And The Clocks Were Striking Thirteen (_redpanda_) wrote in afterthering,
And The Clocks Were Striking Thirteen

  • Mood:
The Kings of Gondor and the Mark are away south at war. In Ithilien an injured Faramir lies dying, dreaming of his long-lost brother. Elboron and Lothiriel must ride to join Eowyn at the Prince's bedside, leaving young Elfwine alone to rule Rohan in his father's stead with only Erkenbrand to aid him and Eldarion to annoy the hell out of him. And Hama's grandson is in some serious hot water...

Bergil cast a glance over his shoulder, and in his eyes was the same judgment Elboron had always had to deal with from him. "You're becoming a man and you should learn to act the part. You have a long, proud heritage--"

"Oh, spare me or flay me with a wooden spoon!"

"A long, proud her--" Bergil tried again with similar results.

"Yes, 'proud' like my grandfather trying to kill my father and then gibbering like a loon before flinging himself off the walls of Minas Tirith."

"He threw himself on the pyre. Honestly, where do you learn your history?"

"Burning, falling, what does it matter?"

"One is historical fact, the other is a false legend," Bergil admonished him. "Denethor was a great man before his disgrace. He held Gondor for years against the forces of Mordor."

"He still died a crazy, stupid man."

"It is not proper for you to say such things."

"Well, you can take proper and--"

"If you two are quite done -- and even if you're not -- shut your mouths. You're giving me a headache," Lothiriel reprimanded them.

Still glaring at each other, the two completed the walk to the stables in simmering silence. It was going to be a long, unpleasant trip, Elboron decided miserably. And it would be the worse because his friends were staying behind.

What's all this? Let's just say that Chapter Nine of Heirs Of Arda is now online. PS: Please comment on the link provided!

Comments for this post were disabled by the author