Tolkien Fan Fiction
| 11 |
| Blunt appeal |
Prompt: Balar: Write a story or poem or create artwork featuring unanswered requests, prayers or pleas. |
| Afterward, Beregond found it too easy to see himself through other eyes. The day had been so dark, and dread-stricken, men saw what they expected. And they'd all thought that Faramir would die. Thus Húrin's man wouldn't have challenged the Steward. And who was he to question how his lord disposed of his son's body in such dire times? Who was the upstart, white-faced guardsman demanding entry to forbidden hallows – who even tried the Steward's Door? He should've called himself a messenger. He should've feigned some errand. Truth is a subtle weapon, hard to wield. Far harder than a dagger. |
"'The Lord's errands are urgent and should not be hindered by me,' said Beregond; 'but tell me quickly, if you may: what goes forward? Whither has my Lord gone? I have just come on duty, but I heard that he passed toward the Closed Door, and men were bearing Faramir before him.' "'Yes,' said Pippin, 'to the Silent Street.' "Beregone bowed his head to hide his tears. 'They said he was dying,' he sighed, 'and now he is dead.'" - "The Siege of Gondor," RotK “At length they came back to the Steward's Door, and Beregond looked with grief at the porter. 'This deed I shall ever rue,' he said; 'but a madness of haste was on me, and he would not listen, but drew sword against me.' - “The Pyre of Denethor,” RoTK |