Title: A Sword of Cloth
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Characters: Denethor/Finduilas, with little Boromir and baby Faramir guest starring, and a few mentions of Ivriniel and Imrahil
Prompt: 41: "this is heaven to no one else but me; and I'll defend it as long as I can be"
Word Count: 553
Rating: G
Summary: Finduilas has created a monster.
Author's Notes: Pure, unadulterated fluff. Well, mostly. Huan, Luthien, and Turin all make reference to the Silmarillion. Ivriniel and Imrahil are Finduilas's canonical elder sister and little brother, respectively. I own nothing related to this story but a stiff hankerchief.
"Storytime, Mama! Storytime!" Quite reverentially, Boromir laid the scarf in his mother's hands. Faramir watched in rapt silence.
"Now, this is a custom I've never understood. Telling the children stories is logical, certainly, but what is the scarf for?" Denethor paused by the door, watching as his wife twisted the fabric between dexterous fingers.
"'Tis something Ivriniel and I invented to amuse Imrahil when he was young. With this scarf, we might have a winged crown to tell tales of lost kings." So saying, she knotted the ends and placed the fabric "crown" onto Faramir's head, straightening the "wings." The young boy smiled proudly up at his mother. "Or, we might find a deadly dragon to slay." A few folds and knots, and the crown became a little creature with four legs, wings, a knotted tail, and slightly drooping cloth ears. "Or maybe Huan shall come down to accompany us on our quest." The wings were taken out, and the dragon gained long tongue. Boromir wagged its tail appreciatively. "But it takes skill to know the difference between the fair Lady Luthien –" Shaking out all but two knots in the scarf, she draped it over her head, leaving two pointed ears, " – and the Witch of the Golden Wood." Pulling one side forward, Finduilas hunched slightly over, a playfully evil glint in her eyes. On her lap, Faramir shrieked in pantomimed fear, then burst into giggles as she leaned over and kissed him.
"I need a sword, Mama!" Boromir pulled at her dress.
"And you shall have one, if you can do a task for the Witch of the Wood," Finduilas responded in character.
"What is it, Mama? I'm not afraid!" Their elder son puffed up his chest, making Denethor smile in the doorway to the nursery.
"You must help me tell a story that will let your father see your favorite scarf forms, and then you must learn to make a wolf."
"But that's the hardest one!" Boromir exclaimed.
Finduilas removed the scarf from her head and kissed him reassuringly. "Perhaps not tonight. But you will need to take care of Faramir when I cannot, and you may need to entertain children of your own someday."
"I'll try, Mama. But tell Turin tonight. Please?" Boromir begged, and Finduilas began to wrap the cloth.
"Truly, it was only to get Imrahil to play dress-up with us. I had no idea I'd created a monster," Finduilas explained later, returning Faramir to his crib as Denethor tucked Boromir into bed, rag-sword in hand.
"It is good to see them smile. And very rewarding to see my wife smile." Denethor wrapped an arm about her.
"If that were the only sword my Boromir ever needed, I would be truly happy," Finduilas sighed. "But this year it's wooden swords, soon enough practice blades, and before long, he'll be out cleaving orc-necks with his father." She leaned in to his embrace, depending on his arm for support. When had she gotten so frail that merely spending an evening with the children wore her out?
"Finduilas, I promise you that no matter what happens, they'll have to break through the gates before I let them take our sons from us." Or you from me, he added silently. Outside the window, an elm tree swayed in the northbound breeze.