Year 14 of the Fourth Age
Well, isn't this just great.
Thanks to my father, I now can look forward to living the rest of my life in a huge graveyard. Before I go on, however, let me introduce myself.
I am Dior, son of Lord Orodreth of Minas Tirith. Yes, I said Dior, as in the son of Beren and Lùthien.
It was my father's idea. You see, he devotes his time to two things: governing and poring over ancient scrolls. If you ask him the time of day, he will not know it. However, if you ask him to cite the family tree of King Elessar backwards (and give a general history of everyone for good measure) while standing on his head, he will not hesitate to do so. My three sisters are named Lalaith, Nimloth, and Aredhel. I could've been named after any number of heroic figures: Tùrin, Beren, Haldir, Tuor…
…Instead I am named after some pansy half-elf who's famous for being pretty. But I digress.
You see, King Elessar has long been looking for someone to be a warden of his northern lands. He brought the issue up in the royal court today, and who should happen to be the first to volunteer but my father. When he arrived home this evening, I knew something was afoot, for instead of immediately telling me that I would amount to nothing if I did not pursue my studies (his usual greeting), he slapped me on the back and walked away humming an old military march.
He broke the news over dinner. He turned to my mother:
"Dear, I have wonderful news! His Highness has chosen me to be warden at Fornost!"
Five sets of utensils clattered on their plates as the rest of my family and I gaped at him. He was as giddy as a schoolgirl.
My mother, nearly in tears, asked him why he would ever take up a post so far from home.
"Think of all the wonderful historical events that happened there! Fornost was long the stronghold of Elendil the Tall, and now it shall be our home!"
My six-year-old sister Lalaith began to cry, Nimloth, the next oldest, was stunned like me, and Aredhel, my older sister, began to complain about how she would never see her friends again, though I think she was more worried about never seeing that particularly good-looking royal stablehand again.
My father ordered us to be quiet, and the noise immediately stopped. He told us he would not tolerate this behavior, and we should begin to pack belongings, for we were going to leave within the next week.
That night I sat out on our balcony overlooking the city. Nim, my ten-year-old sister, joined me. She asked if I would be sad to leave, and I said I would. She asked why, and I told her it was because all the other boys were training to be knighted in the royal school, but I wouldn't get to. I asked her if she would be sad.
"The boys in my class say that there are ghosts on the downs that suck you into the tombs. All the other girls scream, but I don't," she added quickly, covering up for her official tomboy status. She asked if I believed in ghosts. I told her I wasn't sure, but if one tried to get her, I would beat it up for her.
"You can't beat up ghosts, silly. You would punch right through them," she informed me.
"Then I shall spit beans at them, like the old wives say." Looking at her, I was suddenly very glad she was my little sister. Despite our age difference of five years, we are the closer to each other than our other siblings. We both share a passion for swords, horses, heroism, and hating schooling.
Mother started calling for her to come in and take her bath. Nim made a face and asked if I would help her escape. I told her I would not, though I would teach her a new fighting move I had learned after school if she would go. I knew mother greatly disapproved of her lack of love for dolls and dresses, though I figured self-defense was more practical, and made a good incentive, seeing as how she ran off into the house without a backward glance at my offer.
With a sigh I looked out on the City and the fields of the Pelennor once again. Perhaps I was being over-dramatic, but I felt as if my life was ending.
**********
Disclaimer: I don't own Tolkien's works, they belong to the Tolkien estate, etc.
Well, to my own amazement, I'm starting another fic! The very beginning of this has been sitting in my computer for quite some time. I feel like doing something a little more lighthearted, I suppose. Dior's little sister Nimloth is actually based on Scout (Jean Louise) from To Kill a Mocking Bird by Harper Lee (an awesome book I highly recommend). The spitting beans thing also came from there, but I figure Gondor probably has its own silly superstitions too ^^ Though this will be from Dior's perspective, it won't be like a journal, as I had originally intended. Um, not much else to say, except I hope you enjoy this.
~NerdAnel the Wise
PS- This is partially based on my experiences, seeing as how I moved recently from Massachusetts to Minnesota and felt as if my life was ending, but that's about it. Dior is certainly not a self-insert. Differences include gender and views on how interesting history is (I love it. Oh come on, haven't you noticed "nerd" is part of my pen name yet? ^^). Also, chapters will come fairly slow, seeing as how I also have another fic going.
A/N: When I say Dior's father is "Lord Orodreth of Minas Tirith," I don't literally mean he rules it. I suppose he would be a sort of advisor to King Elessar, and was given Lord as a title.
