Day 32: Cold Comfort
May. 18th, 2007 05:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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Day 32
Cold comfort
The river-mist cold had stolen into his bones. Even where his shoulders pressed tightly against the men either side, there was no warmth.
He did not know their names: here it was best to forget name, home, kin – and to what end they rowed. The only thing to remember was how to avoid the sting of the lash, ever-ready in the master's hand.
Hunched over his manacled wrists, he dozed fitfully. The chill increased. Suddenly screams, splashes, leaping flame woke him. He saw pale figures wielding ghostly weapons.
Numbed beyond fear, he grinned mirthlessly at the torment of his tormentors.
***
Blame
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This didn't come out Tolkien enough to be a Tolkien drabble-a-day drabble, but I thought people might like to see it.
Trading Places
Sometimes, re-reading Lord of the Rings under the bedcovers by torchlight, Sam wished he was Boromir. The one who got to go hunting orcs and then come home and boss his baby brother around. Dad's favorite.
Sure, Boromir was brought low by the ring, but who wanted to be a goody-goody like Faramir? Or – the thirteen-year-old Sam recoiled – get the girl or all that boring responsibility as Steward.
As he grew older, he came round to the idea that maybe being Faramir was cool after all. And then the movies came out – and Boromir not Faramir got all the attention....
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Date: 2007-05-21 09:37 am (UTC)*snorfle* I fear that's not a very effective threat. If I had to choose between your Shepsmut or SPN... Now, other people might be quite put out with me if that happened... ;-)
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Date: 2007-05-23 10:30 pm (UTC)I'll be sure to let them know where the blame lies... :p