Post by Admin on Jan 1, 2021 17:03:58 GMT
Author: ForestWren
Ranking: 2nd place
Summary: Gimli wants to bring Aragorn to an inn.
Rating: K+
Characters: Aragorn, Gimli, Boromir
“No!” the king-to-be protested violently, shaking his head so vehemently that his tangled black hair flew about his face. “I will not do it!”
“But Aragorn,” said Gimli, “It would boost morale!”
“No. No. Absolutely not. I told you, I am not going to enter the city until Sauron is defeated and am crowned king!”
“It’s only somewhat in the city,” Gimli countered stubbornly, “The walls were so broken down during the battle that there’s practically no barrier between the city and the field until you get to the third or fourth level.”
“It is traditional in Gondor that the captains drink with their men on the eve of a battle,” Boromir chimed in, a determined look in his eyes. He had spent the last few days practically glued to his little brother’s side, as unwilling to leave Faramir as the younger man was to let him leave, but now the young captain was asleep, taking some much-needed rest to recover from his wounds, and Boromir had been kicked out of the Houses of Healing by some very exasperated healers. Thus defeated, captain had returned to his companions, and was now arguing with a steely, determined glint in his eyes which did not bode well for the uncooperative ranger.
“You would not have it said that the future King of Gondor and Arnor refused to follow such a time-honored tradition, would you? Not to honor it would suggest that you are above the soldiers, that you are too mighty to mix with the common people. Would you have this be the people of Minas Tirith’s first impression of you?” Boromir pressed his point ruthlessly.
“I’m fairly sure that their first impression of me involved me jumping from a boat and saving their necks at the Pelennor Fields two days ago. I should hope that would make a more lasting impression than it would if I decided not to go to battle with a hangover,” said Aragorn. He stuck stubbornly to his position, but his two companions saw his certainty beginning to waver slightly. At seeing the slight weakness Gimli did not waste a moment before he pounced.
“But think of the hobbits! They’ve seemed depressed ever since we entered this city of ruined rock and stone, especially poor Merry. Think what good it would do them to have a drink with their good friends, as though nothing had changed since Rivendell! You need not even tell anyone your true name. I’m sure no one would recognise you in your ranger gear; most of them only saw you from far off and in the heat of battle! No one would ever know it was you.”
“There aren’t many other people who wander around in the company of a dwarf and two hobbits,” Aragorn pointed out, but even he could see that his chances of winning this battle were rapidly decreasing.
“We can get Legolas to come,” said Boromir, determined to defeat the last of the stern king’s resolve. “Mithrandir too, if we can manage it. It will be almost like old times, back before Moria! We haven’t all had a chance to sit down and talk things over yet, and it will do you a world of good to have a break from the whole Kingliness business before we ride out to Mordor. It will only be for a few hours!”
Aragorn gave a long, drawn-out sigh, resting his face in his hands where the other man and the dwarf could not see his expression. They waited with bated breath for a few long moments, until they heard a mumbled word from the man in front of them.
“Fine.”
Gimli let out a victorious cry that startled several innocent passers-bye and Boromir grinned in triumph. The dwarf jumped to his feet and seized Aragorn’s arm, pulling the man off the piece of rubble he had been sitting on and up the what remained of the street they were on the edges of, with a cry of “What are we waiting for?” echoing behind him. Boromir shook his head, an amused smirk on his face, and attempted to hold back his laughter at the nervous and somewhat betrayed look that Aragorn shot back at him. He followed the dwarf, picking his way through the rubble until he reached the mostly-clear cobblestones of the wide road.
The occurrences of that night soon became famous among the people of Gondor as “the Incident at the Red Heron.” They were subject to much rumour and speculation, and there were many wild tales told about the events, some with significantly more basis in fact than others. The few people lucky enough to be present that night refused to say much more than vague whispers — apparently being sworn to silence at swordpoint by an angry and embarrassed elven-prince was an effective way of keeping people’s mouths shut. The innkeeper, in the years to come, was asked many times about that night’s events, but he was always uncharacteristically tight-lipped on the subject.
All he would ever say was, with a meaningful look in the enquirer’s direction, “Well, that king of ours certainly knows how to honour the old traditions.”
Ranking: 2nd place
Summary: Gimli wants to bring Aragorn to an inn.
Rating: K+
Characters: Aragorn, Gimli, Boromir
“No!” the king-to-be protested violently, shaking his head so vehemently that his tangled black hair flew about his face. “I will not do it!”
“But Aragorn,” said Gimli, “It would boost morale!”
“No. No. Absolutely not. I told you, I am not going to enter the city until Sauron is defeated and am crowned king!”
“It’s only somewhat in the city,” Gimli countered stubbornly, “The walls were so broken down during the battle that there’s practically no barrier between the city and the field until you get to the third or fourth level.”
“It is traditional in Gondor that the captains drink with their men on the eve of a battle,” Boromir chimed in, a determined look in his eyes. He had spent the last few days practically glued to his little brother’s side, as unwilling to leave Faramir as the younger man was to let him leave, but now the young captain was asleep, taking some much-needed rest to recover from his wounds, and Boromir had been kicked out of the Houses of Healing by some very exasperated healers. Thus defeated, captain had returned to his companions, and was now arguing with a steely, determined glint in his eyes which did not bode well for the uncooperative ranger.
“You would not have it said that the future King of Gondor and Arnor refused to follow such a time-honored tradition, would you? Not to honor it would suggest that you are above the soldiers, that you are too mighty to mix with the common people. Would you have this be the people of Minas Tirith’s first impression of you?” Boromir pressed his point ruthlessly.
“I’m fairly sure that their first impression of me involved me jumping from a boat and saving their necks at the Pelennor Fields two days ago. I should hope that would make a more lasting impression than it would if I decided not to go to battle with a hangover,” said Aragorn. He stuck stubbornly to his position, but his two companions saw his certainty beginning to waver slightly. At seeing the slight weakness Gimli did not waste a moment before he pounced.
“But think of the hobbits! They’ve seemed depressed ever since we entered this city of ruined rock and stone, especially poor Merry. Think what good it would do them to have a drink with their good friends, as though nothing had changed since Rivendell! You need not even tell anyone your true name. I’m sure no one would recognise you in your ranger gear; most of them only saw you from far off and in the heat of battle! No one would ever know it was you.”
“There aren’t many other people who wander around in the company of a dwarf and two hobbits,” Aragorn pointed out, but even he could see that his chances of winning this battle were rapidly decreasing.
“We can get Legolas to come,” said Boromir, determined to defeat the last of the stern king’s resolve. “Mithrandir too, if we can manage it. It will be almost like old times, back before Moria! We haven’t all had a chance to sit down and talk things over yet, and it will do you a world of good to have a break from the whole Kingliness business before we ride out to Mordor. It will only be for a few hours!”
Aragorn gave a long, drawn-out sigh, resting his face in his hands where the other man and the dwarf could not see his expression. They waited with bated breath for a few long moments, until they heard a mumbled word from the man in front of them.
“Fine.”
Gimli let out a victorious cry that startled several innocent passers-bye and Boromir grinned in triumph. The dwarf jumped to his feet and seized Aragorn’s arm, pulling the man off the piece of rubble he had been sitting on and up the what remained of the street they were on the edges of, with a cry of “What are we waiting for?” echoing behind him. Boromir shook his head, an amused smirk on his face, and attempted to hold back his laughter at the nervous and somewhat betrayed look that Aragorn shot back at him. He followed the dwarf, picking his way through the rubble until he reached the mostly-clear cobblestones of the wide road.
The occurrences of that night soon became famous among the people of Gondor as “the Incident at the Red Heron.” They were subject to much rumour and speculation, and there were many wild tales told about the events, some with significantly more basis in fact than others. The few people lucky enough to be present that night refused to say much more than vague whispers — apparently being sworn to silence at swordpoint by an angry and embarrassed elven-prince was an effective way of keeping people’s mouths shut. The innkeeper, in the years to come, was asked many times about that night’s events, but he was always uncharacteristically tight-lipped on the subject.
All he would ever say was, with a meaningful look in the enquirer’s direction, “Well, that king of ours certainly knows how to honour the old traditions.”