Lord of the Rings: The Fourth Book
By Luna Stop Swearing
Disclaimer: Christopher Tolkien owns everything. So you've been given the idea that I don't.
Chapter 1: Vibrations
A red sun.
She had not spent 10 years of her life at an Elven finishing school in Gondor to know nothing of the signs of nature. Those damned little things in nature that Elves acknowledge and say it's some sort of *sign* from the Valar or shit like that, which Men knew nothing about. Ha. Now she knew. Nothing spectacular.
Blood had been spilled on Arda's ground, the twentysomething woman thought worriedly as she clutched her sleeping, undernourished, two year-old son closer to her breast, trying to slow her racing heartbeat so as not to wake the child with the erupting vibrations.
Her husband, she breathed. Iluvatar preserve him, the old, yet still dashing, hard-headed, descendant-of-the-Dunedain oaf. She told him not to go out riding with Elladan and Elrohir. She told him to stay at home, the War was over.
But did he listen? NO! Men...
The age gap certainly didn't help much. He was 60 years old to her 26, but still as pumped with testosterone and vitality as ever, and in all honesty, he looked all of 30 years. She was wed to him two years ago because he was the highest bidder for her hand, her father's idea. 100,000 gold pieces and 100 sacks of Old Toby, she sighed. That was all she was worth. She didn't know there was so much gold and weed in Middle Earth.
She was bound to him for the rest of her days. His. She didn't even own herself. What a blow to women's suffrage.
Women's suffrage my ass, she added as she tried to make out the approaching figures through the beautiful stained glass windows of Rivendell.
They were beautiful yes, but impractical. You could neither see in nor out of the windows. But they added to the aesthetic appeal of Rivendell, showing patterns sketched by the most talented of Elven artisans. They were like the Dead Sea...getting but not giving in return. The physical beauty was there, but not the essence.
If it was hordes of horses and riders, it meant that they had returned, hopefully body parts intact. Or at least, the body part that mattered most to her as a woman, in case she wanted more children. A daughter, maybe. If it was only one or two, it meant that they had come to relay bad news.
She concentrated, like the Elven women had taught her in Gondor. She tried to still her breath and listened. Listened. Concentrate. Listen. Success. Hooves of... a solitary horse. This was not looking good.
The immortal feeling called dread pounded in her as she tried in vain not to panic and drop her child in the process.
A/N: Sorry for the short chapter. More soon, I promise. If you'd like to help out or collaborate, just bug me at wyrdsistah@lycos.com or anthropophagi@mindless.com. Thanks for reading, and don't forget to review!
Also, can you guys guess who the woman is?
By Luna Stop Swearing
Disclaimer: Christopher Tolkien owns everything. So you've been given the idea that I don't.
Chapter 1: Vibrations
A red sun.
She had not spent 10 years of her life at an Elven finishing school in Gondor to know nothing of the signs of nature. Those damned little things in nature that Elves acknowledge and say it's some sort of *sign* from the Valar or shit like that, which Men knew nothing about. Ha. Now she knew. Nothing spectacular.
Blood had been spilled on Arda's ground, the twentysomething woman thought worriedly as she clutched her sleeping, undernourished, two year-old son closer to her breast, trying to slow her racing heartbeat so as not to wake the child with the erupting vibrations.
Her husband, she breathed. Iluvatar preserve him, the old, yet still dashing, hard-headed, descendant-of-the-Dunedain oaf. She told him not to go out riding with Elladan and Elrohir. She told him to stay at home, the War was over.
But did he listen? NO! Men...
The age gap certainly didn't help much. He was 60 years old to her 26, but still as pumped with testosterone and vitality as ever, and in all honesty, he looked all of 30 years. She was wed to him two years ago because he was the highest bidder for her hand, her father's idea. 100,000 gold pieces and 100 sacks of Old Toby, she sighed. That was all she was worth. She didn't know there was so much gold and weed in Middle Earth.
She was bound to him for the rest of her days. His. She didn't even own herself. What a blow to women's suffrage.
Women's suffrage my ass, she added as she tried to make out the approaching figures through the beautiful stained glass windows of Rivendell.
They were beautiful yes, but impractical. You could neither see in nor out of the windows. But they added to the aesthetic appeal of Rivendell, showing patterns sketched by the most talented of Elven artisans. They were like the Dead Sea...getting but not giving in return. The physical beauty was there, but not the essence.
If it was hordes of horses and riders, it meant that they had returned, hopefully body parts intact. Or at least, the body part that mattered most to her as a woman, in case she wanted more children. A daughter, maybe. If it was only one or two, it meant that they had come to relay bad news.
She concentrated, like the Elven women had taught her in Gondor. She tried to still her breath and listened. Listened. Concentrate. Listen. Success. Hooves of... a solitary horse. This was not looking good.
The immortal feeling called dread pounded in her as she tried in vain not to panic and drop her child in the process.
A/N: Sorry for the short chapter. More soon, I promise. If you'd like to help out or collaborate, just bug me at wyrdsistah@lycos.com or anthropophagi@mindless.com. Thanks for reading, and don't forget to review!
Also, can you guys guess who the woman is?