{Author's Note: This is one of my major stories, though it'll be awhile
before I have all of it down. Hopefully it'll be less than 50 chapters.
First a little background.
This story takes places F.A. 25 in Ithilien. Some of it is out-there, the idea of Legolas having a kid.. But I truly love these characters, especially Elboron. Elboron, if you've had any hard-core interest in Faramir, is his only child mentioned ever in Tolkien's writings. I've added in another sibling for him, but he is the only son. Elboron at this state is 23 years old, living on his own right outside his parent's manor, though visits everyday. He grew up in Emyn Arnen and is exactly like his father in habits and outlook. He's tall, around 6'4", and is very thin. He has inherited the blue eyes from his mother and his sienna hair from his seafaring kin.
Mithfeniel is the daughter of Legolas and is around 500 years old. She's Half-Elven, yes some fans will hit me for that, and is looked down upon by most of the Elven community. Her closest friend, a half-Haradric maiden from the north, lives with her and helps her get through all the sorrow she goes through. She's slightly short for an Elf, 6'2", and has the interesting talent of changing her eye-color. Her hair is extremely long, going down to her calves, and is pure gold, like Galadriel's.
Elfwine is the opposite of Elboron in build and attitude. He's a warrior, patrolling the Mark for his father constantly and keeping Rohan safe. He adores his cousin Nandelle, though has hated her brother since childhood. The two want to rip each other's throats out and have not seen each other in three years. He is tall for the Rohirrim, 6'1", and more vertically built than his father, Éomer.
Again this story is huge for me, completely huge. I've been writing and rewriting it all summer and I hope it has some worth. Please enjoy and review! I'd love to know where I might need to improve.
- Angainawen}
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Even in Ithilien winter is cold; even without snow wind can still chill bone. And so Elboron sat, his cloak wrapped around him, and tried very hard to concentrate on his book. It was exactly the middle of winter, and though Ithilien was one of the warmest regions in Gondor, there still was frost at daybreak. Elboron, ironically, was born around this time, in late winter; but never could he get used to icy breath that Manwë sent to the Southern Wood.
After some tossing, grumbling, and adjusting of his cloak, the young man set down his book and with the temper of Rohan cried out, "You win! You hear me, Wind Lord! You win! I'll go inside now!"
He stood up, brushed his dark-brown, wavy hair out of his eyes, and grabbed his tomes. He sighed, pulled up his emerald-colored hood, and started to walk out of the courtyard of his parent's manor.
At 23, he was heir to both titles of his father, Prince Faramir. He hated the idea though; having grown up watching his father bounce back and forth from Minas Tirith to Emyn Arnen. In recent years, Elboron had started to take some of the responsibilities himself, helping his father with bookkeeping, passing judgment, and foreign policy. He had even been to council in his father's stead once or twice; though the King and Queen of Gondor weren't too fond of him.
As he reached the northern gate, which lead to Henneth Annûn but before that his personal cabin, he heard the all too familiar sound of a galloping horse and froze. His heart started to race, going back to his childhood fear of sharp, quick hooves. Ever since he was young, five to be exact, he began to sweat, twitch, at any sign of a equine steed. Which again was ironic, for he was half Rohirric, and both his mother and sister loved to ride. It was always funny for the 14 year old girl to ask him to hold her horse while she talked to some suitor she was flirting with.
Elboron flinched as a bray was heard and mahogany skinned stallion bounded in with two riders, both with golden hair. He again froze as the beast stopped right in front of him and the taller rider dismounted.
The man wore a tall, crested helm and had his long golden mane lie carelessly upon his shoulders. He cocked his head slightly at Elboron then turned to his companion, "I never forget a face, Nandelle, yet this cannot be your brother."
Elboron pursed his lips; he knew this rider all too well. Unfortunately, this was his cousin, Elfwine Captain of the Riddermark and heir to the throne of Rohan.
"Well it has to be, hasn't it?" Elboron said with utter control. "Who else around here has blue eyes?" The feud between the two men was renowned. Ever since they were children and Elboron visited the Golden Hall with his mother they were discreet enemies.
Nandelle, his blonde spunky sister, parted the two. "Elfwine, Elboron, please. We just got here and we both have messages for our parents, ok?" She looked at her brother tensely. Don't screw this up, she thought.
Elboron nodded and stepped aside. "Father's left for council again. You have to go to mother, or me," he smiled sourly and his rival's jaw clenched. "But I have work to do, of course. So I can't talk. Though if you really need me, Nandelle, you know where I'll be." He then gave his sister a nod of respect, deliberately ignored his cousin, and walked off to his home.
"What's his problem?" Elfwine asked as the brunette stamped out of earshot. "He's alittle hot-headed today, eh?"
Nandelle sighed, shaking her head, "It's that time of year, cousin. Everyone around here is tense. Though you weren't helping." She too looked sour. "Why can't you two get along?" She then stomped off as well, leaving her cousin bewildered.
**************************************
Elfwine wasn't the only one confused at the moment. A few miles north two ladies stared at a statue one of them had just carved.
"What exactly is it?" said the first with long golden hair, cocking her head. "I can't really tell, Shango."
The other, with hair as black as night, responded: "I thought it would look like two lovers kissing, but it looks more like one is trying to wring the other's neck. I can't sculpt, can I?"
"No, I think we both should give up on that hobby. I cracked mine in half after the first blow."
Shango laughed. "Mithy, you're worse than I am! Come on, you said you'd meet Maiwë and have lunch with him. You don't want to keep your future husband waiting."
Mithy sighed and slowly began to walk into the courtyard. "I know, I have to take him to that feast tonight too."
The black-hair girl nodded. "I'm sorry, you really should tell your father."
"Like he'd listen," Mithy sat down on a bench. "Besides, he's probably at Minas Tirith by now."
Shango nodded, again. "Yeah. Oh! He moved up the date for the wedding. Maiwë doesn't want to wait for Spring."
"What!" The other jumped up off the bench. "There's no way I'm gonna stand for this! How dare they change the date without consulting me!"
"It's just what I heard, ok? Mithy, calm down."
"How can I calm down when everyone around me wants to completely control my life!"
"*I* don't want to control your life, Mithy. So it's not everyone."
"Stop contradicting me!"
Mithy stormed off. As she passed a couple she heard them whispering, "There goes Mithfeniel, the bastard. Why does she pollute us with her presence?"
Mithy whipped around and stared right at them, "Say that to my face, Yrch!"
The owner of the voice stood up. "I will. Mithfeniel, you have no right to be called a Greenleaf! Go back to the hole where your filthy mother lived!"
Mithy gritted her teeth. "You shouldn't judge others of filthiness, Slime- breath!"
The other scoffed. "How dare you! You uncultured, rash, ATANI!!!!"
Mithy then balled her hand into a fist, swung it back to punch, and felt a firm hand grip her arm. "Mithy, stop!"
She turned her head and looked at her father, a disciplined look on his face. He was the last person on earth she wanted to see. "Why should I?"
"Because, Mithy, if you strike back, it will only prove her right. I don't care what she called you, it is only words, but punching someone is a much different and unladylike matter."
"What if I don't want to be a lady?" She sneered at him.
"You're a lady whether you like it or not," She hated it when he looked at her in that calm, strict manner. It drove her crazy.
"So? She disgraced me, my mother, *and* you!"
"I deserve that disgrace. You don't, though proving her right doesn't help you."
"Just leave me alone! Go off to that stupid meeting with Elessar!" She ran off, tears streaming, with Shango at her heels.
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Next chapter will be coming as soon as I can write it all. Please, please tell where I can improve and where I'm doing good. And tell me who you like so far. Namaarie,
-Angainawen
This story takes places F.A. 25 in Ithilien. Some of it is out-there, the idea of Legolas having a kid.. But I truly love these characters, especially Elboron. Elboron, if you've had any hard-core interest in Faramir, is his only child mentioned ever in Tolkien's writings. I've added in another sibling for him, but he is the only son. Elboron at this state is 23 years old, living on his own right outside his parent's manor, though visits everyday. He grew up in Emyn Arnen and is exactly like his father in habits and outlook. He's tall, around 6'4", and is very thin. He has inherited the blue eyes from his mother and his sienna hair from his seafaring kin.
Mithfeniel is the daughter of Legolas and is around 500 years old. She's Half-Elven, yes some fans will hit me for that, and is looked down upon by most of the Elven community. Her closest friend, a half-Haradric maiden from the north, lives with her and helps her get through all the sorrow she goes through. She's slightly short for an Elf, 6'2", and has the interesting talent of changing her eye-color. Her hair is extremely long, going down to her calves, and is pure gold, like Galadriel's.
Elfwine is the opposite of Elboron in build and attitude. He's a warrior, patrolling the Mark for his father constantly and keeping Rohan safe. He adores his cousin Nandelle, though has hated her brother since childhood. The two want to rip each other's throats out and have not seen each other in three years. He is tall for the Rohirrim, 6'1", and more vertically built than his father, Éomer.
Again this story is huge for me, completely huge. I've been writing and rewriting it all summer and I hope it has some worth. Please enjoy and review! I'd love to know where I might need to improve.
- Angainawen}
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Even in Ithilien winter is cold; even without snow wind can still chill bone. And so Elboron sat, his cloak wrapped around him, and tried very hard to concentrate on his book. It was exactly the middle of winter, and though Ithilien was one of the warmest regions in Gondor, there still was frost at daybreak. Elboron, ironically, was born around this time, in late winter; but never could he get used to icy breath that Manwë sent to the Southern Wood.
After some tossing, grumbling, and adjusting of his cloak, the young man set down his book and with the temper of Rohan cried out, "You win! You hear me, Wind Lord! You win! I'll go inside now!"
He stood up, brushed his dark-brown, wavy hair out of his eyes, and grabbed his tomes. He sighed, pulled up his emerald-colored hood, and started to walk out of the courtyard of his parent's manor.
At 23, he was heir to both titles of his father, Prince Faramir. He hated the idea though; having grown up watching his father bounce back and forth from Minas Tirith to Emyn Arnen. In recent years, Elboron had started to take some of the responsibilities himself, helping his father with bookkeeping, passing judgment, and foreign policy. He had even been to council in his father's stead once or twice; though the King and Queen of Gondor weren't too fond of him.
As he reached the northern gate, which lead to Henneth Annûn but before that his personal cabin, he heard the all too familiar sound of a galloping horse and froze. His heart started to race, going back to his childhood fear of sharp, quick hooves. Ever since he was young, five to be exact, he began to sweat, twitch, at any sign of a equine steed. Which again was ironic, for he was half Rohirric, and both his mother and sister loved to ride. It was always funny for the 14 year old girl to ask him to hold her horse while she talked to some suitor she was flirting with.
Elboron flinched as a bray was heard and mahogany skinned stallion bounded in with two riders, both with golden hair. He again froze as the beast stopped right in front of him and the taller rider dismounted.
The man wore a tall, crested helm and had his long golden mane lie carelessly upon his shoulders. He cocked his head slightly at Elboron then turned to his companion, "I never forget a face, Nandelle, yet this cannot be your brother."
Elboron pursed his lips; he knew this rider all too well. Unfortunately, this was his cousin, Elfwine Captain of the Riddermark and heir to the throne of Rohan.
"Well it has to be, hasn't it?" Elboron said with utter control. "Who else around here has blue eyes?" The feud between the two men was renowned. Ever since they were children and Elboron visited the Golden Hall with his mother they were discreet enemies.
Nandelle, his blonde spunky sister, parted the two. "Elfwine, Elboron, please. We just got here and we both have messages for our parents, ok?" She looked at her brother tensely. Don't screw this up, she thought.
Elboron nodded and stepped aside. "Father's left for council again. You have to go to mother, or me," he smiled sourly and his rival's jaw clenched. "But I have work to do, of course. So I can't talk. Though if you really need me, Nandelle, you know where I'll be." He then gave his sister a nod of respect, deliberately ignored his cousin, and walked off to his home.
"What's his problem?" Elfwine asked as the brunette stamped out of earshot. "He's alittle hot-headed today, eh?"
Nandelle sighed, shaking her head, "It's that time of year, cousin. Everyone around here is tense. Though you weren't helping." She too looked sour. "Why can't you two get along?" She then stomped off as well, leaving her cousin bewildered.
**************************************
Elfwine wasn't the only one confused at the moment. A few miles north two ladies stared at a statue one of them had just carved.
"What exactly is it?" said the first with long golden hair, cocking her head. "I can't really tell, Shango."
The other, with hair as black as night, responded: "I thought it would look like two lovers kissing, but it looks more like one is trying to wring the other's neck. I can't sculpt, can I?"
"No, I think we both should give up on that hobby. I cracked mine in half after the first blow."
Shango laughed. "Mithy, you're worse than I am! Come on, you said you'd meet Maiwë and have lunch with him. You don't want to keep your future husband waiting."
Mithy sighed and slowly began to walk into the courtyard. "I know, I have to take him to that feast tonight too."
The black-hair girl nodded. "I'm sorry, you really should tell your father."
"Like he'd listen," Mithy sat down on a bench. "Besides, he's probably at Minas Tirith by now."
Shango nodded, again. "Yeah. Oh! He moved up the date for the wedding. Maiwë doesn't want to wait for Spring."
"What!" The other jumped up off the bench. "There's no way I'm gonna stand for this! How dare they change the date without consulting me!"
"It's just what I heard, ok? Mithy, calm down."
"How can I calm down when everyone around me wants to completely control my life!"
"*I* don't want to control your life, Mithy. So it's not everyone."
"Stop contradicting me!"
Mithy stormed off. As she passed a couple she heard them whispering, "There goes Mithfeniel, the bastard. Why does she pollute us with her presence?"
Mithy whipped around and stared right at them, "Say that to my face, Yrch!"
The owner of the voice stood up. "I will. Mithfeniel, you have no right to be called a Greenleaf! Go back to the hole where your filthy mother lived!"
Mithy gritted her teeth. "You shouldn't judge others of filthiness, Slime- breath!"
The other scoffed. "How dare you! You uncultured, rash, ATANI!!!!"
Mithy then balled her hand into a fist, swung it back to punch, and felt a firm hand grip her arm. "Mithy, stop!"
She turned her head and looked at her father, a disciplined look on his face. He was the last person on earth she wanted to see. "Why should I?"
"Because, Mithy, if you strike back, it will only prove her right. I don't care what she called you, it is only words, but punching someone is a much different and unladylike matter."
"What if I don't want to be a lady?" She sneered at him.
"You're a lady whether you like it or not," She hated it when he looked at her in that calm, strict manner. It drove her crazy.
"So? She disgraced me, my mother, *and* you!"
"I deserve that disgrace. You don't, though proving her right doesn't help you."
"Just leave me alone! Go off to that stupid meeting with Elessar!" She ran off, tears streaming, with Shango at her heels.
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Next chapter will be coming as soon as I can write it all. Please, please tell where I can improve and where I'm doing good. And tell me who you like so far. Namaarie,
-Angainawen