My Stories

Monday, April 17, 2006

My first story- The King's Son (a Lord of the Rings Tale) Preclude: Stories

well this is my first story. i hope you enjoy and comment. thanks

The King’s Son (a Lord of the Rings Tale)

Preclude: Stories

Night fell upon Gondor once more and the wind blew across the land gentle waves on the sea. Minas Thirith stood tall in the dark, looking like part of the mountain it rested on. One by one, the lights from this kingdom went out with the wind. Soon, only one tiny light shown from a tower window, high on the right side of the castle. It barely shown, like it was trying to be hidden by watchful eyes. Not evil eyes, just protective.
Inside the tower, where the light shown, there was a room; a grand room. There was an enormous bed next to a large window. It was so big that you could sit inside it. It led to a balcony outside. On the other side of this room was a bookshelf filled with books: big books, little books, tall books, short books, thin books, fat books, you get the idea. There were several dressers and chests filled with clothes and things. The room was marble and carved with beautiful drawing of tree leaves. It was a room fit for a prince. In fact, it was for a prince.
The bed next to the large window hid the light under its blankets. A shillowet of a boy was also hiding from the world under those covers. Just then, the door began to open and the shillowet disappeared. The lump on top of the bed instantally flattened as a tall man entered the dark room. The man’s dark eyes looked upon the bed and he smiled as he saw the blankets settling on top of the person inside.
“You know you should be asleep, Eldarion,” said he in a kind voice, “your mother would be ill with you.” The boy in the bed sighed and sat up, knowing that his father had caught him and that it was no use trying to fake being asleep. He was at the age of four and his blue, naive eyes stared up at his father. He adored him.
“Father,” he asked him, “please tell me a story.” His father chuckled quietly and sat down next to his son.
“One story and then you must promise me that you will sleep,” said his father.
“I promise!” agreed Eldarion excitedly, “tell me a story about the War of the Ring.”
“I would think that you would be getting tired of those stories by now,” said his father.
“I would never get tired of them, father,” said the child, “they are my favorite of all.”
“Well,” said his father, “I guess it wouldn’t hurt. Those are wonderful stories.” He looked at his son with a smile, “Now, where do I begin?” Eldarion thought what the first event was in the beginning of the War of the Ring.
“I know!” he said, proud that he remembered, “It begins when you find those – um – hibbits at Bree.”
“Yes it does. It does start when I met those Hobbits at Bree,” corrected Father. Eldarion was sorry he forgot the word, but it soon passed. “I got had gotten there a day before they showed up.”
“Why did you need to meet them?” asked Eldarion, who already knew but asked anyway.
“One of them, Frodo Baggens, had the One Ring; the Ring of Power.” The boy shivered with glee. “I had been instructed by Gandalf the Gray to keep the Hobbits safe while I took them to Rivendale. That’s where your mother is from and where I grew up.” Father had told Eldarion all about the beautiful place of Rivendale. He longed to see it for himself. “While I was taking them there, we were attacked by five Black Riders. They were covered in black robes and silver armor. You could not even see their faces. They spoke with a his and screamed when they were angry. One, the Witch King, the leader, stabbed Frodo on Whethertop with a special blade that could have turned him into one of them. I was hunting at the time, but when I heard their terrible screams, I rushed toward the cliff. Now Black Riders hate fire. Remember that, son. I had taken a torch with me. I drew my sword and fought them away.”
Eldarion sat in awe of his father. He was so brave and strong. “Did you kill them?” he asked.
“No,” answered Aragorn, “They weren’t alive, nor were they dead. No living man could kill them.”
“But didn’t Aunt Eowen kill him?” asked Eldarion. Eowen was not his real aunt, but that is what he called her and it stuck.
“Yes,” said Father, “but she is a woman, not a man.”
“Oh Father,” cried the boy, “what was it like?”
“Now your getting ahead,” said Father, “it’s time for you to sleep.” Eldarion sighed and his face went downcast. “Get into bed,” said Father, kindly. He pushed back the blankets. Eldarion climbed in, but before he did, he hugged his father. The boy shut his eyes as tight as he could. Father closed the door. Eldarion’s eyes popped open. He climbed back out of bed and onto the window. He wondered if he would ever get to go on grand adventures like his father. He soon fell asleep on the window.


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