From "War Children" in New Mutants: War Children #1, November 2019. Chris Claremont script, Bill Sienkiewicz pencils & inks, Chris Sotomayor colors, Clayton Cowles letters.
I'm probably not translating these titles correctly so bear with me here given my use of various "translation algorithms" to help me along.
I was digging through Japan's 'National Diet Library' to see what's buried in there and came across two books with interestingly similar panel illustrations. I couldn't dig up much more information than what's provided in the NDL archive itself on the artists but that's probably due to my own limitations given I don't read nor speak Japanese.
Summary: What happens when Éomer gifts some flying horses to Fellowship?
Written for the 2023 @fall-for-tolkien event! Inspired by Fly, You Fools! by @scyllas-revenge
Rating: G
Word Count: 527
Read on AO3 or below
It was said that every race had a gift. The elves had immortality. The dwarves had their expertise in stone working. The hobbits had a love for the simple things in life. The Rohirrim had flying horses.
To them, a horse wasn’t just a means of transportation, it was something that should be revered. Horses were treated with great respect and given meticulous care. The Rohirrim believed horses were central to a person’s wellbeing the same way sleep and time in the sunshine are.
Because of their reverence for the horses, they would not trade a single one, not even to their allies in Gondor. This often made the people of Rohan seem haughty to their neighbors, but they would not change.
This was why it was such a momentous occasion when Éomer gifted horses to the four hunters when seeing their need in the outskirts of Fangorn.
“Absolutely not!” Gimli roared. Aragorn sighed and dragged a hand over his face.
“Gimli, this is an extremely generous gift. We need to use it. I have experience with the winged horses of Rohan and I promise they are not as hazardous as they look.”
Gimli crossed his arms and hardened his glare. “We dwarves were made to live underground! We like to keep our feet on the earth, thank you very much! Regular foul horses are bad enough but you will never get me on one of those-”
“You can ride with me, Gimli!” Legolas offered, cutting in before the dwarf could insult Rohan’s pride. The Riders of Rohan had stiffed as Gimli had been talking and the elf wished to avoid a fight. Gimli, unaware of the disaster nearly avoided, looked up with annoyance to where Legolas sat bareback on his horse. The elves didn’t use such things as saddles, so Legolas had taken it off before he jumped nimbly onto the horse’s back.
“I do not wish for an early death, so I shall have to refuse,” Gimli huffed.
“My friend, we need to take these horses to find Pippin and Merry,” Boromir pleaded. “You can join me and we shall discover how to ride these curious horses together.”
The dwarf sucked in a long breath through his nostrils before releasing it with a sigh. “Very well, Boromir. I shall bear this so that we might rescue the halflings.”
Boromir smiled in return. However, as it had since Amon Hen, the smile did not reach his eyes. Gimli and Legolas believed it was simply worry for the hobbits that was weighing their friend down and if Aragorn suspected there was more on Boromir’s mind, he kept it to himself.
Boromir knelt on one knee and offered his clasped hands as a step. Gimli placed his foot in the handhold and was lifted up to the horse. Boromir swung on after him rather clumsily, unused to the large wings of the creature. Once they were all settled, Aragorn placed a hand on his chest and bowed his head to Éomer.
“We are in your debt. I hope our paths shall soon cross again.”
Éomer copied the action. “I wish you success on your errand. Fly swiftly, Wingfoot!”
Part 2 coming soon!
Comments and reblogs are what I survive on so let me know your thoughts and/or personal headcanons!
The Thief of Bagdad (1940) Review - Join me as I continue my trek through the Rotten Tomatoes landscape. I am reviewing every movie that has a 100% fresh critic rating on Rotten Tomatoes The Thief of Bagdad Staring: Conrad Veidt - Jaffar Sabu - Abu June Dupez - The Princess John Justin - Ahmed
There was that whole discussion going on a bit ago about predatory horses… This is a drawing from Tamora Pierce’s newest book of her version - hurroks. Flying predatory horses!
The embers of the fire glowed softly before shooting out a few sparks that she gently blew on. Gratefully, the youth leaned closer, warming his hands over the tiny flame that slowly grew.
Far off in the distance, a dozen winged beasts pranced and neighed at each other. Their gleaming coats sparkled like dewdrops under the morning sun, each a different color – one pink, another red, another purple, the color of clouds in a sunrise…
“And then how did you escape?” said Hestia gently.
The boy wrapped the blanket more tightly around himself. “I didn’t,” he said, barely suppressing a shiver. “After I fell through to the core of the earth, there were all these dead people clacking their jaws and reaching for me, and I kept screaming, but there was no one to hear me, and…” he broke off. Hestia waited patiently, making coaxing gestures with her hands at the fire, which had matured into a fine blaze.
“There was this winged animal,” he said hesitantly, as if Hestia would have trouble believing a fantastical story when they were sitting in the clouds, “and, uh. It was this warm orange color? Like the edges of a sunset. It looked kind of like a donkey, but much more beautiful. It saw me and flew down and scared the dead people away, and then I got on its back and it flew me out. And I guess it dropped me off here. I don’t remember that much.” He stared at the fire blankly.
Hestia broke off a piece of cloud from beside them and formed a cup to put it in. She warmed the cup between her hands, heating it until the bit of cloud turned to hot water, then stirred some honey that Demeter had given her into it and handed it to the boy. He took it numbly.
“Will you need a way to get home?” she asked.
The boy shook his head. “My dad saw me fall into the Underworld,” he said. “He thinks I’m dead. I saw my funeral, when I was…” His voice broke off again, and he covered his face with the edge of the blanket.
“Don’t worry,” said Hestia. “You can stay here for as long as you’d like.”
“Thank you,” he mumbled, wiping his eyes.
Hestia smiled. She would be happy to have a young charge to take care of. “What is your name?”
The boy looked up. His eyes glistened with unshed tears.
