Hello to you all here on Fanfiction.net! In honor of the fact that it is
(finally) advent I have allowed the plot bunny that has been biting me
since summer to attack the keyboard, with these results. It is 'A Christmas
Carol' by Charles Dickens, but with the characters from LotR. Are you
intrigued? I hope you are- it isn't that bad, really.
I realize that the people in this fic are entirely OOC, but I had to change them a bit to fit the plot. After all, Middle-Earth did not have a Christmas (A Yule, granted, but.). If you'll ignore the glaring inconsistencies then you may enjoy it for what it is.
I also realize it is the ultimate sacrilege to mess with the characters, plots and settings from these wonderful works of art but yet, when the plot bunny bites I am helpless than to get a Band-Aid. Merry Christmas to you all, I hope all your dreams come true in 2003 and forever more.
A Christmas Carol
Chapter 1: Stone
+_+_+_+_
In the Bleak Midwinter
Frosty winds made moan.
Earth stood, hard as iron,
Water like a stone.
Snow had fallen, snow on snow.
Snow on Snow.
In the Bleak Midwinter,
Long ago.
Christina Georgina Rossetti (1830-1894)
+_+_+_+_
The Steward of Gondor was dead to begin with. There is no doubt about that- his funeral pyre had licked the sky with admirable impatience as the flames had destroyed the body of the man who was universally known as having the icy flow of madness through his veins. Elessar had witnessed the aftermath, though he did not care for it much.
Old Denethor was as dead as a doornail.
King Elessar knew he was dead? Of course he did- after all, his death signaled the end of the Stewardship of Gondor, leaving the path open to Aragorn to claim his rightful throne.
Once again, I remind you that Denethor was dead and scattered on the wind. This must be distinctly understood or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am about to relate. Once the great battle had ended and Sauron had been defeated Aragorn had sat on the throne, victorious, noble and just. He had been loved by the men of Gondor as their long awaited ruler. Aragorn had been an admirable man- he was exceedingly handsome and fiercely intelligent, holding elvish grace and mortal determination in the same skin. His beautiful wife had been the envy of the entire White City- a vision to those who had seen her and a legend to those who hadn't.
And that was the point it all went horribly wrong.
It had seemed that Her Majesty's elvish blood had sung for more than she could bear, despite the mortal state she resided in, and the call of the sea had sung to her mind daily. It was with a heavy heart that she left the King, creeping away on a snow-white steed in the dead of night, witnessed only by the Prince of Mirkwood whom she swore to secrecy.
Once the King awoke to discover her absence his entire demeanor changed all but instantly. The beloved king, Elessar of the line of Valandil, became bitter and twisted. His fine features and Inner Light dimmed, his shoulders stooped and his greed grew. Oh! But he was a tight- fisted hand at the grindstone, Elessar. A squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner! He became secret and self- contained, hard and sharp as a flint.
Every man, woman and child felt his sudden greed and anger, from Min- Rimmon to Pinnath Gelin. The country suffered and fell into poverty due to the extortionate taxes set by Elessar. There seemed no way out.
During this time Legolas, the same Prince of Mirkwood that had been sworn to secrecy by Arwen, had been requested to work in Elessar's offices and had agreed, his guilt at the knowledge of Arwen's leaving, his loyalty to the man the king had been and his hope of seeing that man again overriding all other feelings. His ability as a negotiator had elevated him through the ranks, earning the trust, respect and (although it was closely guarded) love of the other workers.
This led him to the position he was currently in, standing at the open door to King Elessar's main chambers with the other workers hovering hopefully behind him and the king purposely refusing to acknowledge his presence. The King was sat low in an ornate chair, cold and unfeeling steel- grey eyes fixed in the roaring flames of a fire in the hearth of the large room, his back to Legolas.
The elf cleared his throat nervously and crept forward. Still, the King refused to look at him.
"If you will excuse me Sire, I wish to speak to you," he ventured. "As you know, it is December the twenty fifth tomorrow . . ."
"And?" Elessar snapped, eyes still fixed of the roaring flames.
"And," Legolas continued, albeit slower than before, "we were hoping that it might be considered that we may have the day as a day of celebration, my Liege. What say you?"
"I say it is a poor excuse to pick a man's pockets every December Twenty fifth." Disappointed sighs sounded quietly from the other workers before they were silenced in fear.
"If you please, sir, business will be slow for the day and it would do you better to save your workers for the day after," Legolas pressed hopefully. Elessar's eyes finally raised to meet the Elf's, razor sharp and as inimical as the coldest points of the mountains.
"And what say you, Elf?" King Elessar questioned, his voice low and dangerous. Legolas held his gaze.
"It would be appreciated, Sir"
The King sighed and resumed his study of the flames. "Just make sure you're here all the earlier the next morning." The workers looked to each other, surprised delight lighting their features. Scurrying out, they made to finish up for the night, leaving Legolas in the room with the King.
"Thank you," he murmured before spinning on his heel and slipping out, braids flying round his head and feet making not a sound on the oak floor. The King's answering scowl was cold enough to dim the fire.
+++++++++++
To Be Continued.
I realize that the people in this fic are entirely OOC, but I had to change them a bit to fit the plot. After all, Middle-Earth did not have a Christmas (A Yule, granted, but.). If you'll ignore the glaring inconsistencies then you may enjoy it for what it is.
I also realize it is the ultimate sacrilege to mess with the characters, plots and settings from these wonderful works of art but yet, when the plot bunny bites I am helpless than to get a Band-Aid. Merry Christmas to you all, I hope all your dreams come true in 2003 and forever more.
A Christmas Carol
Chapter 1: Stone
+_+_+_+_
In the Bleak Midwinter
Frosty winds made moan.
Earth stood, hard as iron,
Water like a stone.
Snow had fallen, snow on snow.
Snow on Snow.
In the Bleak Midwinter,
Long ago.
Christina Georgina Rossetti (1830-1894)
+_+_+_+_
The Steward of Gondor was dead to begin with. There is no doubt about that- his funeral pyre had licked the sky with admirable impatience as the flames had destroyed the body of the man who was universally known as having the icy flow of madness through his veins. Elessar had witnessed the aftermath, though he did not care for it much.
Old Denethor was as dead as a doornail.
King Elessar knew he was dead? Of course he did- after all, his death signaled the end of the Stewardship of Gondor, leaving the path open to Aragorn to claim his rightful throne.
Once again, I remind you that Denethor was dead and scattered on the wind. This must be distinctly understood or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am about to relate. Once the great battle had ended and Sauron had been defeated Aragorn had sat on the throne, victorious, noble and just. He had been loved by the men of Gondor as their long awaited ruler. Aragorn had been an admirable man- he was exceedingly handsome and fiercely intelligent, holding elvish grace and mortal determination in the same skin. His beautiful wife had been the envy of the entire White City- a vision to those who had seen her and a legend to those who hadn't.
And that was the point it all went horribly wrong.
It had seemed that Her Majesty's elvish blood had sung for more than she could bear, despite the mortal state she resided in, and the call of the sea had sung to her mind daily. It was with a heavy heart that she left the King, creeping away on a snow-white steed in the dead of night, witnessed only by the Prince of Mirkwood whom she swore to secrecy.
Once the King awoke to discover her absence his entire demeanor changed all but instantly. The beloved king, Elessar of the line of Valandil, became bitter and twisted. His fine features and Inner Light dimmed, his shoulders stooped and his greed grew. Oh! But he was a tight- fisted hand at the grindstone, Elessar. A squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner! He became secret and self- contained, hard and sharp as a flint.
Every man, woman and child felt his sudden greed and anger, from Min- Rimmon to Pinnath Gelin. The country suffered and fell into poverty due to the extortionate taxes set by Elessar. There seemed no way out.
During this time Legolas, the same Prince of Mirkwood that had been sworn to secrecy by Arwen, had been requested to work in Elessar's offices and had agreed, his guilt at the knowledge of Arwen's leaving, his loyalty to the man the king had been and his hope of seeing that man again overriding all other feelings. His ability as a negotiator had elevated him through the ranks, earning the trust, respect and (although it was closely guarded) love of the other workers.
This led him to the position he was currently in, standing at the open door to King Elessar's main chambers with the other workers hovering hopefully behind him and the king purposely refusing to acknowledge his presence. The King was sat low in an ornate chair, cold and unfeeling steel- grey eyes fixed in the roaring flames of a fire in the hearth of the large room, his back to Legolas.
The elf cleared his throat nervously and crept forward. Still, the King refused to look at him.
"If you will excuse me Sire, I wish to speak to you," he ventured. "As you know, it is December the twenty fifth tomorrow . . ."
"And?" Elessar snapped, eyes still fixed of the roaring flames.
"And," Legolas continued, albeit slower than before, "we were hoping that it might be considered that we may have the day as a day of celebration, my Liege. What say you?"
"I say it is a poor excuse to pick a man's pockets every December Twenty fifth." Disappointed sighs sounded quietly from the other workers before they were silenced in fear.
"If you please, sir, business will be slow for the day and it would do you better to save your workers for the day after," Legolas pressed hopefully. Elessar's eyes finally raised to meet the Elf's, razor sharp and as inimical as the coldest points of the mountains.
"And what say you, Elf?" King Elessar questioned, his voice low and dangerous. Legolas held his gaze.
"It would be appreciated, Sir"
The King sighed and resumed his study of the flames. "Just make sure you're here all the earlier the next morning." The workers looked to each other, surprised delight lighting their features. Scurrying out, they made to finish up for the night, leaving Legolas in the room with the King.
"Thank you," he murmured before spinning on his heel and slipping out, braids flying round his head and feet making not a sound on the oak floor. The King's answering scowl was cold enough to dim the fire.
+++++++++++
To Be Continued.