Morning Mist and Silver Sun by StarSpray

Theater

Maglor visits the Globe; double-drabble.

Read Theater

He finally gave into curiosity and slipped into the back of the famous Globe, to hear whether the Lord Chamberlain's Men were truly as talented as was said. They were to perform a new play, according to the excited whispers among the audience of Londoners. He only hoped it would be worth the price for a seat.

A hush fell over the crowd as the actors took the stage. They immediately swept the audience from the hot summer day in London to a frigid winter night in Denmark, and into a tale of intrigue, oaths sworn to slain fathers, murder, insanity, and vengeance.

For Maglor Fëanorion, it was particularly chilling.

"To be, or not to be, that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer--"

To linger and watch the world roll on, burdened by regret and bloody memory, wandering the shores forever alone while the world changes and Men rise and multipy and forget the Firstborn--

"To die--to sleep--"

To fall, to leap in madness and despair, screaming, burning, until the fiery depths of the earth swallow body and voice, and shining, hallowed Jewel--

And at the end: "The rest is silence."

Water

Written for Tolkien_Weekly's Water challenge series.

Read Water

Winter Play
Ice and Snow

Some of the trees lining the Esgalduin still bore scars from the Dwarves' battleaxes. Dark, bare branches reached toward the bright sky, missing the nightingales whose voices had once filled the forest with song.

But among the drifts of ice and snow on the ground ran children, whose playful shrieking was less delicate, but infinitely more lively than nightingales.

Giggling breathlessly, Elwing fell back into a snowdrift and stared up at the cloudless sky. "I love snow," she told Elurín when he fell beside her.

"I wish Ada could play with us."

But Ada was king, and always busy now...

.

More Questions than Answers
Puddles

Steady rain turned the world a gloomy shade of grey. The path was more puddles than ground, and Elwing thought everyone's clothes must be more mud than cloth by now. The bag holding the Nauglamír was heavy in Elwing's hands.

And in her mind there were still more questions than answers. "Where are Nana and Ada?" she asked Lady Galadriel. "And Eluréd and Elurín? Where are we going?" Galadriel never answered. Her face was set and hard, like she was angry.

"We are going to the sea!" Lindir told her, smiling. But his bright cheer was more forced than real.

.

Memories
Fountains

"Tell me about it. Gondolin."

"It was glorious. White and shining in the sun, with fountains glittering in the squares..."

Idril saw them together on the beach, heads bent together as they spoke in half-whispers, like everything shared was a secret. She saw Elwing hide a shy smile behind a curtain of dark hair, and Eärendil's gaze strayed over the sea as he remembered the beauty of hidden Gondolin.

"Now your turn. Tell me of Doriath."

"It was beautiful, all green and gold and white beside the Esgladuin, where elanor and niphredil bloomed. My grandfather met my grandmother dancing there..."

.

Learning
River

Eärendil hoisted Elros onto his hip as Elrond clambered onto a chair. Elwing paused, smilng, in the doorway to watch as he answered all the questions the boys had about ships, while they stared in fascination at teh plans scattered across the table. Elros in particular wanted to know everything there was about sailing.

Later, Elrond brought Elwing a map. "The world is so big," he informed her solemnly and wide-eyed.

She smiled wistfully, and traced the dark line that was the River Sirion with a finger. "Yes," she agreed, remembering the long journeys of her childhood. "Very big indeed."

.

Swimming
Lake

There were no lakes near the mouths of River SIrion, no calm, glassy mirrors of the sky, glittering surprises in the midst of cool shady forests. Only the river itself, and the sea, always moving, rushing, crashing against stones and sand. Elwing had learned to swim in a lake; her father taught her and her brothers.

But Elrond and Elros learned to swim in the Sea, and she always feared the undertow would sweep them away, though Eärendil laughed at her worries. "They'll be fine."

But when he disappeared out to sea, she kept the boys on shore, building sandcastles.

.

Lost
The Sea

Cold pierced her very bones, and her nose and lungs burned with salty water as they longed for air, and she tumbled down, down into the depths of the Sea, dark but for the blinding, brilliant light of the cursed Jewel for which she had lost everything--her family, her homes, her sons...

And just when she thought she could not survive another moment, strange power encased her, and she rose with the Silmaril as a beacon on her beast, breaking through the waves on wide white wings.

Sirion burned behind her. Despairing, Elwing turned West, where somewhere Vingilot waited.

Memories

written for Tolkien_Weekly's hairdressing challenge series

Read Memories

Dusty Heirloom
Comb

It had been a long time since he'd gone through the oldest of boxes and trunks stored away in Imladris. Many belonged to Elves long since departed. Elrond knelt before a dusty trunk he recognized as his own.

Inside were papers--letters, mostly--and assorted small items, brought from Lindon that he had not needed at the tiem. He picked up a small comb, delicately carved with roses. Someone had told him once it had belonged to Elwing, brought out of the ruin of Doriath.

He ran his fingers over the carvings and wondered what Elwing was doing then.

.

Sandcastles
Curl

Elrond found the twins asleep in the garden, curled up on the grass beside each other, having exhausted themselves in play. The sight reminded him of another pair of twins who often napped on the pale sand on the shores of the sea after building sandcastles taller than themselves.

They had pretended the sandcastles were watchtowers, looking out for their father's return from sea. Elros had always wanted to swim, but when their father was gone their mother bade them stay ashore, wary of the wild, raw strength of the waves.

Elrond hadn't understood why, then. He thought he did now.

.

Songwriting
Cut

Scowling, Lindir scribbled something onto his parchment. Out of the corner of his eye, Elrond could see that he had cut several stanzas out of a song he had been slaving over for months. The twins peered over the table at the parchment, then quickly vanished when Lindir looked at them sharply.

He was always short tempered when songs were not coming along as he wanted. Elrond sat back with his scroll and sighed, remembering Maglor shut away for days at a time, writing songs that always sounded like the sea. Perhaps they still did, on some long forgotten shore...

.

Preservation
Condition

The heavy tome sat on the table, dusty and cracked, but in surprisingly good condition. "What is it?" Celebrían asked, resting a hand on Elrond's shoulder as she leaned forward to peer at it.

"A collection of songs and stories from Gondolin and Doriath," Elrond said, "recorded by Tuor before he set sail." THe book's journey from Sirion to Imladris had not been an easy one. Elrond was reluctant to handle it, lest it be damaged. "Lindir has volunteered to make copies."

Once that was done this precious book would be carefully put away, to last many years to come.

.

Feathered Princess
Plait

Giggling, Arwen spun around, arms flung out to match her skirts and hair, which she had carefully, if slightly clumsily, plaited white feathers and golden flowers into. Elrond laughed as Elrohir swept her off her feet to toss her into the air.

Grey eyes and hair like shadows. When she wore blue, everyone said she looked like Melian's daughter, their most beautiful princess reborn among the waterfalls of Imladris. She even danced like Tinúviel.

But as he watched her soar for a moment with feathers in her hair, Elrond was reminded not of Lúthien's famous grace, but Elwing in flight.

.

Departure
Parting

"You worry too much," Celebrían laughed as she kissed him goodbye. Arwen skipped over to embrace him. "It is high time Arwen traveled beyond Imladris."

Elrond agreed, but he knew also the dangers lurking in the wild. Orcs and trolls and other things with no love for Elves. He hugged Arwen, and then she was mounting her palfrey, and she and Celebrían waved gaily as they departed with their escort, across the bridge and away toward Lothlórien.

Partings were always hard. He knew better, of course, but somehow he always ended up thinking of those who had never come back.

wide-eyed and wonder-filled

written for Tolkien_Weekly's Summer Sports challenge series

Read wide-eyed and wonder-filled

Wide-Eyed and Wonder-Filled
Archery

There had been a time when he'd had absolutely no interest in archery, preferring to carve himself flutes or to work on his Runes.

Of course, no one used them anymore, unless there were still Dwarves tucked away deep in a mountain somewhere. And he had to feed himself somehow.

So "Darren" spent the bright summer afternoons at a summer camp teaching children how to hold a bow properly. And in the starlit evenings by the campfire, Daeron delighted them all with his music, songs older than the sun and moon. It was good to have a wide-eyed, wonder-filled audience again.

.

Keeping Him Here
Swordplay/Defense

Daeron lounged in the shade of a tree and watched the older campers eagerly prepare for their next activity. They called it fencing, having taken the art of swordplay and turned it into a sport.

Not that Men needed swords to defend themselves anymore, he reflected. Or bows, for that matter. Morgoth and Sauron were no more, but their influence lived still in the hundreds of ways Men found to take each other's lives.

Sometimes he wondered what kept him on these shores. But then he would see a child with Lúthien's starry eyes, and couldn't bring himself to leave.

Faces

written for Tolkien_Weekly's Faces challenge series

Read Faces

A Smile to Die For
Smile

Grief and hardship and long travel shad worked hard to age him before his time, Lúthien thought. She watched him from the tree shadows, watched him watch the river and the flowers, and scan the trees for a glimpse of her. She remembered the desperate something in his voice when he called her Tin&uacuteviel.

Curiosity warred with caution. He was a stranger, and a Man. But how was it that he was so much younger than she, and yet seemed older?

Then she stepped into the sunshine. A brilliant smile transformed his face, stealing away the years, and her heart.

.

Across a Crowded Room
Wink

He stood across the room from her, speaking with Daeron and Finrod. Artanis sipped her wine and pretended to listen to her companions, but really she was watching Celeborn, Thingol's kinsman. His silver hair gleamed like Melian's pools in the lamplight, and his laughter echoed among the pillars.

THen he caught her gaze with eyes blue as the sea in high summer, and winked. Artanis immediately averted her gaze, blushing. Blushing! She, proud daughter of Finarfin, was blushing!

Lúthien laughed like a nightingale as Celeborn crossed the room. "Lady Galadriel," he said with a smile, "will you dance with me?

.

Child's Play
A Raised Eyebrow

She found him muddy and out of breath from laughter, beneath a pile of particularly rambunctious children. Idril raised an eyebrow as the children scattered and Tuor sat up. He grinned brightly up at her, red-faced and looking absolutely nothing like Ulmo's blessed messenger. 'Good afternoon, my lady," he said.

His stature belied his youth, Idril realized suddenly. How strange Men were!

She smiled down at him. "Good afternoon. It seems you have been defeated."

"Utterly," he agreed. "As it should be, since I was playing the Balrog." Idril bit her lip to stifle a giggle, and his smile widened.

.

He Meant Well
Pull a Face

Eärendil came running from the shore, flushed, salt-crusted, and dripping, but smiling triumphantly. "For you, Elwing!" he announced, holding out his hand. In his palm sat a pearl, round and white and gleaming in the sunshine.

Nimloth had worn pearls, ancient gifts from Cirdan's people, woven in her hair and strung with emeralds around her neck. Elwing could remember them glinging red in the torchlight the night Doriath had fallen.

She pulled a face to hide her sudden tears. "You reek of fish," she said, and fled over the grassy dunes, startling a flock of pale grey gulls into flight.

.

Race to Courtship
Deadpan

Dior kept his face uttelry deadpan as his mother, alughing in her nightingale way, gently pushed him forward. Nimloth felt her kinsman's hand on her back, urging her ahead as well. So this was why Celeborn had insisted she accompany him to Tol Galen.

When their elders retreated inside to share news, Nimloth glanced around and caught a glimpse of a sparkling lake through the trees. She looked at Dior. "Race to the lake!" And she ran. As they tripped into the cool shallows, she discovered Dior's laughter wasn't music-light like Lúthien's, but as deep and ardent as his father's.

Spellbound

written for the Tolkien_Weekly Let There Be Light and Faces challenges, respectively

Read Spellbound

Spellbound
Starlight

She had danced through the stars as Varda flung them through the inky sky, delighting in their delicate diamond light. She had wandered beneath the trees of Yavanna, marveling as they thrummed with fresh green life. She had taught the nightingales to sing.

But none of them had caught her spellbound as the tall Quendi king with hair like spun starlight and eyes that burned with the enchanted light of Laurelin and Telperion. She followed him through the tree shadows and listened to hsi deep voice rise in song.

Then she sang back, and caught him in her love-struck spell.

.

At Long Last
Rapture

They watched as she approached the gates of Mandos, her loose night-dark hair cascading over her soft grey raiment. Her eyes had held naught but grief for so long, but now tentative hope flickered in their ageless depths, drawing her away from the gardens of Lórien.

Slowly, the gates opened, and an Elf emerged, striding confidently into the sunlight. His silver hair gleamed when he turned his head to survey this new world.

Rapture transformed his stern features when he saw who awaited him; when Thingol and Melian embraced again at last, those watching cheered, and nightingales burst into song.

Let There Be Light

Written for Tolkien_Weekly's Let There Be Light challenge series.

Read Let There Be Light

Enchanted
Moonlight

He saw her first by moonlight, all silver and ebony, gleaming with the light of stars in her eyes as flowers blossomed at her feet, their perfume mingling with the sweet scent of wild roses in her hair. And when she smiled he forgot everything else, all his long travels and cares and bloodstained grief.

"Tinúviel!" he cried, for her voice was sweet as a nightingale's, but she disappeared, away through the trees, and he was left alone in the darkness again. When she was gone even the sun seemed dimmed.

So he stumbled on, searching for his enchanting Tinúviel.

.

Surprise
Candlelight

Nothing pleased him more than catching Lady Galadriel off her guard. Like giving her that name (which fit her far better than Artanis anyway), or presenting her with unexpected flowers.

Now they were alone in the garden, the only light coming from the stars and from a candle in a nearby window, turning the fountains to molten diamond and gold. Galadriel was speaking of Nargothrond, and how happy her brother was with its progress. It was all very interesting, but Celeborn had stopped listening.

When she turned to ask him something, he leaned forward and caught her off guard again.

.

Expecting
Firelight

The firelight cast dancing shadows on the walls, and a warm glow on Idril's hands as they rested atop her swollen belly. Tuor watched her doze, until the baby kicked, and her eyes opened. She blinked sleepily up at him. "He is restless," she said. "More than any Elven child."

"He wants to see the world as much as we wish tos ee him," Tuor laughed, sitting beside her. He imagined a child with Idril's eyes and a smile bright as the sun reflected on the fountains of Gondolin.

Idril leaned against his shoulder, smiling, and closed her eyes again.

.

Luminous
Lamplight

"Promise you won't tell anyone?" Elwing asked, clutching the carefully wrapped package nervously. It was almost too large for her to hold.

"I have already promised a dozen times," Eärendil pointed out.

"Right, of course." Elwing gently unwrapped the package, and Earendil's breath caught in his throat. Dozens of vibrantly colored gemstones surrounded the Silmaril, bright as a star in Elwing's hands, outshining the lamp on the table. It illuminated her as well, making her hair shine and eyes sparkle.

But its light made him nervous, too. So much had been lost for this jewel. What would Elwing sacrifice someday?

.

Laughter
Twilight

If Lúthien was twilight and nightingales, Nimloth was sunshine and bluebirds. She ran where Tinúviel danced, and her weapon was a bow or spear instead of spellbinding song. Her silver hair flashed in the sunlight, and her sea-grey eyes sparkled when she laughed at Dior, which was often.

He didn't mind. He liked making her laught, and steadfastly ignored the knowing smiles his parents exchanged with Celeborn and Galathil. He had no intention of marrying her.

But then she kissed him beneath a blossoming apple tree, and ran away with laughter like silver bells while he stammered and turned red.

Mulled Wine

Written for Tolkien_Weekly's "Mulled Wine" challenge series.

Read Mulled Wine

Sugar and Spice
Cinnamon

The sun's rising has brought a new spring to Middle-earth--and a multitude of plant life never seen before.

Lúthien sniffs at one of the aromatic spices brought to Menegroth by one of the wandering tribes. It's pungent, and quite nice. "What is it?"

"Cinnamon," Galadriel says, breaking one of the sticks in two. "You can grind it up and mix it into pastries, or mulled wine, or apple pie..."

"Apple pie?" Lúthien picks up an apple, running her fingers over the smooth, shiny skin, redder than a ruby. "You can bake these?"

Galadriel laughs. "Of course. I'll show you..."

.

Many Uses
Ginger

"Oh, I know ginger," Lúthien says when Galadriel picks it up. Círdan's folk use it on fish."

"So do..." Galadriel pauses, lips thinning for the briefest of moments. "So do the Teleri in Aman. They use it also in tea, to aid those who suffer seasickness."

Lúthien considers asking why she hesitated in speaking of Olwë's folk, but decides against it. "And do the Noldor use it to bake things?" she asks instead, lightly and teasing.

Galadriel smiles. "Among other things..." Lúthien laughs.

It isn't long before the smell of gingersnaps fills the kitchens, mingling with apples and cinnamon.

.

Three is Company
Mace

Celeborn follows the smell of baking and the sound of giggling to the kitchens. They are mostly deserted, which is odd, but the two he finds in a corner, sipping wine and surrounded by spices, are odder still.

Lúthien has flour in her hair, and Galadriel sports a dark smudge across her nose. Neither seem to notice, deep in a discussion of the subtle differences between nutmeg and mace.

Lúthien sees him first, and greets him with a bright smile. "Celeborn! Have you seen all the spices the traders brought? There are so many new things we can make, now!"

.

Slightly Tipsy
Pepper

In addition to pies and cakes and things, Galadriel has brought with her from the West a delicious recipe for mulled wine. Lúthien insists that Celeborn sit down and enjoy a goblet, and sweeps up the ingredients to make some more. Celeborn thinks she has had more than a goblet herself, for he does not think he has seen her quite so giddy before.

His suspicions are further supported when she knocks over the ground pepper, sending up a cloud that has them all sneezing. Laughing, Galadriel cleans it up, and Lúthien hands Celeborn a goblet of warm, red wine.

.

How Does it Taste?
Nutmeg

As Lúthien bends to get a loaf of cinnamon bread from the oven, she watches Celeborn and Galadriel as the latter raises a slender eyebrow. "Is something wrong?" She is practically daring Celeborn to criticize her recipe, while he frowns thoughtfully into his goblet.

"No," he says, looking up. "It is delicious."

"Then why do you frown?"

"I do not recognize all the spices. What is in it?"

"Nutmeg, among many other things." Galadriel tosses her hair over her shoulder as Celeborn leans over the table, searching for the spice in question. "It is this one, beside the mace."

.

Limited Vocabulary
Sugar

After Celeborn bids them goodnight, Lúthien turns her attention to the sweetest thing the traders brought them. The sugar is sweet, but not like honey or berries. When she says so, Galadriel laughs. "Be careful, or you'll have Daeron trying to invent new words for 'sweet.'"

"Oh, he's been too busy trying to find the right way to describe sea foam in moonlight," Lúthien replies, waving a hand. "Never mind that he's never seen the sea."

Galadriel sips her wine, peering at Lúthien over the goblet's rim. "Have you seen the sea?"

"Of course I have! Don't look so surprised."

.

Reminiscence
Wine

"When did you travel to the coast?" Galadriel asks as Lúthien foregoes the red, and opens a bottle of blackberry wine.

"Oh, ages ago," Lúthien replies. "Long before the moon first rose, when Menegroth was only a glimmer of thought in my parents' minds, and we lived not in Doriath but Eglador." She sighs, leaning back in her chair, hair falling over her face like a shadow. "The world was quieter, then. Less crowded. Saver. Celeborn took me to visit Círdan in the Falas." Her smile is one of melancholy nostalgia. "We dove for pearls, and I learned to sail."

Horse of a Different Color

Written for the "Horse of a Different Color" challenge at Tolkien_Weekly

Read Horse of a Different Color

Unexpected Guides
Chestnut

They were forced to stop long before Elrond would have liked, but the wounded and the children needed to rest. Exhausted himself, he dropped his things at the roots of a large old chestnut tree, and almost instantly a chestnut, still inside its spiky outer shell, dropped on his head. Laughter followed when he flinched; Elrond looked up into the branches to find two identical faces smiling back down at him.

"Worry not," said one, dropping lightly to the ground. "It isn't much farther."

Elrond blinked at him. "What isn't?"

"A hidden valley, in the foothills of the Misty Mountains."

.

First Glimpse
Bay

Celeborn frowned. "You said there was a valley."

The hunters grinned at him. "Just follow us, and watch your steps!"

Elrond and Celeborn exchanged glances, but followed without argument. They could jsut hear the distant baying of Sauron's hounds; the sooner they got their people to this hidden valley, the better.

The hunters darted up the hill ahead of them, dark hair flying behind them like banners in the fresh mountain breeze.

The ground dropped away so suddenly that Elrond nearly fell over the edge. But there it was--a beautiful green valley filled with the sound of flowing water.

.

Recognition
Dappled

Elrond found the hunters sitting beneath a beech tree, dappled sunlight dancing on their hair and faces, apparently entirely at ease, in spite of the army practically on their doorstep.

One of them smiled up at him. "Has everyone made it?"

"Yes. Thank you. I don't think we would have escaped Sauron's army without you."

One of them fell backward onto the grass, sighing as he stretched his arms over his head. The other peered at Elrond, bright grey eyes sharp, his smile slipping just a little into wistfulness. "Has anyone ever told you you look just like your mother?"

.

Unpopular Opinion
Dun

The hunters flitted in and out of the valley, often returning suddenly and unexpectedly, covered in dust that turned their dark hair dun, and smeared across their faces in sweat-damp streaks, or else splattered with dark orc blood with an almost feral light in their eyes. But even those who feared them and thought them strange phantoms cheered when they brought back news that the tide of war was turning.

That evening they found him watching Gil-Estel. "Hideous, isn't it?" one of them remarked.

"What?"

"The Silmaril." The hunter bared his teeth. "You can almost see the bloodstains from here."

.

Impossible Ghosts
Black

The hunters only laughed when Elrond asked--again--for their names, vanishing wraithlike into the shadows under the trees, as though they wore copies of Lúthien's black dream-cloak, leaving him standing alone with his frustration and questions.

Celeborn only shrugged when Elrond told him about it. "I'm half-convinced they're Maiar grown bored in the Undying Lands," Elrond muttered, "or kin to Iarwain Ben-adar."

"I don't doubt they know him." Celeborn smiled. "And I think--" He stopped, expression turning almost wistful.

"What? Do you know who they are?"

He shrugged again, and turned his gaze toward Eärendil's star. "Impossible ghosts."

.

In the Middle of Winter
White

They blew back to Imladris with the first white-out snowstorm, rolling their eyes at Elrond's fumbled greeting. "Those who call you wise must be mistaken; it cannot take so much wisdom to recgonize your own uncles!"

Elrond opened his mouth to protest--Eärendil had no brothers--before he recalled the tales OF Doriath, and shut it again. "But you--"

"Of the fate of Eluréd and Elurín no tale tells," intoned the second twin, before thrusting a bottle of wine into Elrond's hands. "Oropher sends his regards."

Impossible ghosts, indeed. Smiling, Elrond took the wine. "Welcome back to Imladris, uncles."

Harmony

For Silmladylove's Femslash February drabbletag on tumblr, for the prompt Arien/Uinen

Read Harmony

In the Timeless Halls of Ilúvatar they had sung together, weaving music in harmony, Arien a bright and bold counterpoint to Uinen’s gentle steady rhythm, each learning of the other as they sang, and delighting in each other’s voices.

When they descended into Arda, they parted.

Arien flew to the skies to help Varda bring light into the emptiness, to dance through towering nebulae and ride, laughing, the waves of heat and light pulsing from stars newly born of white-hot joy.

Uinen dove into the depths of Ulmo’s watery realm, cool and clear and quiet, where she whispered strains of Music into the currents that threaded like veins throughout the tumultuous new world.

But in moments of peace between the battles brought upon them by Melkor, Arien descended like a shooting star from the fiery skies to the shores of the great seas, and Uinen rose like a great wave from the depths, and now when they joined together they created something new–swirling mists that hissed and billowed about them, rising even to become towering clouds in the air. And Arien laughed like the crackling of fire, and Uinen sang like the crashing of waves, and their joy was so fierce and so complete that even Melkor dared not assail them.

 

Collaboration

For Silmladylove's Femslash February drabbletag on Tumblr, for the prompt: Elemmírë/Írimë, collaborating on a song

Read Collaboration

The bed was a mess, a tangle of sheets and scattered bits of scribbled-on parchment and ink stains. Laurelin’s light streamed in through the open window; outside a bluebird sang happily, unheeding of the laughter coming from inside.

“Írimë Lalwendë, that is terrible, I can’t sing that!”

“Of course you can!” Írimë waved the piece of parchment over her head as she stretched out lazily in the Tree light. “You can sing anything, everyone knows that.”

“I can’t get up in front of the Valar and all three Kings of the Eldalië and sing a song filled with puns and innuendo,” Elemmírë protested. “I’m going to burn that the moment I get a chance—”

“You will not, I worked hard on this!” Írimë held it just out of reach, shrieking when Elemmírë lunged after it. “Ow, that’s my hair—”

Elemmírë snatched the paper and tossed it over the side of the bed as she straddled Írimë. “You are incorrigible,” she said, settling back on Írimë’s hips and trying to look stern. “See if I ever ask you to collaborate again.”

Írimë settled back among the pillows and stuck out her tongue. “I’m clever,” she said. “Just because you don’t appreciate my brilliant sense of humor—”

“Yours is the lowest sense of humor—”

“Excuse you, Ingwë loves my sense of humor.”

“He only indulges you.”

“I would rather you indulged me.” Írimë wrapped her arms around Elemmírë’s waist and dragged her down into a kiss. “I do have some other ideas we could collaborate on.”

Elemmírë laughed. “Another song?”

“Well, there might be some singing…”

Waiting out the Storm

for the Femslash Week Bingo prompts:

Four Words B8: Thunder, Fragment, Apple, Arch
Lyrics/Poetry N21: “But the rain is full of ghosts tonight.” Edna St Vincent Millay

Read Waiting out the Storm

Thunder shook the forest as Nellas darted between the trees, rain streaming through her hair and over her face. The only light came from the occasional burst of lightning as it cast everything into sharp relief, just brief enough to trick the eye into seeing monstrous things in the shapes of branches and brambles.

Usually, Nellas would not be afraid—she had run laughing through many a summer storm in Doriath, and even here too in the forest by the Withywindle. But this storm was not of the natural world, and to the east mountains were breaking, the earth crumbling in against itself as the Powers of the West waged war against the Enemy in Angband, and even here it seemed like she could hear the screaming of Elves and Men as they fought and died.

She ducked beneath the arching branches of a willow tree, and there found Goldberry, who held out her arms wordlessly—for even the merry River-daughter could find no cheerful song in this. Nellas sank into her arms gratefully, and pressed her face into Goldberry’s shoulder, shuddering with each crash of lightning. Goldberry hummed softly.

Just that afternoon they had picnicked together by the sun-spangled water, exchanging apple-flavored kisses and singing together. It seemed a thousand years ago now. Something far away exploded, and Nellas flinched, imagining molten rock fragments screaming through the air to carve deep craters into the land. Goldberry hummed and rubbed her back.

“It will be over soon,” she whispered. “Ohh, can you feel it? The ghosts of Angband are rising to heed the Doomsman’s call.”

Nellas shuddered again. Goldberry’s arms around her tightened. “And then what will happen?”

“Then, my star-child, a new song will begin. And we shall sing its first notes together.”

West Away

written for Tolkien Weekly's Coastal drabble challenge

Read West Away

West Away
Wave

Sam paused to watch the waves lap gently against the sand. He leaned on his walking stick and sighed. The Havens stood gleaming in the golden sunset, only a short walk away. Did Elves have inns, he wondered? Well, if not, he could find Círdan's house, he supposed.

"Well met, Master Hobbit!" someone called out. Sam turned to see a pair of Elves, identical down to their clothes, approaching from down the beach. "Have you come to sail away West?"

"Of course he has," said the second Elf. To Sam, he added, "And we are to be your sailing companions!"

.

Proper Introductions
Cliff

Sam squinted at the Elves. They'd come down from the cliffs just to the north, seemingly, and though at first he'd taken them for Master Elrond's sons, it was soon clear they were not. They had an air about them he'd come to recognize in much older Elves, like Lord Celeborn. "I'm not in the habit of journeying with folk whose names I don't know," he informed them. "Specially when they seem to know mine already."

"Of course, forgive us," said the first Elf. "I am Elurín, and my brother is Eluréd." They bowed together, and chorused, "At your service!"

.

Sails are Set
Pebble

They walked together down the pebbled beach, slowly, for Sam was getting on in years, as he tried to remember where he'd heard his companions' names before. But they reached the harbor, and a ship awaiting them with Círdan beside it, before he could call up the memory. Círdan smiled at Sam, and Sam grinned. He'd lived quite a full life, and now he was quite ready to find Master Frodo again, and take some rest.

"Farewell, at last!" Eluréd exclaimed, smiling, stretching his arms out as though to embrace the whole world. "And now to see what lies Westward."

.

Shire Craft
Bucket/Spade

As they settled into the boat's small cabin, Elurín peered curiously at Sam's things. "Why did you bring a spade?" he asked. "There isn't any gardening to do in the middle of Belegaer!"

Sam ducked the spade, and its matching hoe and smaller trowel, under his bunk. "I thought I might find a bit of garden over there on Eressëa," he said, blushing a bit. "And I don't suppose there's many hobbit-sized tools to be found there."

They could be made, of course—but there was nothing like good Shire craft-work, in Sam's opinion, when it came to digging potatoes.

.

"What are these buckets for?" Sam asked, as his companions pulled out a small stack of them on deck, as he envisioned rather vividly the three of them frantically bailing out of their swiftly-sinking vessel.

"For catching rain," Eluréd said.

"Or fish," his brother added. He opened a compartment and pulled out a large net. "I hope you don't mind if we leave the cooking to you, Master Gamgee!"

Sam grinned. "I don't mind at all, Master Elurín." They had plenty of food—waybread and such—but not even Lady Galadriel's lembas tasted better than a good freshly fried fish.

.

Obscurity
Shell

It didn't take long for Sam to recall his companions' names from the histories—in which they played an even smaller part than he had. "But where have you been living all this time, then?" he demanded.

"Oh, here and there," Eluréd said. A dolphin had brought them a few crabs, and he was busy prying the meat out of the shells. "We made it a point to keep out of the way of nearly all the important things."

"Easier not to die that way," Elurín added cheerfully. "Mandos has always sounded so terribly boring."

Sam choked on his crab.

.

A Warm Welcome
Ship

Beautiful ships sailed out of Alqualondë and Avallonë to meet them, manned by laughing silver-haired mariners.

And then they were docking, a small crowd clustered on the pier—and Frodo was there, and old Gandalf, both of them grinning broadly. Frodo laughed when Sam wobbled, his legs still used to the rocking of the ship, and embraced him tightly. "Dear Sam, welcome to Elvenhome!"

"I'm very glad to see you still here, Mr. Frodo, and no mistake!"

"Welcome to Eressëa, Master Gamgee," said Gandalf, eyes twinkling like stars. "And welcome at last, Dior's sons! Your sister is waiting for you!"

Lost & Found

For the B2MeM 2017 prompt: Lost & Found

Read Lost & Found

“Olwë.” Elmo nudged his brother with his foot. Olwë rolled over with a sleepy grunt. “Have you seen Elwë? He should be back by now.”

Olwë yawned, and sat up, jostling his wife, who kicked him before rolling over. “I haven’t,” he said, rubbing his leg. “Send a runner to Finwë.”

Elmo did. His daughter returned two days later with word that Elwë had never made it to Finwë’s camp. A hush fell over their entire encampment. An awful, familiar, sick feeling of dread settled in Elmo’s gut. They all knew what it meant when someone disappeared without a trace.

.

It was years after Olwë led most of their people on the final leg of the Great Journey that Elwë returned to them beyond all hope—and not alone, but with a maiden fair as the stars, with light in her face and shadows in her long hair. Elmo pushed his way through the crowd, hardly daring to believe his eyes. Elwë’s smile faded a little as Elmo charged forward, and he opened his mouth, perhaps to apologize, but did not get the chance before Elmo embraced him. “We thought you were dead! Never leave us like that again, Elwë!”

You Did What?!

Written for a tumblr prompt meme, for the pairing Beren/Lúthien and the prompt: "You did what?!"

Read You Did What?!

When Beren woke again beneath the beeches of Neldoreth, beside the clear waters of enchanted Esgalduin, he felt as though he had woken not from death but merely from a deep slumber; he felt utterly rested, as he had not since Morgoth's fires had streamed into Dorthonion.

And beside him was Lúthien, her smile radiant as the sun when he opened his eyes.

He remembered the Halls of the Dead only a little, in hazy, dreamy images–and like a dream, they slipped farther from his grasp with each moment. Yet he had died, and had tarried there, and Lúthien had come–he'd thought, to say one last farewell before they were sundered forever, but now…

"What happened?" he asked.

"Do you not remember?" she asked as they rose together from the soft grass. "I went to Námo Mandos and I sang to him until he yielded." She tossed her hair over her shoulder, raising her chin with the same look of defiance that she'd worn when announcing she would not leave him to face Angband alone, no matter what he did to persuade her otherwise. Beren knew he should feel surprised, astonished, even, but–well, he'd seen her do so many other impossible things, after all. But when Lúthien described the choice with which Mandos had presented her–

"You did what?" he yelped.

"I chose you," she repeated. "After all we have done, all we have been through, I will not be parted from you again, Beren!"

"But you'll die–a mortal–"

"I know."

"But Tinúviel–"

"It is done," she said firmly, taking his hand in both of hers. "I cannot change my mind now–and I would not, even if I could. Now come. I know not how many years yet remain to us, but I would not waste even a single moment!"

Through Dark to Light

Written for the Tolkien Weekly "Light & Dark" challenge series

Read Through Dark to Light

A Moment of Quiet
Tomb

Finwë’s was the first tomb to be constructed in Valinor. Miriel Serindë’s body had been buried in a simple mound in the Gardens of Lórien; Finwë was laid to rest in a magnificent sepulcher of carven stone, marble and granite, though there had been little ceremony as his body had been laid to rest: they had no such ceremonies, here.

Findis stood before it beneath the black, starless sky. In the square, Fëanor roused their people to rebellion; but here it was quiet, and she could bow her head and weep in peace—for her father, and for her brothers.

.

Sundering
Shadow

Crystal lamps and candles sat scattered about the room, but all their light, even the lamps once thought to be so bright, seemed dim and weak against the darkness that lay like a heavy blanket over Tirion. Findis, sitting very still, watched Lalwen’s shadow on the wall, flickering with the candles so that it seemed to be moving on its own, dancing madly.

“Are we not also Finwë’s children?” Lalwen demanded, looking indeed every inch Finwë’s daughter, down to the obstinate jut of her chin. “Don’t you want to see him avenged?”

“Father would not,” Findis whispered.

Lalwen turned away.

.

Cold Starlight
Night

A great wind came up from the east, flowing through the Calacirya and driving away the last shreds of Unlight. It was still dark, but this lasting night was not so terrible beneath Elentári’s stars, clear and cool and clean, the air smelling faintly of the Sea.

Findis stood on the high white walls of Tirion that shimmered faintly beneath the high Sickle’s swing, and watched the last torches of her brothers’ host vanish into the distance. But the cold east wind still carried their voices back, and their defiant songs sounded to Findis more like wailing, and she shivered.

.

A Thousand Shades of Grey
Rainbow

There was no color beneath the stars. Once Valinor had been a riot of color, every shade of the rainbow and more from gemstones glittering in the Treelight to tapestries of innumerable flowers in the fields and meadows, bobbing gently in the breeze.

Now everything had faded to black and white and a thousand shades of grey, and the only flowers Findis could find were tiny things, like pale imitations of the stars nestled in the grass. She knelt among them and wondered if they grew in the Outer Lands, and if her brothers would think to look for them.

.

Moonrise
Feather

The Moon’s first rising was a marvel, unexpected and sudden. Findis stood outside of Valmar with Ingwion, watching transfixed, breathless, as Telperion’s last bright flower rose over the hills, silver-white and smooth. Feathery clouds passed before it, hardly dimming its light at all—a bright echo of its parent Tree.

For a long time there was silence, until the bells of Valmar began pealing. Ingwion laughed aloud, taking Findis’ hands to spin her around; he shone almost as bright as a Maia, his hair like white gold and his eyes aflame. “See, cousin?” he cried. “The Shadow cannot conquer forever!”

.

Sunrise
Dawn

If Moonrise had been marvelous, the first Sunrise was something else entirely. It began as a faint glimmer on the horizon, as the sky turned first pale grey and then to gold and finally to brilliant blue, and the world around seemed to spring to life again: grass greener than green, and flowers of every hue and shade. The bells of Valmar rang louder than ever now, and the people lifted their voices in bright songs.

Findis did not sing; her heart was still heavy with grief. But she stood in the first sunbeams and felt their warmth, and smiled.

Resupply

for the insadrabble prompts: cold, sounds, bush, store

Read Resupply

It was cold by the shores of Tarn Aeluin, with the wind coming off the water. The only sounds were far away birds—the cawing of carrion crows, the high scree of a hawk—and the lake lapping lazily against the stony shore. Beren dug into the ground beneath a clump of bushes, pausing often to look over his shoulder, before finally uncovering the store of food wrapped carefully in oilskin and left long before by his father's men.

He refilled the hole and departed, seeking other such hiding places and food-stores before turning his feet southward, toward the mountains.

 

Mithril

for the instadrabble prompts: responsibilities, assembling, substance, fluid

Read Mithril

Mithril was a truly delightful substance to work with--stronger than steel but easier than gold to work with, and a shine that never faded or tarnished. Celebrimbor spent weeks in his workshop experimenting with it, forgetting all other plans and responsibilities as his joy in the works of his hands was rekindled.

In the end he assembled something almost fluid-like, that glimmered in the vail like liquid starlight and that could be painted on metal or stone--for no other reason than delight. He showed it to Narvi, whose dark eyes gleamed, already alight with ideas.

First Meeting

for the instadrabble prompts: borne, fled, forest, strong

Read First Meeting

He had heard little of the Sindarin queen before he met her--she had fled from bloodstained Menegroth in the dead of winter, bearing the Silmaril, passing through the forests and down the river to find refuge on the coast. With her had come a remnant of Doriath's once-great people, both princes and woodsmen, hunters and ladies.

Gil-galad had expected a clear-eyed woman, dark of hair and grey-eyed, strong as a young tree and with starlight in her eyes.

Instead, to his dismay, he found himself called to greet a babe in arms, her eyes hidden behind a tangle of shadowy hair.

Market Day

for the instadrabble prompts: fragrant, bustle, refused, hastened

Read Market Day

Market day in Alqualondë was a bustle of song and laughter and, occasionally, an impromptu dance in a square. Fragrances hung in the air—perfumes and flowers and fresh-baked bread and more.

Celebrían followed closely on Ëarwen’s heels, but needn’t have worried; her grandmother could not be hastened, and the crowds flowed around them like water around a stone, calling out greetings.

There were wares for sale from all over Aman, and each item, it seemed, was accompanied by a tale. Ëarwen soon had Celebrían’s arms piled with gifts, and only laughed, refusing to listen, when Celebrían tried to protest.

Roaring Fire

for the instadrabble prompts: heart, stroke, encounter, fire

Read Roaring Fire

Elrond had never encountered a dragon before, but he had heard tales. Now, heart in his throat, he watched a host of them spiral up out of the mountains, almost like bats. They did not roar, but the fire that streamed from their gaping jaws did. On the ground, the orcs cheered and shrieked and gibbered.

There was nothing else to do but continue to fight—stroke, parry, thrust, repeat—and hope that the dragons did not come near him.

Then black Ancalagon came, and from the west to meet him flew Vingilot with the Silmaril brighter than any flame.

Through the Mountains

for the instadrabble prompts: clash, wind, rough, dim

Read Through the Mountains

The wind howled around them as they huddled together against the mountainside. The stone was smooth beneath Eärendil hands, worn by years of wind and rain and snow. Not so were the boulders that dislodged in the storm to tumble around them, the sound like thunder or the clash of armies coming together in battle.

In the dim twilight beneath the gathering clouds, Tuor pulled him close, beneath his cloak. The wool was rough and scratchy, but warm. Eärendil curled up and closed his eyes. When he fell asleep, he dreamed that he was a ship being tossed by storm-waves.

Ruins of Himling Isle

for the instadrabble prompts: bleak, snow, scurry, breath

Read Ruins of Himling Isle

The ruins of Himling Isle were a bleak, dark outline against the pale, cloudy sky. Snow fell in flurries, blown to and fro by the sharp sea wind. There was little in the way of shelter on the island, this time of year, aside from the crumbling walls. The trees were gnarled and barren, stretching out twisted, fingering branches to catch at his cloak as he passed by. Something small and furry scurried away at his approach.

Desolate, some might have said, lonely.

Maglor didn’t mind. He ran his hand over a wall, tracing the Star of Fëanor carved there.

After

for the instadrabble prompts: star, martyr, box, sunset

Read After

Gil-galad was dead—martyred, some said, killed by Sauron himself in that last desperate fight—the bright star of the Noldor extinguished in the darkness of Mordor.

There were those who wanted Elrond to take up the crown, but he left it in its ornately-carved box. Elros had wanted kingship, but Elrond had always thought crowns too heavy a burden. Someday he would send it West, to await Gil-galad when he returned from Mandos.

As he watched the sunset in Rivendell shimmer rosy on the mountains, he opened another, smaller box. Inside, on velvet, a sapphire set in gold glittered.

Hot Chocolate

for the instadrabble prompts: binomial, chocolate, world, tree

Read Hot Chocolate

Valinor was, as Bilbo put it, like the mathom house in Michel Delving writ large—very large. Large as the world. There was every sort of creature to be found there, from oliphaunts to ants, and every sort of flower and tree and lichen and everything else as well. It was remarkable, and resulted in a great deal of discussion in Elrond’s house, involving many books and copious notes and binomials that Frodo only partially understood. His Elvish was not that good.

It also resulted in a great deal of exploration in the kitchen. Bilbo was delighted with all of it, although Frodo thought he could do without the peppers that made his mouth feel as though it were set ablaze.

Then Finrod brought them chocolate. Melted down and mixed with hot milk, it made a creamy drink that was rich and sweet—sweeter, Bilbo proclaimed, even than Beorn’s honey.

Under the Willow Tree

for the instadrabble prompts: river, book, scar, hollow

Read Under the Willow Tree

There was a willow tree growing beside a small river that wound its way through Tol Eressëa, and at its base was a nice hollow, perfect for a hobbit to sit and watch the water, or perhaps read a book. The willow tree itself was sweet as could be, Frodo was assured. He had been a bit worried, after that business with Old Man Willow.

He rubbed at the scar over where his missing finger had been, as he sat and thought about the Old Forest, and Tom Bombadil, and the Shire, where it was harvest-time now, and his friends…

Up the Withy-Path

for the instadrabble prompts: seedling, last, rekindle, shadow

Read Up the Withy-Path

Eldest had watched more nuts grow to seedlings to towering trees than there were words for numbers, had counted even more raindrops, watched the world be shaped and reshaped, broken and mended, seen the Children come and go east and west. Towers built, knocked over, crumbled.

He’d watched the Shadows grow and recede, always, when the light proved stronger. This last Shadow, though, that might take all…

But hope could always be rekindled even from the smallest ember, and he laughed and danced when old Gandalf finally came up the winding withy-path to tell him and Goldberry all about it.

Jazz Age

Maglor's hanging out in NYC in the 20s, playing in speakseasies, meeting characters from Great American Novels. As you do.

Written for the 2019 Back to Middle-earth Bingo, for the prompt "America between the World Wars" on the Maglor in History card, and the prompts "bruise" and "grape jelly" on the Color Burst: Purple card.

Read Jazz Age

There was certainly a lot of alcohol in New York, Maglor observed, in spite of it being illegal. Even the finest of bars had trap doors and secret exits in case of a police raid. This made it all the stranger to see a man he knew for a fact to be a police captain sitting with friends and sipping tumblers of whiskey in the far corner. At least, he thought as his fingers flew over the piano keys, that meant no one was likely to get arrested that evening.

When they took a break to have a drink themselves, they discovered that one of the patrons had brought them a round. Once they had their drinks the bartender pointed out the patron in question, a man nearby holding court at one of the larger tables, laughing louder and talking faster than any of his companions. His suit was the color of grape jelly and his tie the color of a bruise. As Maglor tried to take his measure the man looked up and caught his eye. He grinned, and excused himself to come to the bar.

He had a proposition for their small band, he said. He held private parties every so often at his home, he said, and he liked the sound of their playing. Would they be interested in entertaining his guests? He could pay them, he said, better than any speakeasy. Maglor sipped his drink, wishing it were not hard liquor but wine light and sweet, and let his companions bargain with the man with too-bright eyes and too-big a smile. It was not a long or difficult conversation. By the end of it, they were hired to perform at a certain large mansion on West Egg. Their new employer, one Jay Gatsby, clapped them all on the shoulder and bought another round of drinks to celebrate.

Friend of Beasts

Written for the 2019 Back to Middle-earth Month Bingo, for the prompt "animal guide" on the Setting as Character card, and the prompt "I don't know exactly what a prayer is" on the Late Great Mary Oliver card.

Read Friend of Beasts

Beren collapsed gracelessly beneath a tree, curling up in his cloak and dreaming of bread and cheese, or even of wild roots and berries. He had been unable to find anything edible that day, and his own stores had run out long ago. Worse, it was growing dark, and he did not know this part of Dorthonion well enough to find a place to rest that would be well hidden from the orcs on patrol.

His head jerked up at a rustling in the brush. As he tensed, a deer emerged. It stopped and stared at him, and he at her, for what felt like a year and a day. Finally, she moved, stepping forward and leaning down to nudge at his shoulder. Beren exhaled slowly, and reached up with trembling fingers to pet her smooth neck once, then twice. Then she stepped away, regarding him with soft dark eyes for a moment more. Another nudge to his shoulder, and she turned away, walking carefully and near-silently back to the honeysuckle thicket from which she had emerged. Beren watched her disappear into it, and then blinked when she appeared again, looking at him almost expectantly.

It was like an answer to a prayer he had not spoken. He got to his feet and stumbled after the doe. She led him through thick honeysuckle laden with flowers, and through flowering blackberry brambles, until they came to a clear stream bubbling up from a spring, and by the spring a great tree that he could climb and yet find a place high out of the reach of orcs to sleep in. High in its branches a nightingale trilled.

The deer nudged his arm again, and he reached up to pet her head, scratching behind her ears without thinking, as he had pet his father's hounds once upon a time. "Thank you," he whispered hoarsely.

The spring water was the sweetest he had drunk in weeks, and he slept that night in the branches of the tree more soundly than he had since his father had died, beneath clear skies filled with stars.

Supplies

Written for the May 2020 Block Party image instadrabbling

Read Supplies

Anairë looked around with interest as she followed Nerdanel into her workshop. Laurelin was at full brightness, and the windows were flung open wide to let in the breeze and the golden light. There were the usual instruments and supplies that Anairë would have expected to find in any sculptor’s workshop, but along one wall were shelves full of strange things, kept in jars or glass bottles or simply piled onto: bits of cloth, a handful of sand, a jar full of freshwater pearls, or bits of paper, and bits of colored glass that caught the light like gems, and cast rainbow colors on the ceiling and the floor.

“What’s all this?” she asked, running her fingers along a line of small glass bottles.

“Oh, odds and ends,” said Nerdanel, busy searching for something across the room beneath an untidy pile of papers. “You never know what you might need.”

Beginning

Written for the May 2020 Block Party image instadrabbling

Read Beginning

Thingol stood to the side and watched with interest as the dwarves conferred with one another and with his people, half in Sindarin and half in their own tongue. Several dwarves disappeared inside with torches, emerging looking very pleased. Then the whole party took up their picks and shovels and trooped inside. Laughter and the beginnings of a working song echoed out of the opening.

Daeron sat on the grass beside opening, and he looked up at Thingol with a smile. “They say they could carve a whole city in this hill if we wanted—a thousand caves or more!”

Wings

Written for the May 2020 Block Party image instadrabbling

Read Wings

The rustling outside of his window was nothing unusual, and Elrond thought nothing of it until he caught a glimpse of Arwen darting away out of the corner of his eye, something large and leafy on her back. A proper glance told him she had fashioned wings out of branches, held together with strands of ivy. He smiled at the sight; she had been asking for tales of Lúthien and Elwing at night for weeks—until he saw that she was headed for the top of a very steep hill.

Papers went flying as he sped from the room. “Arwen!”

December 27 2020 Instadrabbles

I am posting all the drabbles I wrote for the 12/27/2020 instadrabble session on the SWG Discord as one chapter, though they do not all fit together into a cohesive series. The prompts are below the titles.

Read December 27 2020 Instadrabbles

Three Cairns
funeral, ambassador, Maia, forsake

There had not been a funeral in Aman since the Darkening, until the Ringbearers came out of the East. Since then twice had gathered ambassadors of Elves and Valar and Maiar, to sing songs of starlight and winding roads, as first Bilbo, and then Frodo and Samwise together were laid to rest atop a small green hill on Tol Eressea. Their graves were marked with cairns of white stones.

Gandalf sat between them, pipe in his mouth, not quite ready yet to forsake all the physical comforts of his old man’s body, and watched the quiet sunrise over the water.

.

Exploration
new-spilled, stumpy, downward, discarded

Rocks and dirt piled up at the bottom of the ravine, some new-spilled down the mountainside, most discarded by the stone giants after their games or battles. Some stumpy trees and shrubs clung to the steep slopes, stubborn and green, spiny and tough, but too few to provide useful holds.

Elured slid downward anyway, Elurin just behind him, sending up a plume of dust. They had not explored this part of the mountains before, and there was a clear bright stream at the bottom, glinting in the sun. It flowed eventually down to Anduin, but it had to begin somewhere.

.

Devouring Tales Instead
Courage, manuscript, constraint, campsite

In a corner of Avallone’s great library, someone had erected something like a campsite—if such comforts could be found while camping. A pot of tea and a plate of seed cakes sat between piles of manuscripts pulled without constraint from the lower shelves, half-forgotten by the half-hidden, white-haired hobbit who sat cheerfully devouring tales instead.

Finrod peered over a stack of leather-bound books. “Good afternoon, Master Baggins!”

“Oh! Good afternoon!” Bilbo beamed up at him. “I was just reading about you, as a matter of fact, and your deeds of courage and derring-do and all of it. Very exciting!”

.

Through the Girdle
giggled, thunderclap, wanderings, enchantment

Beren stumbled, breathless, as a thunderclap shook the trees, the wind screaming, rain lashing against his face—and then ceasing, as suddenly as it had begun. In the distance he thought he heard giggling, as though children were playing. And music, wild and breathless, for dancing—or enchantment. He tried to find its source, but always it was just out of reach. Perhaps at last his long wanderings had driven him mad.

He sank to the mossy ground beside the starlit river (though it was day) and closed his eyes. He woke to twilight, and someone singing, sweeter than nightingales.

.

Whispers
alcove, remembering, prince, guards

 Finduilas stood shadowed in an alcove, remembering when there had not been guards patrolling the inner roads of Nargothrond. Beyond the gate Huan lay, looking more unhappy than she had ever seen him, while past him Curufin and Celegorm stood in tense, whispered council.

Since Finrod had gone it seemed a chill and a silence seemed to have fallen over the city, and no one from servants to princes dared speak above a whisper. Finduilas fisted her hands in her skirts and headed off to do some whispering of her own, determined to know what her lord cousins were hiding.

.

Summons
Tall, wistful, humor, music

Even seated on the side of a dune, the figure was very tall, long legs stretching out over the sand. In his hand was a harp carved of driftwood; its music was wistful and melancholy, blending effortlessly with the soft wash of the waves over pale smooth sand. Gandalf stood for a while, leaning on his staff and listening, Shadowfax grazing calmly behind him. At last the harper looked up.

 

“Good morning, Maglor!” The humor of his greeting was known to Gandalf alone, but he chuckled anyway. “What are you waiting for? The ship is leaving soon. Come along home!”

Olympic Drabbles

These drabbles are not all connected, but were all written for the August 2021 SWG Olympic instadrabble session.

Read Olympic Drabbles

Boat Race
miss, mountain, bay, nineteen

There was a race on in the Bay of Eldamar, with more boats taking part than Frodo could count—he lost track after nineteen, though there were many more than that, speeding about with sails as colorful as butterfly wings. Some also sparkled, and he suspected that gemstones had been woven into the canvas.

"I missed this," Galadriel remarked beside him. "I used to win these races more often than not." She was smiling, looking young and radiant in the bright sunshine, with the mountains rising up behind her.

"Nonsense!" laughed Finrod on her other side. "I used to win!"

.

Work in Progress
Symmetrical, bread, ribbon, fall

Nerdanel stepped back to survey the sculpture, brushing off her apron, dust cascading to the floor. A young woman holding a basket of bread, caught mid-twirl with her skirts flaring, her hair falling about her shoulders and held back from her face by a carefully chiseled ribbon. Nerdanel tilted her head, narrowed her eyes. Something was not quite right. This statue did not look as though she might spring to life.

Oh. That was it. It was all just too symmetrical, too perfectly balanced to look real. She picked up her chisel and went to work on the hair again.

.

Wartime
Brave, lift, insight, strategic

As the war stretched on it was impossible to gain any insight into the stratagems of the Witch-king. Or maybe all too easy—maybe it really was just as simple as terror and icy despair. Elrond stood at the edge of the valley and watched the twilight of dawn lift with the rising sun, though his thoughts were far away in Arnor, remembering when Elendil had come and raised the towers of Annúminas, gleaming on the lakeside.

Brave Men remained in Arthedain but they dwindled. Arvedui had not been seen in months.

Yet Gil-Estel still glimmered in the western sky.

.

Swan Lake
green, bridge, swan, arch

The bridge arched gracefully over the clear pool where the waterfall fell. The stones were green with moss and damp from the spray. When the sun emerged from behind a cloud a dazzling rainbow appeared, mirroring the bridge as it leaped up out of the foam.

Eluréd leaned on the railing and watched a swan slip into the water, followed by half a dozen awkward goslings. He grinned to see little Estel appear on the bank. "Careful," he called. "Swans will bite!" Estel paused, and when the swan looked his way he fled back to the bridge, Eluréd's laughter following.

.

Keep Them Secret, Keep Them Safe
artistic, rings, balance, tumble

The rings lay in a row across the table, all but two of the Seven that had already been given away. A mistake, Celebrimbor knew now. His greatest artistic feat, he had thought this project. Still thought, of the Three. But even they were not safe. The balance of power was tilted in Annatar's—in Sauron's favor, and he did not know how to fix it.

He tangled his fingers in his hair, feeling as though the world were crumbing again and he tumbling down along with it into the darkness. Sauron was coming. He would take Eregion, take the rings.

Not all the rings. Celebrimbor swept up the Three and strode from the workshop. There was still a little time, though it dwindled swiftly.

Never Have I Ever

Written for the 2021-22 Holiday Party instadrabble session for prompts for the "Never Have I Ever" game.

Read Never Have I Ever

Elwing
Crush on someone not Eärendil

There was a poet among the Men in Sirion, Dírhavel , with dark hair and darker eyes. His mother’s folk, it was said, came from Brethil; his father’s came long before from Dorthonion. He was some years Elwing’s elder, tall and lanky and Elwing often saw him sitting on the beach with his legs stretched out in the sand as he wrote furiously, with homemade berry ink on birch-bark paper.

“Why are you spying on Dírhavel?” Eärendil asked her, coming upon her as she sat partly hidden by some rocks, making sandcastles while watching Dírhavel try to keep his paper in order when the breeze kicked up.

“I don’t spy,” Elwing retorted, wrinkling her nose at Eärendil. He was covered in sand and smelled like seaweed.

“He’s writing about our kin, you know. About my father’s cousins. Father says it will be the greatest tale of the Edain of this Age.”

.

Bilbo
Overindulged in Elven Delicacies

“Master Elrond did warn you,” said Frodo as he put the kettle on. Bilbo, bundled up in his chair by the hearth, did not reply. “He did say the wines were stronger even than Dorwinion--”

“Usually,” Bilbo said, voice muffled but still sounding extremely put out, “that sort of thing cooks off when you put it in the oven!”

Frodo wasn’t even sure what precisely it was that Bilbo had overindulged in. There had been many sweet—and alcoholic—morsels floating around the party last night, and by the end Bilbo had been very merry indeed. “Well,” he said, “I think what usually happens when you put beer in bread in the Shire, Bilbo, isn’t what usually happens in Elvenhome.” Bilbo did not deign to reply to this, though he did accept the mug of strong tea, emerging from his blankets just long enough to take a long sip.

.

Sam
Meets one of Yavanna’s Maiar

The little hobbit hole the Elves had dug out for the hobbits on Tol Eressëa was quite lovely, snug and cozy and with a beautiful garden all around it. Sam spent a full week just puttering about, once he got settled (if you could call it settled, with heroes out of old tales popping in for tea and scones every other day).

The only things missing from the garden were proper taters. Frodo laughed when Sam said so. “I have been waiting for you!” he said. “No one grows potatoes like a Gamgee—or a Gardner.”

So Sam set to work digging up the soft, rich earth. Soil was soil, whether in Elvenhome or the Shire, and it was very pleasant to return to his own roots, as it were, Sam thought. Over his head the parlor window was open, and he could hear Frodo and Bilbo laughing over something.

Something beside him rustled in among the peonies, and when Sam looked up he sat back on his heels, mouth agape. Kneeling in among the flowers was a—person? Hobbit-sized, but green-skinned and with hair that was positively leafy. They laughed merrily, sitting cross-legged on the ground. “I am sorry! I forget you are not used to us.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Sam. “Are you one of them—Maiar? Like old Gandalf?”

“Like and unlike, to be sure,” said the Maia, laughing again. “I bring greetings from my mistress, who bids you come to her pastures, if you would like.” They leaned forward and pressed a hand to the potatoes and spoke a few words that made the hair on Sam’s neck stand up, and then in the blink of an eye they were gone again, leaving only a few scattered leaves on the ground where they had been.

Truth Or Dare?

More drabbles from the Holiday Party; two for the Truth or Dare game and one for the Food & Drink prompt

Read Truth Or Dare?

Truth or Dare
Eärendil
Dare: Sailing from Sirion to Aman

When Eärendil announced his intentions to Círdan and Gil-galad, both of them sighed. Círdan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your grandfather had the same idea,” Gil-galad said. “Did you ever ask Voronwë how it went?”  

“But this time will be different,” Eärendil said, keeping his arms crossed so they could not see his hands shaking. “With all due respect, my king, I am not here to ask permission.”

“No, of course not,” said Gil-galad. “Why are you here, then, Cousin?”

“I need a ship.”

Círdan rose and drained his glass. “We had best get to work, then,” he said.

.

Truth or Dare
Elwing
Dare: transform into a bird for the 2nd time without Ulmo’s help

She could feel it—her arms aching to turn back to wings, the feathers itching under her skin. When Elwing closed her eyes she could almost feel the wind beneath her, buoying her up toward the skies. She opened them and looked down from her perch atop a high rock that Alqualondë’s swimmers often used for diving at the clear cerulean water.

If she jumped, there was no danger—not here. The sun was shining, sparkling on Eldamar. Still her heart pounded as Elwing rose from her crouch. She took a deep breath, flung herself from the stone—and soared.

.

Food & Drink
Pumpkin Pie

Frodo thoughtfully surveyed the list of dishes that Bilbo had made. “This would be a meal fit for the Mayor and all the family heads in the Shire,” he said, “but what will Elvenkings think?”

Bilbo chuckled as he set out the jars of spices, and the pumpkin that needed carving. “They asked for a Shire feast, my lad, and that is what they’ll get! And what better time to experiment than when no one can say what they really think without being horribly rude?” He shoved the flour at Frodo. “Get started on the crust, there’s a good lad.”

Restoration & Rebuilding

Written for the Restoration & Rebuilding instadrabble Saturday session

Read Restoration & Rebuilding

Prompt: I can see in the acorn the oak tree. I see the growth, the rebuilding, the restoring. - Maya Angelou

The lands around were still bleak and brown and lifeless; the stones were jagged and the coasts of Lindon new and raw and at first glance unwelcoming. Galadriel sat on a fallen log, not yet overtaken with moss or lichen, not yet soft with gentle rot. In the near distance was the continuous sound of hammering and sawing and shouting, interspersed with bursts of laughter or of song, as Gil-galad's folk strove to build something up out of the mud.

As she turned her thoughts away from masonry to the forests, wondering where they might find seeds or saplings to plant, she saw a squirrel stop nearby, far from the tree line, and peer around, bushy grey tail twitching. Satisfied that it was safe, it leaned down and dug small hole, into which it carefully placed a single acorn, before covering it up and darting away. As Galadriel watched the spot she saw the tree that would spring up, from a tiny twig to a slender sapling to a mighty, towering pillar filled with more acorns that would spread, eventually, to cover the hillsides—alongside beech, birch, elm and maple, myriad shades of green and living brown.

She smiled.

.

Prompt: image of abandoned building

Much of Tirion had lain empty and silent since the Noldor's flight. Roads went unused and unmaintained, and after a rain were more mud puddle than solid pathway. Windows had been broken and birds had nested in rafters.

Then those who had gone started to come back, by ship or other means, and slowly the decay was cleared away. Crumbling walls were rebuild and warped doors were replaced; lights appeared in the evenings in new windows, and singing could be heard in parts of the city that had, for so long, remained silent. Slowly, Tirion was coming back to life.

.

Prompt: "Feeling Good" by Nina Simone

One morning Elrond woke to find that the valley of Imladirs had, when he wasn't looking, ceased to be a military encampment and had, become a home. Birds sang in trees that had grown back to replace the ones felled for hasty shelters. Dragonflies darted about the ponds and streams and butterflies flitted between flowers in the garden. The breeze off the mountains carried the scent of heather and pine. He stood on the terrace, breathing deeply, and watched the golden sunlight spill over the valley, making each blade of grass, each leaf on every tree, seem to glow, brighter than any gemstone. Somewhere, someone was singing a merry song; a hammer was ringing in the workshops; looms were clacking busily; the hearth crackled merrily in the Hall of Fire.

They had built something marvelous, here. For the first time in many years, the future looked bright.

.

Prompt: image of mushrooms caught in a sunbeam

"Aha!" Bilbo cried out triumphantly and lunged off the path. "Frodo, my lad, look at this!" Frodo immediately followed, and Finrod hurried after. It was not usually wise to leave the path in a forest, even in Valinor, and he was surprised that Frodo and Bilbo would forget that. But it seemed that the large patch of mushrooms Bilbo had spotted had driven all else from their minds. He watched Bilbo pick one and examine it closely, before dropping it with satisfaction into his basket. In only a few minutes Bilbo and Frodo had gathered all the mushrooms that were to be found.

"What are you going to do with all of those?" Finrod asked.

"Cook them, of course! I haven't had a proper mushroom since we came here," said Bilbo. "Quite surprising, in fact."

"Elves don't usually eat mushrooms, except at great need," Finrod said. "And even then we do not do so with joy."

"You haven't cooked them properly, then!" Bilbo exclaimed. He patted Finrod's knee reassuringly. "Don't you worry, my lad, we'll fix that up this evening. What do you think, Frodo, my mother's recipe?"

"Certainly!" Frodo said. "Even Mrs. Maggot's mushrooms couldn't compare to Belladonna Baggins'!"

.

Prompt: "Reborn" by KIDS SEE GHOSTS

After so long in the dark, quiet stillness of Mandos, it was a beautiful thrill to step into a living body again. There was earth beneath her feet and the breeze was cool on her skin, in her hair, and all around was color, lit with golden light. Minyelmë lifted her hands and laughed, and she spun in circles until delicious dizziness sent her tumbling onto the grass and clover. She lay until she caught her breath and then leaped up and ran, not caring where she found herself or who she met, so long as she could keep moving.

.

Prompt: image of a ceramic cup repaired with gold

"What's all this?" Celebrimbor picked up a broken cup from Narvi's work table, one of many pieces that she had gathered together over the last few days. There were plates and bowls and at least half a dozen cups and mugs that unthinking craftspeople had knocked off of tables. "Didn't I break this one last month?"

"Yes," said Narvi, "and today is repair day! Come help me with this gold."

"How do you repair ceramics with gold?" Even as he asked, he moved, going to pull on his gloves and an apron.

Narvi grinned up at him. "I'll show you."

.

Prompt: We must always change, renew, rejuvenate ourselves; otherwise, we harden. - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Elrond turned Vilya over in his fingers. Around him the music of Imladris played—wind in the trees, birdsong, bees lazily buzzing in the garden, water flowing over stone—and overhead the sky was clear, brilliant blue. He could feel the power in the ring humming under his fingertips. Its purpose was clear enough: to hold off decay, to ward against change, against the ravages of time. Already he knew that Galadriel was doing just that in Lórinand with Nenya.

It was a very elvish desire, he thought, and he thought also that he understood it. But it was not quite right. Surely even in Valinor things changed, time passed, water flowed, wind blew. He did not want to trap Imladris in amber, or hide it away from the world.

But he could preserve what should be preserved, and he could protect everything else. No evil would cross the Bruinen while he lived. Elrond slipped the ring onto his finger.

Restoration & Rebuilding 2

written for the Sunday session of Restoration & Rebuilding instadrabbling

Read Restoration & Rebuilding 2

Prompt: Image of the inside of Hagia Sophia, with scaffolding on the right and left sides

The Mindon Eldaliéva was near completion, and as Míriel stepped inside, Ingwë dropping her arm to spring ahead, spinning about with his arms outstretched in delight, she could not stop her jaw from dropping as she beheld the great domed ceiling, and the many windows that let in the golden light of Laurelin. "And see, there is your husband!" Ingwë said, returning to Míriel's side and pointing to the top of one towering scaffold, where Finwë was busy pressing brightly colored tiles into the wall high over their heads, the finishing touches of a great mosaic. It depicted the first of the Eldar coming to the Sea beneath the stars, and Ulmo rising out of the waves to greet them.

"Did you ever think we could build things such as this?" Ingwë said.

Míriel laughed, breathless with delight. "And think of what more we shall do in years to come!"

.

Prompt: Action on behalf of life transforms. Because the relationship between self and the world is reciprocal, it is not a question of first getting enlightened or saved and then acting. As we work to heal the earth, the earth heals us. - Robin Wall Kimmerer

Celeborn had been assured that his wounds would heal and the stiffness and pain would ease with time, but he found that it was not so as long as he walked in barren lands and lingered where the scars of war had not yet faded from the earth. So he left the cities of Lindon to the Noldor to build, and went out into the wilds with his own kindred. As they sang their songs of healing to the land, of green leaves and clear flowing water, of strong roots sinking deep into the soil, he found his own aches fading away in turn, until at last he rose from kneeling by a patch of wild strawberries with no stiffness at all.

He stood for a moment, arms outstretched, just to be, feeling the warm sun on his face and the breeze in his hair. A meadowlark sang out joyously.

Jubilee

writen for the 2023 Jubilee instadrabbling event

Read Jubilee

Prompt: "Landslide" by Fleetwood Mac

Fëanáro left Tirion for Formenos—with all of their sons—and Nerdanel left for the mountains. She could not have said why she needed to climb the highest lonely peak that she could find, which was just as well, for no one asked her. She followed goat trails and scaled rockfalls, bloodying her fingers and skinning her knees. The wind whipped around, tangling her hair and stinging her eyes

At last she reached—not the peak, for no Elf could climb to the very peaks of the Pelóri—but the highest place that her feet would take her. Drifts of snow lingered, even in summer, mixed with stones and other debris from recent landslides or avalanches; she plunged her hands into one and shuddered at the sudden cold

Then she turned and found herself looking out over the whole of Valinor, stretched out like a patchwork quilt someone had laid at her feet in a rainbow riot of colors. From here she could see the stars shining above the mingling light of the Trees. The air was clear and cool, and from this vantage point everything that had loomed so large and painful in her heart seemed so much smaller.

Girdled

written for the greatstrongbow's prompt on tumblr for a kiss prompt meme: Thingol/Melian + "as a promise"

Read Girdled

“We will be overrun,” Elu said, standing before Melian, sword in hand. He was splattered with dark blood that stained his shining armor and matted in his hair, darkening it from starlight to tarnished silver. “Denethor is fallen; we have not heard from the Falas, and I fear the worst.”

Melian lifted her gaze to the skies beyond the trees. Clouds obscured the northern skies, but over Eglador the stars still shone. “Círdan is beset, but his walls are strong,” she said.

“We have no walls,” said Elu. Near them Lúthien stood, still as a statue with her face half-hidden behind the shadows of her hair. Daeron was with her; his flute was silent.

Melian stepped forward and pressed a kiss to her husband’s lips. “I will make walls,” she said. “Bring all who will come to Eglador, for I shall girdle it with my power. Fear not! Melkor knows not these lands, nor loves them as I do. His power shall not overcome mine.” Then she stepped back and raised her hands, and began to sing.

How to Pay Attention

written for Searchingforserendipity on tumblr for a Mary Oliver themed prompt meme

Read How to Pay Attention

I don’t know exactly what a prayer is. I do know how to pay attention. - Mary Oliver, "The Summer Day"

.

Outside of the Girdle the world was growing darker, the shadows out of the north lengthening with each passing day. But so it had been since Bauglir had returned from across the Sea. In Doriath the sun still shone and the flowers still bloomed, and Galadriel sat beside the Esgalduin with her harp. She did not sing, except to add a few wordless notes to the chords of her song, harmonizing with the songbirds high in the beechen branches.

Celeborn lay on the bank beside her, watching the sky and counting each blade of grass that tickled his skin. When he turned his head he saw Galadriel’s hair shimmer in the sunshine, falling in gentle waves over her bare arms as she strummed her harp, and he thought it lovelier than any description he had ever heard of Telperion or Laurelin. Her dreams of late had been troubled; she woke gasping and talking of crushing waves and darkness eating away at the world, Beleriand sinking beneath her feet. Celeborn could only hold her as she trembled.

He did not know how long they had until Bauglir turned his attention away from the Noldor and toward Doriath, nor whether there was any hope of prayer or message reaching the Valar far away upon their thrones in evergreen Elvenhome. He was not inclined to despair—not yet. But whatever happened, at least he would have these quiet moments secured in his memory. Celeborn felt that he and Galadriel could face anything, so long as they were together.

Meet & Greet pt 1

Written for the February 2024 Meet & Greet instadrabble session

Read Meet & Greet pt 1

A fresh start

There were many in Valinor who had once dwelt in Imladris, now scattered between Tirion and Alqualondë and Valmar and other places in between. Celebrían spoke to them, and found that they dearly missed their mountain valley far away—but there was no place quite like it in Valinor.

From her grandmother’s house in Alqualondë she looked to the mountains, the Pelóri where few had gone. What hidden vales and dells lay in those deep green foothills? What hanging valleys waited to be discovered and turned into something more?

She quickly packed. There was only one way to find out.

- -

Lost in memory

“Bilbo?” A hand on his shoulder startled him, and he looked up from his contemplation of a flower bed.

“Ah, good afternoon, Master Elrond!”

“I have been calling your name for some time, Master Baggins.” Elrond smiled, traces of faint concern melting away. “What has you so distracted?”

“Oh, only thinking of old times. I’ve left a few details out of my book, I have found, and I must decide whether to include them.” But as he spoke he thought—probably not. Half an hour making the acquaintance of a young boy in Rivendell would only distract from the rest of the adventure. And anyway, that young boy was off having adventures of his own. “When do you next expect the Dúnadan to visit? I should very much like to see him. I want his opinion on a new poem.”

Elrond sighed, and sat down. “Soon, I hope,” he said.

- -

group, follow, conceptualize, button

He followed behind a tour group, listening to the guide attempt to do more than merely conceptualize the far away long ago past that was represented by the various artifacts and artworks in the museum. Occasionally he paused to examine a piece, marveling at its survival through the tumults of time and war and the elements—at the buttons still clinging to aging cloth, and to glass beads still glinting in the harsh museum fluorescent lights. Having been there, Daeron could easily picture these things as they had once been, and he could remember the things that had not survived, that had been too well-used or well-loved.

The display of musical instruments was, of course, of particular interest. He listened to the tour guide talk of ancient music and to a few young visitors lament quietly to one another that they couldn’t ever hear and could never know the tunes and melodies their most ancient ancestors had made.

Well. Perhaps not exactly, but…

Later, those museum visitors stopped outside where a busker with a flute had chosen strange and haunting melodies to play, that sounded like memories only mostly forgotten, like a dream that slipped away upon waking.

- -

Dusk, shattered, tears, silent

The soft silence of winter is shattered by the cracking of river-ice, and the flowing snow melt down rooftops and mountainsides, dripping like tears from eaves. The ground grows soggy underfoot, and the river swells up its banks, cascading through the valley on its way to find larger channels and, someday under warmer skies, the shores of the Sea.

Dusk will bring cold again, freezing the slush into slippery ice And in the morning when the sun peeks over the mountains the melting will begin all over again.

Elrond leans out of the window and smiles. Spring is coming.

- -

A favorite place

There is a small cove tucked away in a quiet part of England’s seashore, facing the east. It lies directly in the moon’s silvery path as it rises in the evening, and on starry nights mer-folk and sea-fairies can be heard sweetly singing and, if one is very lucky, seen dancing upon the sands. Mermaids dancing on land is a clumsy and silly affair, but they like to laugh at themselves, Maglor has found.

He goes there sometimes, and plays for them. And sometimes he goes when there are no parties, for Psathamos always has much to say.

- -

An unexpected visitor

Beneath the bright summer sun, Goldberry sat among the lilies and sang as she brushed her long golden hair. Tom was away leaping over the hillsides and learning the news of the world from from the passing winds and the birds.

When her song ended, Goldberry paused, tilting her head and listening to the trees’ soft whisperings. Then she laughed her surprise and said aloud, “Welcome, wanderer! You are far from the shores of the Sea.”

“Lady.” The wanderer emerged from the trees across the Withywindle. His greeting and bow were courteous and graceful, but his dark hair was all in a tangle, and his clothes were worn and frayed.

That would not do. Goldberry rose from her pool. “You are weary! Come! There is food and rest to be found in Bombadil’s house under hill. It has been long since one of the bright-eyed Eldar have visited us.”

Meet & Greet pt 2

Read Meet & Greet pt 2

Fragile, moment, revisit, brighten

How fragile the world was, Eärendil thought as he watched Beleriand crumble. It was slow, the sea creeping over once thick forests and lush grasslands foot by inexorable foot. He had sailed into the skies eager to revisit, even at a distance, the lands and homes he had once known. But Gondolin lay in ruin, blackened and slowly decaying, its once-bright fountains choked and its towers no more than dust and broken rubble, a mockery of a cairn for all who had died there.

He turned away, needing a moment to blink away the grief that welled up in him.

- -

Breathless. Running. Distance. Limits

Once, Galadriel had raced, running farther and faster over the green swards of Valinor than anyone else among the Noldor or the Vanyar. Such a sprint had not left her so much as breathless; she had felt as though she could do anything, in those days. Once, she had said so to her grandmother. Indis had looked at her with Tree-bright eyes that seemed to pierce her very soul. She had said, strangely it had seemed at the time, “You can win with speed Artanis, but can you endure?”

She could. She had, through darkness and grief and war and turmoil, though it had taken her to the very limits of her power. She twisted Nenya on her finger, its power now passed, and sighed as the grey Sea came into view. The distance from Mithlond to Tirion was no longer so grievously far. Overhead a lone gull wheeled.

- -

Same name convention

A painting of Tindómiel hung outside the Hall of Fire, near a window where it could catch the morning sunshine, making her painted eyes shine.  If the painting was true to life—and Arwen had been assured that it was—then they had looked much alike, though Tindómiel’s hair had been golden, with none of the waves that rippled through Arwen’s own dark tresses. Arwen often paused before it to look up into her cousin’s face—the cousin she could never meet, yet with whom she shared a name. Undómiel and Tindómiel, the granddaughters of the Morning and Evening Star.

- -

Friend, want, bad, gesture

“Ah! Good afternoon, Master Elf!” Bilbo jumped up from his picnic blanket and bowed, gesturing to his basket with one arm swept out. “Do join me! I have plenty to share.”
The elf paused, apparently startled by the greeting. “Well met, Master Halfling,” he said slowly, looking at Bilbo with very dark and ancient eyes. “Ah,” he said, and came to take a seat. “You are an Elf Friend.”

“So I am,” Bilbo said cheerfully. “Though I do want to know how you all can tell just by looking, as though I had something stuck in my teeth—though of course it’s not nearly as bad as that. Or do you all talk about such things?”

The elf laughed a little, quietly. “There is a light in your eyes that shows it,” he said. “I have never heard of a halfling making such friends among the Elves.”

“I’m rather an unusual case. And indeed, I was quite surprised—after I’d spent some time burgling his halls and organizing a prison break. My name is Bilbo Baggins, at your service sir. Seed cake?”

The elf took the seed cake and inclined his head. “Thank you,” he said. “My name is Daeron.”