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Family Honor (NC-17) Print

Written by Mcguffan

14 July 2006 | 162886 words

Chapter 2

When the small town of Eastfield finally came into view, Gandalf heaved an involuntary sigh of relief. He did not mind travelling. Much of his life consisted of just that, but he had forgotten all the extra inconveniences inherent in a procession of several dozen soldiers and a wagon full of goods. The wizard was used to moving at his own pace, which was a lot faster and a lot less conspicuous than trundling along with such an entourage. As his nature dictated, Gandalf complained grumpily to Lieutenant Gildel but the man who had resisted all his overtures at conversation had replied. “I’m afraid there is nothing to be done about it, sir. I suspect getting around is never easy at your age. It’s natural, sir. Try not to get discouraged.” Nothing put the ancient wizard’s sizable nose out of joint faster than condescension and he was hard pressed not to give the well meaning lieutenant a giant wart someplace very noticeable.

It did not help matters that Gandalf had been starved for conversation. He had been looking forward to a long talk with Faramir. The young man was excellent company and it was one of the wizard’s regrets that he had not had the time to be a greater influence in his life. The Steward’s son, however, took his duties as captain of the expedition very seriously. He talked with his soldiers, committing names to memory and inquiring about each man’s town of origin and family situation with admirable diligence. He was assessing these men as well as bonding with them. As much as Gandalf would have preferred Faramir’s conversation to the monosyllabic answers he had from the others to whom he spoke the wizard could not help but be pleased at the burgeoning leadership skills he saw in the young man.

Gandalf had always felt a certain fondness for Faramir, though he worried for the young man. Once again, the wizard permitted himself a moment of smug satisfaction for arranging everything. Denethor had not been the only one in need of convincing, persuading Aragorn had also been a chore. He had succeeded, though without having to reveal that he had hoped Faramir would be among the company journeying to Khand. As their party drew rein before the hostelry wherein Gandalf had agreed to meet Aragorn the wizard allowed himself to feel a measure of excitement.

The publican greeted the soldiers with oily politeness. Every room would be filled beyond capacity and the innkeeper tried to conceal his glee as he promised Faramir the very best hospitality. As Faramir saw to the quartering of his men Gandalf’s eyes were instantly drawn to the dark corner where he knew he would find Aragorn, watching silently. The ranger inclined his head toward the wizard but he remained where he was for the moment taking in the bustle of the soldiers and the attempts of their captain to establish order.

“Well Gandalf, we have arrived.” Faramir announced after places had been found for everyone and his men were settled along the trestle table being served plates of stew. “Where is the guide you have promised?”

Gandalf could not help but chuckle for as Faramir had been speaking Aragorn had risen from his place and made his way over to them. “Captain Faramir, may I present Strider. Strider, Captain Faramir.” It took all of Faramir’s self-control not to betray his surprise as a tall, hooded figure seemed to appear out of nowhere beside the wizard.

Strider bowed to the startled captain, touching his fingers to his forehead and then to his lips. Faramir was fascinated by this gesture. He returned Strider’s bow and he was in the process of moving his hand to his forehead in imitation when he suddenly realized what he was doing. Trying to recover something of his poise, Faramir smiled. “When Gandalf told me that we would be meeting someone who has traveled extensively in the east and would be willing to lend us aid I could not believe our good fortune. I am very glad to meet you master Strider.”

“Division among men is one of Sauron’s greatest strengths. I am honored to be what help I may in healing these divisions. It is a mark of great nobility in Gondor to reach out to the Easterlings.” This small speech was delivered rather sternly and Faramir could not help but notice that Strider had given Gandalf a rather nasty look after the introductions.

As Strider spoke he lowered his hood and Faramir gazed at his face. Dark hair, unkempt and shoulder length cast shadows over the plains of Strider’s face but Faramir could see the strong nose and bearded chin. Partly hidden by his hair, the man’s brow was almost elegant in contrast. His eyes were the color of the sky after a thunderstorm just at the moment before the sun emerges and the world is reborn. Faramir could not immediately find a label to describe Strider’s face but even as his mind danced over such terms as `beautiful’, `strong’ and even `inspired’ he became aware that he had difficulty seeing his features as a whole. It was as though he could only study Strider piece by piece.

“Well, shall we eat? It seems to me a long time since we stopped for lunch.” Gandalf suggested, herding Aragorn, Faramir and Gildel and Flyn, who had remained with their captain, towards a table.

“So, master ranger, what is your experience in Khand?” Gildel inquired when they were all seated. Before answering Aragorn studied the lieutenant intensely. Gildel, without seeming to be consciously aware of it, straightened his shoulders and seemed to come to full attention. After a moment Aragorn’s gaze turned mild once more and Gildel relaxed suddenly as though he had just undergone a great test and had only just passed.

“I lived among them for several years. The Landi clan which is a minor family of the Ge tribe took me in and I hunted with them for a time. I met others at gatherings similar to, but much smaller than, the one we will be attending. I am familiar with many of the local customs. Though men are men in whatever time or place, their habits and rituals are different from those in Gondor. I hope I will be able to help you communicate successfully with the Easterlings.”

“Is it true that the Khandrim take many wives?” Flyn asked leaning forward and raising a lascivious eyebrow. Faramir felt an acute embarrassment not so much at the question, for he himself was struggling not to betray his excitement at having such a conversation with a man of such experience, but in the way it had been asked. He gave Flyn a disapproving look which the man ignored. Faramir wondered if kicking him under the table would have achieved better or worse results.

“Men die young and often in Khand.” Aragorn explained. He felt unused to the role of teacher and he checked his audience quickly to make sure he was not already boring them. He found that Gandalf had drifted off into his own little world, the lieutenants were listening courteously and Faramir… well, Faramir was clearly enrapt. `I think I could talk all day if I could be assured of such a listener.’ Aragorn thought, flattered despite himself. “Most women can expect to be widows many times over. Other men of the clan will marry the widows of their brothers and close friends as well as adopt their children. In that way the women and orphans are provided for. A man may have as many wives as he is able to support.”

“What about you, then? Did you honor the local customs and find yourself some nice dark eyed woman or three?” Flyn asked. He was winking, Faramir saw utterly mortified, the damn man was actually winking.

“I did not.” The reply was cool but it somehow had the effect of completely silencing Flyn. All Faramir’s fidgeting and warning looks had not registered upon the lieutenant but three simple words from the ranger seemed to absolutely squash the other man. Faramir wondered if there was any way he would ever be able to sound like that. He doubted it.

“Gandalf tells me that you are participating in a contest of some sort at the gathering.” Faramir said after a long moment of silence. The Steward’s son often felt faintly apprehensive when dealing with new people and especially people he wished to impress but he congratulated himself that his tone was even and did not reveal anything of the twittering in his stomach.

“Yes, I will be participating in the sword-fighting.” Upon this subject, the ranger appeared somewhat reluctant to speak but Gildel’s curiosity had been piqued by the mention of swords and he pursued the inquiry.

“How many enter such a contest and what is the competition like?” Is it similar to our tournaments?”

“In many ways, yes. One may compete in archery, fencing or fighting. Unlike the tradition in Gondor, the contest is open to all comers and there is no entrance fee. Although one may buy one’s way out of the first round. It is a fierce business. For many young men, this is the only opportunity to gain renown and thus win a place in some lord’s entourage.”

“So it is mostly for peasants?” Gildel asked slightly disappointed. He enjoyed watching a good demonstration of skill but a bunch of farmers rolling around in the dirt hardly qualified.

“Those who compete do not have lords, but they wish to gain employment.” Strider clarified.

“Are there prizes?” Flyn asked, having recovered somewhat.

“Yes. The winning archer will be presented with a fresco depicting the first great gathering of the tribes. The fighting champion will be given the harp that Figno used to court Mirwith.” Strider looked about but only received understanding nods from Gandalf and Faramir. Gildel and Flyn did not recognize the story and Strider decided that they probably weren’t interested in hearing it now, if ever, so he continued. “To the swordmaster will be given a gauntlet called the `killing fist’ in Black speech and rumored to have belonged to one of the dark lord’s lieutenants in the first age.”

“That seems a shabby lot of prizes. Why don’t they give out gold like we do?” Flyn demanded, though, there was suddenly a spark of interest in the man’s eyes. This time, the man was silenced by a combination of withering looks directed at him from Strider, Gandalf and Faramir. The harp of Figno was not to be derided!

Faramir was writhing in the reflected shame of his lieutenant’s boorishness and in an attempt to redeem his party he said without thinking through all the implication of venturing an opinion. “I do not think gold would be as useful to people who, as master Strider describe them, tend to rely more on trade and barter.”

The attention shifted to Faramir and the young man felt his face flush. He could hear his father’s voice telling him he should have kept his fool mouth shut and he could not help but wish the voice had intervened earlier. Neither Strider nor Gandalf looked scornful, though, and Faramir might have seen this had he not been staring so intently at his plate.

“Such prizes do not seem as though they would be easy to trade.” Gildel said, though he spoke more in the way of question than of certainty.

No one spoke and when Faramir looked up quickly he saw that Strider was looking at him, waiting for him to answer. For a moment Faramir was standing before his father confronted with a question specifically designed to humiliate him but he pushed the fear down and tried to remember where he was. “Perhaps these prizes, which would be useless for to a simple warrior, would make excellent gifts to some great lord who would take the winner into his service.”

“That is exactly what is done, Captain.” Strider said, smiling warmly and Faramir, after a moment to digest what the ranger had said, beamed back feeling ridiculously proud of himself. Gandalf, too, was smiling at both his friends but neither Faramir nor Aragorn noticed for they were too caught upon in one another.

“Why, then, would you want to win such a prize, Strider?” Flyn asked and it was a reasonably perceptive question. What did Strider want with one very old and presumably rusty gauntlet?

“Oh, Strider is simply doing me a favor.” Gandalf interjected. “I very much want to study such an artifact of the enemy. It will do the world more good in my hands than it will collecting dust in some lord’s reliquary. Of course, I am not so quick with a sword as Strider is.” The wizard gave his friend a pat on the back and an avuncular smile.

“Indeed, in all likelihood the prize will go to another but I fear I am quite helpless to deny Gandalf the attempt.”

“You are too modest, Strider. Perhaps I should tell these fine gentlemen of some of your exploits.” The wizard said with a smile. It took a moment but Faramir eventually realized that Gandalf was teasing.

“Perhaps some of our boys would like to try their luck in these contests.” Flyn announced. “Our lads should be able to take the day at this festival. We could make quite an impression, Captain.”

“I am not certain how the Khandrim would perceive it, if men already bound to Gondor entered these contest.” Faramir responded, looking to Strider for guidance.

“I think it would be read as a sign that Gondor’s army is dissatisfied, captain.” The ranger put in quietly. This advice resonated with Faramir’s own instincts and he shook his head at Flyn.

“I do not think our men should participate. We should be careful to send the message that Gondor is united. Besides, I don’t want any of our lads to get into any situation with the locals where someone could get hurt of killed.” Flyn looked crestfallen at this prohibition and even Gildel seemed strangely discouraged but Faramir attributed this disappointment to a sense of patriotism and thought no more about it.

The five men continued talking into the night. Several times Faramir who, though he was the youngest present was also the one in command of the expedition, considered adjourning but could not bring himself to part company with Strider quite so soon. The ranger was more than merely intellectually fascinating, he was attractive, compelling, enigmatic, reassuring and a hundred other things that Faramir did not have the resources to articulate. Finally, Gandalf’s not so subtle hint that if they meant to go to bed at all they ought to do so soon forced Faramir to postpone further discussion until the next day.

The three men of Gondor watched the wizard and ranger go upstairs. Faramir wondered if the two would discuss this evening and if they did what they would say of him. It was obvious to the Steward’s son that Gandalf and Strider were good friends and this surprised him a bit. In Gondor, Faramir felt that he was perhaps as close a friend as the wizard allowed himself and yet it was clear that Gandalf shared not only great friendship but great secrets with the mysterious ranger.

“Well, gentlemen what do you think of our guide?” Faramir asked the confidants his father had assigned him.

“He seems stodgy to me, a bit full of himself, really; takes himself too seriously.” Flyn decided. Faramir struggled to conceal a smile. If anything Flyn’s disapprobation further endeared the ranger to him.

“I think we will find him competent.” Gildel opined with greater deliberation. “He and the wizard have goals of their own, though, and I think I would like to know what they are.”

“So would I” Faramir said turning to Gildel, eyes gleaming with a new vivacity. “So would I.”


“I am beginning to have second thoughts, Gandalf. This is terribly dangerous.” Aragorn said after firmly closing the door to the small room he would share with the wizard.

“I have never known you to shrink at danger, my friend.” The wizard teased. Aragorn’s trepidation, however, was not to be so easily assuaged. He had been shaken by the evening’s talk and he could not help but feel that the wizard had been manipulating him- even more than usual.

“This is a risky game and I am not entirely certain why I am playing. Faramir is Denethor’s son. Why did you not warn me?” The wizard sighed. Ever since Thorongil’s departure from Minas Tirith, Aragorn had been extremely shy of anything that might result in an encounter with any of the leading families of Gondor. Gandalf was of the opinion that it was passed time for Isildur’s Heir to make himself acquainted with the next generation of Gondorim leaders whatever Aragorn’s thoughts.

“Aragorn-”

“For the Valar’s sake, do not call me that.”

“Strider,” Gandalf began again with careful patience. He had never known his friend to be quite this prickly. For the first time, he wondered if he would not have done better to alert the ranger that Gandalf anticipated Faramir would lead the expedition. “Is it not important to reach out to the Easterlings?” Aragorn rubbed his forehead resigning himself to enduring the wizard’s lecturing tone. “I want to put the `killing fist’ far out of the enemy’s reach. The gauntlet was not called that simply out of flattery, you know. It contains a dangerous magic. More than that, it is your patrimony, wergild of your fathers. Magically speaking, the power that will be opened to me when it is returned to your possession will be great. Also did you not tell me that you intended to go east again soon in hopes of picking up Gollum’s trail once more?” Aragorn nodded to all this grudgingly.

“I would still have preferred to weigh the risk myself.” The ranger seemed suddenly tired and the wizard had to struggle not to feel guilty

“There is one more thing: Faramir needs you.”

“We have had this discussion before.” Aragorn could not entirely keep the hurt out of his voice. “I thought you agreed that revealing my identity would expose Gondor to the dark lord’s full attention. That is assuming I was accepted in the first place. Something, by the by, which will never happen while Denethor still remembers that he blames Thorongil for his estrangement from Ecthelion.”

“I did not say Gondor. I said Faramir.” Gandalf said gently. Gondor was another discussion in itself and Aragorn was already sufficiently agitated. “I fear for young Faramir. You saw yourself what a good heart and quick mind he has. But the strain on him grows. In many ways he faces the same challenges as you yourself but he has been less well prepared to deal with them. If there is to be a future for Middle-Earth beyond Sauron then men such as Faramir must be protected and cherished. Tell me Dunadan, did not Faramir seem hunted to you?”

This was not an easy question for Aragorn. Gandalf had when occasion permitted outlined something of Faramir’s character to him as well as other prominent figures of Minas Tirith. Even without the wizard making a special point of it, however, the ranger inferred what a misery it had been for the young man to have his emotional security rest entirely upon Denethor’s mercurial attention. Tonight the ranger had seen for himself that the Steward’s son had had a look to him of mixed fatigue and despair, like a deer almost run to ground. It had troubled the ranger to see a man so young so beset by doubt and haunted by anxiety but Faramir had seemed to recover a great deal of spirit just over the few hours of their meeting. “I do not question that he struggles but he has the resilience of youth. He was nearly cheerful after dinner.”

“That is true. It lifted my heart to see it but such dramatic improvement was most unusual. Already you are having an effect on him.” Gandalf continued to push. He did not say it for fear of making the ranger defensive but the wizard knew Aragorn had also been mired in a spiritual malaise of his own and he hoped the two men would benefit from each other’s peculiar gifts.

“What solace do you think I can offer that you or another cannot? I do not entirely understand what it is you want me to do.”

“‘Do?’ You need do nothing. If you simply are then that will be enough. I would have thought you would have learned that much basic magic from your kin in Rivendell.” Gandalf chided. The wizard had often tried to explain to Aragorn the latent power in his mere presence but his friend firmly resisted. The king held within him the power of symbolism, of faith, of whatever it was in man that allowed him to see beyond himself to the needs of others. The potency of metaphor itself belonged to Aragorn and so strong it was in him that the revelation of his true identity was almost a technicality. Aragorn, himself however, would only claim that the wizard was building a house of words and though it was a very fine house it would not keep out the wind.

“There is something about Faramir that draws me.” Aragorn finally admitted. “He is so much like his father except that he is free of Denethor’s…” `Selfishness?’, `Contempt for those who disagreed with his opinions?’, `his self-destructive pride?’ `All this and more.’ Aragorn thought, as his mind recalled how Faramir had seemed so abashed by his own enthusiasm and curiosity as though he had been twisted into feeling shame at his noblest instincts.

Gandalf could recognize victory when it was in front of him and he clapped his hands together breaking Aragorn from his contemplations. “Well, I am glad that is settled. You will be a friend to Faramir and help him broker an alliance with Khand. I shall have the `killing fist’ after you win it and then you shall see what may be found of Gollum’s trail. In all, I think I have arranged things rather well.”

“It is a comfort to know you have matters so well in hand.” Aragorn commented, genuinely amused by his friend’s attitude. After a moment, though he sobered. “Gandalf, I fear you risk outsmarting yourself one of these days with your brilliant but elaborate plans. Be careful, my friend, that you are not so clever that you restrict the free choice of those you guide.”

The words stung. Gandalf had been genuinely pleased with himself and while Aragorn had not exactly called him a manipulative old meddler the istar could not ignore that there would be some fairness to the accusation. He enjoyed playing the role of a kindly grandfather looking after his favorites and arranging things with all the idiosyncrasy of a village patriarch but he was a wizard, an emissary of the Valar themselves. He had power that conferred terrible responsibility and his unspoken but nonetheless deeply felt conviction that he knew what was better than anyone else what was best was his greatest weakness. Feeling there was justice in rebuke the wizard inclined his head in uncharacteristic humility.


The next few days passed far too quickly for Faramir. The roads were good and well-traveled at this stage in their journey and there was little he needed to do. His soldiers already knew how to march and little more was required of them. Faramir walked with them occasionally, continuing the work of forging a sense of camaraderie. He was succeeding rather well and it was only his relationship with his two lieutenants which he still found uncomfortable. No matter how he tried he could not seem to overcome the fact that these men knew the Steward did not respect him. Faramir did not feel able to demand from Gildel and Flyn what he did not merit in his own father’s eyes. Most of Faramir’s time, however, was not spent with either his men or the two lieutenants. Most of his time was spent thinking about Strider.

In his more introspective moments, Faramir was amused with himself. He was utterly infatuated and he knew it. The ranger filled his thoughts and he felt himself exhilarated just to be near him. No word or gesture from the man was too trivial not to merit hours of happy contemplation. Never before had he felt such giddy happiness at the mere pronunciation of his own name but the way Strider said `Faramir’ made the name music. There never seemed to be enough time to look at Strider. His every motion seemed endlessly fascinating and listening to him speak was bliss. It did not trouble Faramir that his growing attraction to the ranger was doomed to be unrequited, he was practical. He would expect nothing. In a way it was a great relief. Faramir was well passed the age when most people felt the first stirrings of love.

Faramir’s first instinct was to tell Boromir. His brother had never said anything but Faramir knew that Boromir worried about his apparent lack of any sexual interest in the beauties, either male or female of Minas Tirith. Faramir could only plead that the lack of education made most women vapid and the ones with sense or ambition could find no suitable employment for their talents and thus soon became resentful or malicious. Faramir did not blame them for this, rather he had a great deal of pity for them but he did not desire them. The situation was little better among the men. Faramir disliked simpering and he was equally put off by casual liaisons where the only object seemed to be to gratify oneself as much as possible while giving one’s partner as little as possible. Boromir had said he sympathized but Faramir still felt his brother would have been better pleased to see Faramir engage in a little judicious roistering from time to time.

Faramir nearly wrote to Boromir several times. He was bursting to share the news that finally, finally he had developed a crush, but the fear that Denethor would read the letters stopped him. So accustomed was he to having his correspondence opened that he did not even consider the practice an invasion of privacy. Faramir, though, wanted to keep Strider secret from his father. `How rebellious I have become.’ Faramir would laugh quietly to himself but despite the gentle mockery there was a part of him that felt a thrill of guilty joy for in a very small way his feelings for Strider were an act of defiance. Unable to confide in his brother, Faramir relied on fantasies. By some benevolent twist of fate Boromir would be sent after them and Faramir would introduce Boromir to Strider and the three would be such great friends. There was nothing wrong, Faramir reassured himself, with a little fantasizing.

In all, Faramir enjoyed being in love. He had never understood before what all the fuss was about but now he felt at one with even the sappiest of poems and songs. As Faramir spent more time with Strider, however, his feeling which had begun as simple infatuation began to change and mature into something stronger, more durable and ultimately more heartrending. Faramir was no longer just in love where the birds sang and the sun shone for him alone. Rather he was in love with Strider, a man, a unique individual, a whole person who, unlike the songs and poems he had so recently thought so much of, was not merely a remote almost generic beloved. He was himself and utterly irreplaceable. Faramir, though he still had the sense that he was somehow not seeing Strider in his entirety, spent more time thinking of Strider’s conversation, of his personality of his interaction with others. These newly kindled flames of love and knowledge would never burn themselves out. This was no longer a standard experience of coming age this was the real thing. Faramir was thoroughly ensnared and there was no turning back.

Watching Strider as he walked beside Gandalf talking, smiling occasionally- little smiles that were only the slightest of stretch of his lips and brightening of his eye- Faramir marveled that it had happened so fast. Surely, he should have had more warning, more time to ready himself for the surrender of himself. Strider was so gentle, and it was easy to surrender. Faramir loved talking with him. Strider gave him his full attention when they spoke as though he was not only interested but like he expected to hear Faramir speak wisdom. It was these times Faramir feared that he revealed himself too much. Strider was a miracle of kindness but he could not feel a tenth of the tidal wave that swept through the young captain of Gondor. Faramir’s enthusiasm sluiced unchecked over his listener and against all better judgment he found himself speaking of thoughts and feelings he had not even shared with Boromir. Strider received his confidences with a depth of understanding Faramir would not have believed possible and he reciprocated, telling Faramir of his own philosophy fired and tempered by experience. Faramir felt himself emerging from a darkness he had not even realized surrounded him.

Faramir was careful, however, not to cling to Strider. He could have spent every moment of the day and night by him and still hungered for more, but the practical captain strictly rationed himself. He had other duties to perform and he did them. He continued to make efforts with Gildel and Flyn. He spoke with Gandalf and he made sure that the unofficial entourage of travelers, some of whom were very poor and burdened with young children, that hung about the group of soldiers for safety on the road had enough to eat. He also watched. Strider seemed drawn to the most ragged of the stragglers desperate to remain near the wagon. Despite his austere countenance, the children did not fear him, and he would carry the heavy packs of the old women for several miles and speak amiably or more often listen to the tide of grievances of both young and old. At such times Faramir imagined he saw a light emanating from Strider and sweeping out to encompass those who walked near him. Faramir might have started worrying for his sanity but he was in love and was therefore expected to see flowers spring up in the footsteps of his beloved.

In many ways this deepening love was more fulfilling than the instant visceral rush of attraction but it was also more frightening. Hope and fear were inextricably entwined. As the possibilities of joy opened before him so too did the terrifying knowledge that this joy could be lost or worse yet never be fully attained. As Faramir lay down within his small tent at the end of the first week of travel, he wrapped himself in thoughts of Strider. His imaginings in the privacy of the night differed markedly from what he allowed himself to dream in the day. As the scent and warmth of the object of Faramir’s adoration were conjured, his hand wandered down toward his groin. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. When the inevitable came and his heart was broken Faramir hoped he would be able to take the blow with a measure of philosophy.

NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]

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10 Comment(s)

Ah, a story with a real plot and real character does stupid dances... I´m so thankful for that ;)
Very nice so far and I´m looking forward to learn more about Khand and our mysterios ranger xD…
Please write more and update as soon as posible.

Greetings,
Elivyan

— elivyan    Saturday 15 July 2006, 4:38    #

Have read Trial and Judgement (although the beginning of it was mangled and I have no idea how much of it I missed) and anticipate another fine story here.

— Bell Witch    Saturday 15 July 2006, 11:36    #

i’m in deep trouble now, just can’t will myself to leave the wonderful little world you created thought i should have gone back to work long time ago…totally hooked! *sigh*

— traveller    Sunday 16 July 2006, 0:28    #

Great story! Thanks for sharing it with us.

— Mandy    Sunday 16 July 2006, 23:50    #

Read through Chapter 20 in one night and then no time to finish until now. You weave a fine story with plot and character details and cultural concepts that made those first twenty chapters a butt-hurtin’ necessity. Your Halbarad is especially interesting.

Damn fine story.

— Bell Witch    Monday 17 July 2006, 4:36    #

Read this over the past couple of weeks. This is a brilliant story. Your characterizations have sploiled me for the rest of the slash world – so resplendent and nuianced, grave and sweet in their integrity. The rich community of supporting characters itself was thrilling. What I value most is the simple layered craft of each chapter. Thank you!

— stillwell    Saturday 29 July 2006, 3:09    #

Wonderful – simply wonderful. A grand story. I will look for your work always. Wonderful.

— EJ    Saturday 14 April 2007, 22:34    #

very good story. Love it. I hope you write a sequel to it.

— kijo    Monday 3 November 2008, 6:58    #

I so love your stories, please, can you gifted us with a sequel or another marvelous story ?
Thanks for sharing!

— camille    Tuesday 30 December 2008, 15:28    #

Wow, I just came across your story and spend the whole night reading it! This is one of the few really fantastic LotR stories that I have found over the years.
I love the writing style and the character developement in this piece! Somehow I love the characterisation of Flyn … while I still dislike him personally :-)
There are many more reasons why I love this story, but I cant list them all here … instead, I think, I am going to reread this story immediately after I have finished this comment :-)

Thanks for sharing it with us!
(Please forgive any misspelling. English isn’t my first language)

— Mikkalea Luna    Saturday 14 May 2011, 19:39    #

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