Fic: He Should Neaten His Hair (The Silmarillion) Boromir/Unnamed Wife Aegnor/Andreth
Title: He Should Neaten His Hair
Author: phyncke
Beta: Keiliss
For: OEAM Writer’s Circle
Characters: Boromir*/Unnamed Wife, Aegnor/Andreth
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate. I have borrowed them for my own amusement and for yours I hope.
Story length: Double drabble
Summary: A father worries about his daughter.
“Nothing good will come of this.” Her father sat troubled at the table as his daughter yet again left the house for a walk with the elven noble. She fairly skipped from the room, light of foot as Aegnor bid her parents farewell with the promise that he would return her shortly after the sunset.
“Boromir, he is a good, kind person. Brave by all accounts, a skilled warrior.”
“He is not of our kind. It cannot be. And he should neaten his hair.” The elf’s short blond hair stood in all directions.
“My father did not like you either.”
The man slouched in moody silence, staring into the candle, upset by a foreshadowed tragedy he felt powerless to prevent. His wife pressed her hand to his, a comfort in that small gesture.
“It is what it is and you know how Andreth is. She is headstrong and she will do as she will. You cannot forbid her to see him. She will always find a way.”
“I know,” Boromir said.
This would not be the last they discussed this, and for now he let it the matter drop, returning to his tepid meal of meat and summer vegetables.
*Boromir here is the First Age, of the House of Bëor.
Author: phyncke
Beta: Keiliss
For: OEAM Writer’s Circle
Characters: Boromir*/Unnamed Wife, Aegnor/Andreth
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate. I have borrowed them for my own amusement and for yours I hope.
Story length: Double drabble
Summary: A father worries about his daughter.
“Nothing good will come of this.” Her father sat troubled at the table as his daughter yet again left the house for a walk with the elven noble. She fairly skipped from the room, light of foot as Aegnor bid her parents farewell with the promise that he would return her shortly after the sunset.
“Boromir, he is a good, kind person. Brave by all accounts, a skilled warrior.”
“He is not of our kind. It cannot be. And he should neaten his hair.” The elf’s short blond hair stood in all directions.
“My father did not like you either.”
The man slouched in moody silence, staring into the candle, upset by a foreshadowed tragedy he felt powerless to prevent. His wife pressed her hand to his, a comfort in that small gesture.
“It is what it is and you know how Andreth is. She is headstrong and she will do as she will. You cannot forbid her to see him. She will always find a way.”
“I know,” Boromir said.
This would not be the last they discussed this, and for now he let it the matter drop, returning to his tepid meal of meat and summer vegetables.
*Boromir here is the First Age, of the House of Bëor.