Pick any passage of up to 500 words or less from any fanfic I’ve written, and stick that selection in a comment. I will then give you the equivalent of a DVD commentary on that snippet: what I was thinking when I wrote it, why I wrote it in the first place.
The lion's share of myfanfic is available here.
ETA: The 500-word limit is from the original meme. Seems like a decent length, but I'll be a bit flexible.
The lion's share of myfanfic is available here.
ETA: The 500-word limit is from the original meme. Seems like a decent length, but I'll be a bit flexible.
Comments
At the moment, though, those concerns seemed far removed. That in itself was a luxury, Éowyn knew, borne of the simple fact that it was Ioreth’s independence at risk rather than her own. Yet she would find an answer, she was sure of it. She told Ioreth as much, but all the time she was talking she never took her eyes off the foodstuffs gathered at the far end of this room, in what Éowyn guessed must pass for a kitchen. It had been so long since she had watched a soup-pot simmer, or kneaded dough with her own hands. The promise of that simple pleasure seemed nearly intoxicating in its sweetness, but also just out of Éowyn’s reach. How could she ask to stay?
"Nob blushed. "No, sir. I'm here on my own account." He produced his hand from behind his back, holding out a parcel. "I'd never put myself forward for my own sake, you must know that. To bother a guest with my own business, or to put myself forward as your friend when by rights I should be serving you. But it's Peony, my daughter. Today's her birthday you see."
In point of fact they did not see, but Halbarad smiled warmly and Aragorn offered his happy returns cheerfully enough. "She has turned three today," Nob pushed on, "and – how well do you know hobbit customs?"
"I know a fair bit," Aragorn said. "My cousin here has never met one outside the Pony, but I once knew a Shire-hobbit who passed through Rivendell, and he seemed eager enough to talk about his own land. So Peony gave out her first gifts today?"
"A hobbit in Rivendell!" Nob exclaimed. "I'd wager there's a tale and a half there, sir. I'd not mind hearing – but another day, perhaps. Yes, we did her gifting this morning, and that's what brings me here, see. I'd told Peony – all my little ones, really – about you. Shared your stories and spoken of the teller as well. Peony somehow got it in her head that you must be lonely, striding about the wilderness all on your own like you Rangers do, and she made me promise to give you this."
Aragorn took the proffered parcel and unwrapped it. When the cloth fell away he saw a piece of ash-bark, straightened out with some care, with a charcoal-sketch of a hobbit-family beside their home. It was no great work of art (the older sister seemed as tall as a pine-tree), but Aragorn could see that great care had gone into the making, and the effort touched him deeply.
"The thought occurred to me that you might not have room in your pack," Nob said, "and I'll find a place for it here or toss it out if you like. But she wanted you to have it, and I thought the gifting might bring a smile to your face in any case."
Aragorn did smile at that, a bolder smile than he had given anyone other than nearest kin in many long years, for he recognized the courage it must take for a hobbit like Nob to approach him. "I do have a home," Aragorn said, "and I would like nothing better than to have Peony's drawing on my mantel. The trick is how to get it there. Do you think Master Butterbur could set it aside until Gandalf next passes through here? He travels to my home at times, and he has saddle-bags while I carry my world on my back."
Nob nodded. "Aye, I can see to that." Then, as if reluctant to make the visit wholly about his own business, he added, "Mary's warming you some supper in the kitchen, so I'll be round again soon enough." Nodding to Aragorn and Halbarad he shuffled backward out of the room.
"Twitchy little chap," Halbarad said as he sat down again beside Aragorn. "Do you really expect Gandalf to carry a child's drawing all that way? Bark is like as not to break in his satchel."
Aragorn looked fondly down at the drawing in his hands. Halbarad was right, but at the moment he was feeling thoroughly impractical. "I am owed an indulgence or two," he said. "To know that there is someone – a stranger at that – who thinks it a shame that we are forever alone in the wilds. Would you toss that kindness aside lightly?"
Halbarad looked him over, and Aragorn guessed from past conversations that Halbarad was thinking of his own daughter. In truth, Aragorn was amazed at the change that had taken hold of him, from weariness to levity in so short a space. He had only ever seen such a transformation in other rangers when they talked of their own children. For Aragorn, "home" was a far less simple place than Halbarad's own hearthside; he had no children to cling to his legs, and if Arwen would welcome him home warmly enough, even their embrace was tainted by the knowledge of what that love must ultimately cost.
Beside him Halbarad clapped his leg and nodded knowingly. "No," he said, "I would not toss it aside. Were the gift mine, I would carry it all the way home. By hand if need be."
(Of Hearth and Home)
Edited at 2013-12-14 02:53 am (UTC)