Tolkien Fan Fiction
| 69 |
| Of Ancestors and Toothache |
| Of Ancestors and Toothache B2MeM Challenge RolesandnamesOfAragorn1- Ranger; Botany1- Niphredil;SnippetsOfVerse1- The steady slowing down of the heart;;LastLines1-I think that he is singing;CanonCouples1 - Thingol/Melian; StewardAndHisSons- sword and bow:SongLyrics1-Lord of Gifts your star shall fall Format: ficlet Genre: general/humour Rating: PG Warnings: mention of drunkenness and treatments for toothache Characters: Boromir, the Fellowship, OC Pairings: none Summary: Boromir is in a bad mood. These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain. “I will sing the lay of Melian and Thingol in honour of our guest, Aragorn son of Arathorn, this night,” said the minstrel. He began to tune his lyre while wine was served to the assembled company. “Why, Strider?” whispered Pippin. “She is a distant foremother of mine,” the Ranger explained. “Also Melian was a close friend of Lady Galadriel when they dwelt together in Doriath; therefore it is fitting that her deeds should be remembered here. “Oh.” Pippin fell silent as the musician took up his lyre and began to sing. The Fellowship listened entranced, with the notable exception of Boromir who fidgeted restlessly throughout. Legolas sighed when the music ended. “A wondrous tale, but a melancholy one,” he said. “It is not wholly sad,” said Aragorn. “Melian and Thingol enjoyed centuries of happiness together while their descendants survive to this day.” “Surely that is but a fanciful old tale,” Boromir protested. “A pretty story to entertain children with. My brother loved such tales in the nursery.” “Did you perceive nothing at Rivendell?” asked Aragorn. “Melian and Thingol were the great grandparents of Master Elrond. Their daughter, Lúthien is my foremother.” Boromir’s expression remained sceptical as he studied the Ranger. “I find it hard enough to believe than men and Elves might have offspring together, he said. “ But a Maier! I say only that we of the House of Hurin are proud to come of a long line of Men!” “Your mother came of Elvish stock,” Aragorn replied. “Another old tale the truth of which is lost in the mists of time,” said Boromir. “My brother believes it, but I dislike such whimsical tales.” Aragorn glared at him. “Is your brother as skilled with the sword as you are, Boromir?” Legolas interrupted, before the Ranger could reply. “He is a fine swordsman, but an even better archer.” Boromir’s expression softened. “I think he could match even you in a contest, Legolas. He has a keen eye and a sure hand. I think he prefers the bow, as the archer does not feel the arrow piercing the enemy’s flesh, as does the swordsman. Faramir is a gentle soul. He is a brave warrior, yet his heart longs for peace He would much liefer devote his days to lore rather than fighting. Would that I were fighting at my brother’s side, rather than lingering in this unnatural realm where flowers bloom in winter!” He scowled at a vase filled to overflowing with pale niphredil blossoms. “What ails you, Boromir?” asked Legolas. “Your spirits seem dark tonight.” “I am sorry if I am but poor company,” Boromir replied. “I have a slight toothache.” “There are skilled healers here in Lothlórien,” said Legolas. “Why not ask one of them to aid you?” “I fear Elvish medicine would be too much like Elvish music,” said Boromir. “They lead to the steady slowing down of the heart, the last thing that a warrior needs.” “I have some willow bark that you could chew upon,” said Aragorn. He started to rummage in his pack. “Thank you, but I find the taste too bitter. Wine is the only medicine that eases it. It has troubled me for a long time. I shall have it pulled when I return home.” “As you will. This wine is a fine vintage.” The evening wore on. The minstrel sang again. Food was served together with more wine. The Hobbits only sipped at their drinks, much preferring ale, as did Gimli. Aragorn and Legolas obviously enjoyed the wine, but partook of it sparingly. Boromir, though, asked for his glass to be refilled again and again. “I think it is time we all retired for the night,” said Aragorn. Frodo yawned. “That is a good idea,” he said. The other Hobbits chorused their agreement, as did Legolas and Gimli. “Come, Boromir, you should rest now,” said Aragorn, laying a hand on the other man’s arm. “No!” Boromir shook off the Ranger’s grip. “We should fight, not rest!” He lifted his glass, turned towards the East, and sang, “Lord of Gifts, your star shall fall; this is the end, this is freedom’s call! Argh!” He clutched his face. “You are going to have that tooth out while you are too drunk to protest or feel too much pain!” said Aragorn. “Legolas and Gimli, will you assist me? I have some pliers in my pack.” Boromir resumed his song this time even louder. “Whatever is Boromir doing?” asked Pippin. “Is he ill?” Sam shrugged before replying, “Let us leave him to Mr Strider to see to. I think that he is singing.” |