Morning Mist and Silver Sun by StarSpray

Restoration & Rebuilding

Written for the Restoration & Rebuilding instadrabble Saturday session

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.

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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.

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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.

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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'!"

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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.

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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."

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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.