Word count: 100
Pairing: if you tilt sideways
Disclaimer: Not true, just muse.
Archive: Tolkien Weekly, Sons of Gondor, Rugbytackle
Notes: belated for the beer challenge on Tolkien Weekly
Bells yestereve. What’s the little tyke, two winters now?
Down here, a rougher celebration, even with painted Hurins hung about the walls. A slopping toast for the finest commander Gondor ever knew. Cap’n Thorongil’s last pint here, besides. Self-preservation, he claims.
Older than most, my legs shake like I was still on deck, watching Cap’n taunt the Corsairs, “For Gondor!”
So long ago. Wish the lad could have ridden the black sails with Cap’n this last time, raised his blade on Pelennor afore he died. They’d have got on.
Cap’n’s eyes lift, moist-like. “To Boromir.”
Door’s drafty when it shuts.