#secxndson

Gandalf glanced up from his papers, eyes twinkling as he frowned at the Steward’s younger son. 

"At least an hour ago, young man!" he pronounced. "Do you find my company so dull that you must flee into dreams to escape it?" 

6th Person gets: A heartfelt confession

There really was no easy way to say it, although there were probably more diplomatic ways of saying it than blurting it out at the breakfast table.

♫ A drabble about our muses inspired by the next song that comes on shuffle

(Song - If I Ever Lose My Faith In You)

[Damn, that’s an awesome song for her.]

She liked this younger son of Denethor’s. She liked Boromir as well, would like to get drunk with him some time and try to make him blush with the most explicit songs she can think to sing. There was something different about Faramir, though. He nearly reminded her of Amandil. And so she had sought him out one evening when she knew he was not busy with other duties, and found him delightful company.

At her request he took her for a walk along one of the walls, and she noted how the guardsmen treated him with not only respect but a sort of thing that might be called love. They talked of small things, then deeper things; Miriel gently pulled what information from him he would provide about himself, his family, his city. At last the setting sun seemed to gild the fields about them, though it did not touch the mountains to the east. They had been speaking of the old Númenorean customs, the once-queen telling him of the Three Prayers and the harsh eyes of the stone eagles on Meneltarma, the green veldt that was never tended by human hand but never grew weeds or suffered the presence of butterflies. 

At a lull in the conversation she found herself clasping his arm companionably, standing close at his side. She wondered what they must look like, and a vision of the white streets of Roménna overwhelmed her. She stared out at the land spread before them, not able to look at him as she spoke. 

yesss

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It was one of the days she could not leave her bed, but Faramir had decided to keep her company. He was tucked under her arm, reading aloud to her from some storybook from the nursery. Her youngest might as well have come out of the womb with a book in his hands, and it made her smile at this little stamp of Denethor’s personality that had found its way into their son.

Sentence Meme: B△STILLE EDITION

Leave a “Quiet Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character trying to calm yours down [be it from crying, from lashing out, feel free to specify.]

Finduilas rocked and rocked in the oak chair, cradling the colicky infant as he screeched like a dying rabbit. Her face was pale and she had to stop sometimes to cough weakly, and the sling around her shoulder took most of the baby’s weight as she stroked his cheek.

She had been abed so long that she feared he would not know her. Unable to nurse in her ill condition, her milk had dried up, and his wet-nurse had cared for him almost exclusively in the last weeks. Today was the first day since his birth that Finduilas had felt well enough to leave her bed, and though he cried and cried, she relished every breath from those tiny but powerful lungs. He was in her arms at last, just the two of them together with no attendants – though one slept in the adjoining room, she had shooed the woman back to bed.