Disclaimer: The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. The story was written for pleasure not profit.
An E with dots like Fëanor's Spots
Eldarion say hunched over his desk, frowning in concentration and biting his pen.
"What are you writing, my son?" Aragorn enquired.
"My tutor says I must write about Fëanor, but I find his name so hard to spell!" the boy replied.
"An E with dots like Fëanor's spots!" Aragorn told the boy. "That is how my tutor taught me to remember the spelling. Imagine if Elves could catch measles!"
"You found it hard too?" Eldarion asked incredulously.
"Do not forget that that I was once young." Aragorn smiled. "Now put your books away and I will tell you Fëanor's story."
(The G-rune)- like Gandalf is no goon.
The boy watched while the Wizard copied from the ancient scrolls
Why do you keep drawing a little tree?" Faramir asked, unable to contain his curiosity any longer.
"That is the G rune, by which I sign my name," Gandalf explained.
"G? But your name is Mithrandir." The boy sounded bewildered.
"It is, but in the North, they call me Gandalf. I have many names."
"However do you remember them all?"
Gandalf's eyes twinkled." I cannot always, my dear boy, so that is why I sign my name with a rune, lest I forget which guise I am travelling under!"
Ð - eth - like a thirsty Third Marshal on the Thrihyrne. Théodenlistened toÉomer's report with a glazed look as if he were not truly hearing. He looked constantly towards Wormtongue like a child seeking approval.Éowyn hovered soliciously, but the King hardly heeded her.
Éomer felt stifled here. It no longer felt like home.
Tomorrow, he would ride to Helm's Deep and join his cousin. He would rather hunt Orcs in the shadow of the Thrihyne than stay here to witness the decline of the once proud House of Eorl.
Tonight,he would drown his sorrows. At least the ale still tasted good in the Golden Hall. The thirsty Third Marshall drank deeply
Þ - thorn - like Þoughtful Þéoden.
Tomorrow, and Tomorrow and Tomorrow
The light burned low in Théoden's tent. He knew he should rest, but could not. Tomorrow they would reach Minas Tirith and fight alongside their allies.
Éomer stirred in his sleep. Théoden looked wistfully upon his nephew. If only he had heeded his advice and not listened to Wormtongue! How he had wronged the young man, yet Éomer's generous heart forgave.
Then there was Éowyn. His sister-daughter had suffered too from his neglect. Yet she would make a worthy Queen, if he and Éomer fell on the morrow.
Théoden smiled. Tomorrow he would have the chance to regain his honour.
A/N Written for the "There and Back Alphabet challenge".