Fanfiction Oneshots Entry Twelve: Modern!Thorongil
Posted April 9th, 2020 by Gracithe1andonly
in wardly searching
I HAVEN'T TOUCHED THE FANFIC ONESHOTS IN SO LONG, SWEET PLEIADES.
-This one is from Lord of the Rings. It contains Aragorn.
Here, have a modern alternate universe of the meeting of Denethor's father, Ecthelion, with a mysterious personage named Thorongil who comes from the North. I owe this entire dynamic to Eagle on the Ramparts by Canafinwe, one of the finest specimens of fanfiction I've ever had the pleasure to meet.
The office was regal and bare, but not quite barren. It was used more often for conferences and decisions than for actual office work, but Ecthelion, a sentimental man, kept photos of his friends and family on the desk, and a banner of the iconic White Tree behind him. The effect, therefore, was rather of a school office than that of a powerful corporate giant. Anyone could look at Ecthelion, getting on in years, his thousands of smiles carving lines into his face, time turning his hair from black to silver, and know that he was a sentimental old man. It was harder to comprehend his strength.
It was an entirely inscrutable young man who stood before Ecthelion now, with nothing but the clothes on his back and a serene look on his face. He didn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed about the strangeness of his story.
“My name is Thorongil,” he said.
“Patronym?” inquired Ecthelion’s son with a surprising show of innocuousness.
“Esteemed Mr. Stewart,” said Thorongil smoothly, the only betrayal of his discomfort a mere blink, “I thought you already knew I had none.”
“I had forgotten. My apologies,” said Denethor. Ecthelion, far less opaque than either of these young men, could not help a frown. He knew his son was being dishonest. Denethor had ranted for thirty minutes on end about Thorongil’s lack of proper identification.
“It is nothing,” said Thorongil courteously. “I realize that my lack of Gondorian legal papers is a matter of great inconvenience. Please understand that I come from the lawless lands in the north where such identification is impossible to come by. I have my Rohirric papers, but I’ve been told they don’t transfer. I seek help with the process so that I can fulfil my purpose of being of service to you—” here he nodded at Ecthelion, and the old man felt his heart warm—“as soon as possible.”
In such a traditional company with high behavioral codes, Ecthelion received this sort of language as a matter of course. Everyone spoke of service, and everyone pretended that their function was to make life easier for Ecthelion. In reality, Ecthelion knew that many of his subordinates used his company as protection; a shield against Mordor for them and their families. Ecthelion, in fact, heartily approved of this motive, but it was a strange experience nonetheless to hear such language from someone Denethor’s age, someone who really seemed to mean it. Someone who exuded such an air of nobility that it could not be ignored.
“Well, young man,” Ecthelion stood to offer his hand to Thorongil. “It’s good you have Rohirric papers. They don’t transfer, but they are easily copied and changed to fit our records. Can you turn them over to me? I’ll oversee the process.”
“Certainly,” Thorongil said lightly. He produced a sheaf of official papers from the pockets of his worn and tattered suit, folded into quarters. He opened them on the desk and smoothed them gently. Ecthelion noticed his hands. They were large, very large, callused, and obviously the hands of a hard and humble worker.
“I hope the creases won’t give you too much trouble,” he said, passing the papers over. Ecthelion took a cursory glance. All the records were ordinary, from the birthdate to the name to the medical records to the resume, except for the persistent absence of a surname or a father. There was a reference to a mother named Gilraen, but no details were provided about her.
Ecthelion opened his mouth to inquire about this boy’s past—did he know his father? Was he illegitimate? What was the reason for this omission?
As he did so, he looked to his left and saw his son. Denethor was still technically an adolescent, though an extremely intelligent, mature, and responsible one. He was a moody person by nature, and his face was as stormy as Ecthelion had ever seen it. For whatever reason, Denethor wanted Thorongil out of his father’s office.
“Thank you, young Thorongil,” Ecthelion said instead, “these papers are in order. You may go. Your new identification will be mailed within two days to the address you gave me. If all background checks are passed, and your resume is valid, you will be employed at this company.”
“Thank you very much, sir,” said Thorongil, smiling. “I hope to serve here for quite some time.”
“I have a feeling you’ll be an asset. Now go and have a supper,” Ecthelion said.
Thorongil nodded respectfully and departed almost noiselessly despite wearing boots.
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