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stories I've never written

Trying to get the juices flowing. Please play along!

Tell me about a story I haven't written, and I'll give you between one and three sentences from that story.

I'm happy to take on any Tolkien, most Sherlock (Doyle - Granada - Ritchie - BBC), and pretty much anything you've seen me blather on about. Tempt me, please. 

Comments

( 13 comments — Leave a comment )
shirebound
Mar. 29th, 2017 10:08 pm (UTC)
Pippin gets a letter from Faramir, or vice versa.
hhimring
Mar. 29th, 2017 10:13 pm (UTC)
If you were writing a kinder Denethor fic, who would you pick to show him interacting with and how would he show his kindness?
marta_bee
Mar. 31st, 2017 02:28 am (UTC)
Denethor laid the scrap of paper from amongst the latest batch of missives from Dol Amroth, tapped it for emphasis. "D3."

That was chess, surely, and only two men in Dol Amroth were worthy of the Lord Steward's attention. A quick look at the cabinet Denethor used to house games with far-off combatants told me Imrahil's game was nearly lost, but his captain's....

"Cleric to queen's knight?"

Understanding eluded him for a long moment, but when he found it, Denethor let out a rare bark of laughter. "Hardly," he said, fishing a scrap of grid-paper out of the stack. "My nephew, Amrothos: he's sunk my battle-ship."
just_ann_now
Mar. 31st, 2017 12:57 pm (UTC)
Heeeee. I can just imagine this in that voice!
hhimring
Apr. 1st, 2017 08:33 am (UTC)
Oh, I like that, Marta!
It's so good to think of Denethor having a good relationship with Amrothos and that particular game seems so fitting!
dreamflower02
Apr. 4th, 2017 03:02 am (UTC)
*grin*
just_ann_now
Mar. 29th, 2017 10:13 pm (UTC)
The one about John and Sherlock and the peacocks!
marta_bee
Mar. 30th, 2017 04:41 am (UTC)
This went decidedly more than three sentences. Ah, well.

****************************

"What I don't understand," John said as he mercilessly worked the lidocaine ointment into the gashes along Sherlock's flank, "is why you never considered the moniker referred to an *actual* - "

Sherlock hissed. "William Alston is a socialite, a clothes-fiend, and if you'd have the truth every bit the bastard as Sebastian Wilkes."

"And jewel thief."

"And jewel-thief," Sherlock affirmed. "Lethario, dealer in antiquities of questionable legal provenance, and -- in what I can only ascribe to proof the universe does indeed have a sense humor -- thoroughly kept girl-toy of Samantha O'Connor, the most formidable export of Dublin I've encountered in my forty years. I can think of no better description than ‘the Peacock’.”

"Still, you couldn't at least have googled them? Found her thesis on the migratory patterns of - " He probed the growing swelling just under Sherlock's rib, batted his hand away Sherlock tried to end his examination prematurely. "Determined little bugger, a few more centimeters and it might have nicked your spleen."

"Unavoidable."

"It really wasn't."

Sherlock pulled his feet up under him, curling into a ball of consulting detective and, if he took note of the smile pulling at John’s lips, for once he took the wiser path and left those particular words unsaid.
just_ann_now
Mar. 30th, 2017 11:08 am (UTC)
LOL, excellent! And so what if it's more than three sentences? You got the juices flowing, and that's what counts.
dreamflower02
Mar. 30th, 2017 03:59 am (UTC)
The one in which Boromir lives and convinces Denethor to acknowledge Aragorn.
marta_bee
Apr. 4th, 2017 02:28 am (UTC)
“If you are so certain this Aragorn son of Arathorn is rightful heir to Anárion’s throne, then convince me.”

The white rod rested heavy in his hand, Faramir and what remained of the Lord’s Council, the scribe taking note of their every word; there could be little doubt he spoke not as father or even lord, but as Ruling Steward, the arbiter of law in this matter. And to his credit Boromir showed some wisdom, did not point to his great feats in battle, nor the great personal debt the House of Húrin owed this north-man with healing in his hands.

“The Sword that was Broken,” Boromir began, “the fey voice in Faramir’s vision summoning me to Imladris – “

Denethor fixed him with a stern look, and Boromir fell silent mid-sentence. “ – can be explained by your brother’s fancy for elven-legends for his part, and the habañeros you enjoyed at the Haradic envoy’s table, for yours. We speak of precedent, not prophecy.”

“Then I am ill-equipped to argue, being no lawyer."

“But Eämdir is,” Denethor countered. “He expects you in the archives this afternoon, and will acquaint you with the proper sources.” Boromir exhaled heavily, and if any among the council thought it a frustrated groan rather than the labored breath of a man still healing from the cracked ribs he’d earned at Gorgoroth, they didn’t say it.

When Denethor finally dismissed scribe and council both, Faramir hung back, leaned in closely. “You enjoyed that,” he said.

Denethor pressed his lips together but could not entirely suppress the quirk at the corners.

“And did you ever plan to mention Zimrazôr’s treatise?” The Grey Riders had brought many treasures south with them, not all so widely known as the Banner of Elendil, and whatever legal reasoning Pelendur had relied on to deny Aragorn’s forefathers, the Númenórean codex Halbarad had borne south in his saddlebags left little doubt to Aragorn’s claim in the matter.

“If your brother still feels some need to prove his points through his own work rather than ask for help when it’s easily at hand, that is his own failing. And if his foolhardiness gives me another few weeks to prepare a smooth transition without my motives being called into question, well, I need hardly apologize for that, either.”

Faramir clapped him on the shoulder, shaking his head in amusement. “You can be a cruel taskmaster.”

“So I have been told, and often with more bite behind the words. The treatise is copied and bound, in Adûnaic and with the Sindarin translations even your brother should be able to manage. It will doubtless be archived in the very section Eämdir will direct him.” And there it was again, that press of the lips that hinted at a well-buried sense of humor. “With any luck, it will even be indexed.”

At that Faramir let out a bark of deep laughter. “Let it never be said you lack style.”

******************************

In my defense, I could have gone on for quite a bit longer. Let's just say I have a lot of thoughts about Pelendur's decision and its aftermath.
dreamflower02
Apr. 4th, 2017 02:59 am (UTC)
BWAHAHAHAHAHA! OMG! Now this is a snarky Denethor I could like! *grin*

Poor Boromir! And I am sure Faramir's laughing up his sleeves at the idea of his big brother having to rely on old BOOKS!
lindahoyland
Mar. 30th, 2017 05:23 am (UTC)
Aragorn encounters a warrior on the battlefield and recognises him as someone he knew and liked during his travels. He is torn between fighting for survival and an old friendship.

Faramir is angry as he thinks Aragorn favours Arnor over Gondor. He feels torn between loyalty to his King and his homeland.
( 13 comments — Leave a comment )

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