Oct. 31st, 2006

sillimarilli: (Default)
'Few now remember them,' Tom murmured, 'yet still some go wandering, sons of forgotten kings walking in loneliness, guarding from evil things folk that are heedless.'

FOTR: Fog on the Barrow-Downs

~oOo~

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~oOo~


"Ara-gost, Ara-vorn, Ara-had," my son laboriously recites, checking over his work, for I have set him to putting to memory the lines of the Kings of the Northkingdom and the Chieftains of the DĂșnedain.

We sit together after the evening meal, my lord's table lit by candles, he with his lessons and I with my journal. For it has rained all through the day and looks to continue through the night. My child has been restless. He played upon the floor about the hearth, lining his carved figures into battles and I was much pressed to pay no heed to his harsh yells and the clatter of his toys. When that no longer held his mind, he donned the rough quilted tunic I had made for him, its folds filled with river-sand to accustom his young limbs to the weight, and took up his wooden sword.
Continued here )

February 2008

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