mark after so long. 'Twas not Boromir's day of birth nor the day he left this world, not even the day the River had brought news of his death to his City. Despite the warmth of the night and his cloak, he felt the cold water pulling at his legs as he reached for the shards of the horn. Only one, he thought, standing outside the old building in the Fifth Circle, overgrown with green vines, would remember what day it was that Boromir had left to seek the answer to the riddle.
Squaring his shoulders, he entered the room ducking his head below the smoke-darkened beams. Behind a gleaming counter, a short fat man with a bald head stood talking quietly to two men wearing the green and brown of Ithilien Rangers. Massive tables and benches lined the walls, and there were nooks in the walls where a quiet talk could be had. Only a few figures sat over mugs of ale. The rich scents of ale and smoke from the torches layered the air, had sunk into the walls and floor itself.
He walked quietly to the far end of the counter and when the burly man came down, a smile on his face, ordered a pint of ale, paid for it, and nodded courteously as he took the mug to sit in a corner of the room. His back against the wall and legs stretched in front of him, he sat in shadow. He did not wish to be recognized.
Friends among the Guard and Rangers had urged him to come, but he had pleaded the difficulty of leaving Éowyn and the children, had made sure to visit the King at other times of the year. Only this year, after coming in response to a letter that ended with Aragorn's name, had he realized the importance of the date. And after the King had released him, he had come here. He would leave for home tomorrow.
Tonight, he would sit and remember not the Captain who led his men to so many victories, not the hero of the stories still told to children around the fire at night, but the brother only he remembered.
~probably to be con't~
Author: Ithiliana
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not any characters of mine, just borrowing and visiting.
Wanted to write a piece to celebrate this wonderful new community but have now ended up crying all over my keyboard (which is why I mostly write AU!). But here is...something. Perhaps a start, or perhaps just a short piece, I'm not sure which at this point. I don't usually write *short* pieces, but you never know.
He came silently through the streets in the early days of high summer under a full moon. No shadows veiled the stars or moon and the night air was soft, tempting people to linger late in the streets. Dark had lost its fear since the King returned some ten years past. Despite the warmth, he wore a cloak drawn close about him, shadowing his face. Few noticed him pass for he walked quietly, footfalls as light as if he walked on soft grass under green leaves. He needed no torch or guide, knowing the way from years past when he had accompanied his brother to his favourite tavern.
Stories had come to his ears from the start, after the first gathering. Then, cold in his grief, he had paid little attention, burying his feelings in work. Even after some years passed, he dared not enter for fear of seeing his guilt reflected in their eyes. To this day, he woke some nights from a dream, hearing a voice, wondering what would have changed had he gone, had he defied their father and taken the charge upon himself. Even now he hoped few would be there.
This day was not one many would mark after so long. 'Twas not Boromir's day of birth nor the day he left this world, not even the day the River had brought news of his death to his City. Despite the warmth of the night and his cloak, he felt the cold water pulling at his legs as he reached for the shards of the horn. Only one, he thought, standing outside the old building in the Fifth Circle, overgrown with green vines, would remember what day it was that Boromir had left to seek the answer to the riddle.
Squaring his shoulders, he entered the room ducking his head below the smoke-darkened beams. Behind a gleaming counter, a short fat man with a bald head stood talking quietly to two men wearing the green and brown of Ithilien Rangers. Massive tables and benches lined the walls, and there were nooks in the walls where a quiet talk could be had. Only a few figures sat over mugs of ale. The rich scents of ale and smoke from the torches layered the air, had sunk into the walls and floor itself.
He walked quietly to the far end of the counter and when the burly man came down, a smile on his face, ordered a pint of ale, paid for it, and nodded courteously as he took the mug to sit in a corner of the room. His back against the wall and legs stretched in front of him, he sat in shadow. He did not wish to be recognized.
Friends among the Guard and Rangers had urged him to come, but he had pleaded the difficulty of leaving Éowyn and the children, had made sure to visit the King at other times of the year. Only this year, after coming in response to a letter that ended with Aragorn's name, had he realized the importance of the date. And after the King had released him, he had come here. He would leave for home tomorrow.
Tonight, he would sit and remember not the Captain who led his men to so many victories, not the hero of the stories still told to children around the fire at night, but the brother only he remembered.
~probably to be con't~
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-10-25 05:38 pm (UTC)~probably to be con't~
And now how about a tavern wench to take on both the Brothers Gondor at once! I know you can do it! *begs*
no subject
Date: 2004-10-25 06:54 pm (UTC)And great description of the Tavern - you guys are making it sound wonderful.
Do people only come here to mope about Boromir?
no subject
Date: 2004-10-26 07:38 am (UTC)~probably to be con't~
Yay! ... oh, I said that already. I hope you do -- this is lovely.
no subject
Date: 2004-10-26 08:27 am (UTC)~Kris