Drabbles by Grundy

To Each His Own

Series of drabbles written for the prompt "Curufin courts his future wife." (For Amy Fortuna, written for Multifandom Drabble Exchange 2017.)

Read To Each His Own

Maitimo sighed as he watched the courtyard gate shut firmly behind Tyelpesilmë.

It was the third time this week the talented young jewelsmith had argued with Curufinwë.

Time for a word with his little brother…

“Curvo, perhaps you should work with someone else if you cannot keep from fighting with her.”

His brother blinked at him from his workbench in apparent surprise.

“We were not fighting,” he said blankly.

“So that was not an argument I just overheard?” Maitimo asked skeptically.

“Of course not,” Curvo snorted disdainfully. “Did you never listen to Kano while he was courting?”

“Courting?” Maitimo spluttered.

 

---

 

Makalaurë howled with laughter when Maitimo brought the matter up with him later.

“Lindë and I never fought,” he managed between guffaws. “I admit we had some fierce debates about chromatic progression –  we still do on occasion – but we never argued as you’re saying Curvo and his beloved do.”

Calming down somewhat, he grinned.

“Then again, I also don’t have Curvo’s… interesting… attitude.”

 “Thank the Valar for small mercies,” Maitimo replied. “One of him is quite enough. But I still don’t see the attraction of courtship by debate.”

“No,” Makalaurë agreed drily. “You and Finno prefer wrestling, riding, and swordplay.”

 

---

 

 “Some men, little brother, stick to what they are good at when trying to impress a girl,” Tyelkormo suggested, trying not to laugh out loud.

Curvo glared at him from the table where he was making a heartfelt but disastrous attempt at flower arrangement.

“I am good,” he said waspishly, “at crafting wearable ornaments. But as Silmë is also a talented smith, I can hardly gift her jewelry.”

“Why not? I thought the two of you enjoyed discussing designs.”

“She can make things just as fine on her own. Besides, half the kingdom wears my creations. She deserves something special.”

 

---

 

Carnistir has never been his favorite brother, but Curufinwë could kiss him for this suggestion.

He wanted to show Tyelpesilme how important she was to him. Moryo had pointed out ‘different’ need not mean ‘something you have never tried before’.

Rather than make something Silmë might find beautiful – a gift any man might give any girl – he’d make something useful. Something that showed he knew the person she was.

She will appreciate the worktable he is building, similar to the one he’d constructed for his brother, but designed with her work needs in mind, far more than any silly flowers.

 

---

 

Ambarussa wore matching looks of unease.

“You’re not going to announce it right away, are you?” Pityo asked hopefully.

“Why would I not?” Curufinwë demanded in aggravation.

What possible reason could his baby brothers have for wanting him to delay telling his parents of his intention to marry?

“You are our next oldest brother,” Telvo explained, as though it should have been obvious. “We were counting on our other brothers marrying before you.”

“You’ll give Atto and Ammë ideas,” Pityo continued. “They will start expecting us to look around for girls to settle down with too!”

“The horror,” Curufinwë muttered.

His Favorite Apprentice

Written for the prompt "Celebrimbor and Fëanor creating something together." (For Amy Fortuna, written for Multifandom Drabble Exchange 2017.)

Read His Favorite Apprentice

“Make, haru?”

Fëanáro smiled.

His grandson – his first, and as yet only grandchild, since Kanafinwë did not seem to feel any urgency in that department – showed every sign of following his father and grandfather in talent.

Tyelperinquar at one löa was already putting together rudimentary sentences, and eager to try any activity he saw Curufinwë or Fëanor engaged in.

The baby had not the coordination yet for the fine jewel-work his grandfather had been doing, but he should be encouraged.

Fëanáro scooped his grandson onto his lap so that he could see the worktable better.

“Yes, let’s make something, Tyelpë.”

---

Chapter End Notes

I'm re-purposing 'löa' here on the theory that the amanyar must have had words for increments of time shorter than a Valian year during the Years of the Trees, because they'd need some way to describe the age/growth of the young. (I'm not enough of a linguist to attempt to invent a Quenya word.)

Lockdown Instadrabbling, Round 1

Drabbles written for Lockdown Instadrabbling on the SWG Discord, March 2020.

Featuring Balan, Arafinwë, Celebrían, and Elwing.

Read Lockdown Instadrabbling, Round 1

Balan was always delighted to see the being they had begun to call Nóm – and suspicious of his own response. Oh, Nóm was beautiful to look on, as were the few other of his people they had seen. Elegant, serene, apparently kind, carelessly dispensing wisdom and other gifts. But instinct whispered to him if Balan looked too closely at the creature’s eyes – they were not the eyes of a predator, not exactly. But he would be a fool not to see the power behind them. His people have been incautious before, to their sorrow. This time he will be vigilant.

---

Arafinwë sighed. The latest rumored spat between his brothers had sent waves of gossip as far afield as Alqualondë, turning what should have been a peaceful summer into anything but. He was used to everyone looking at him trying to divine what his conduct might signal about relations between Nolo, Naro, and Atto. But he’d sought a respite from that here, and maybe time to see if Eärwen might think of him as more than just a friend… It was rather tempting to make what was meant to be only an afternoon sail up the coast into a longer voyage.

 ---

Celebrían frowned. She supposed when the dust settled, life would be good. The sun shone brighter already for Sauron being defeated and Ennor no longer under constant threat. The world would be more like that of her youth, fairer and free. It didn’t feel that way at the moment, though. Elrond might as well be as remote as Eärendil, and nigh as untouchable. She clung to the faint hope that the man she’d fallen in love with was still there, buried beneath grief and duty. She would gladly help him dig out from it if he would only let her.

 ---

Even the rock here was different, Elwing thought morosely. The stone of Sirion had been stolid and reassuring, shades of grey and brown and white, with only the occasional shot of brighter color. That was what she had been used to, all she had known from childhood on. The Lindar of Valinor used rock that was pale tan or slightly blue or true white and glistened in the sun. Yet this was where she would make her abode, at least until the waters that sundered them could carry her sons back to her. Surely it could not be very long.

Lockdown Instadrabbling, Round 2

Drabbles written for Lockdown Instadrabbling, Round 2 - March 2020.

Featuring Anariel, Galadriel, Findis (and Anariel again), Nolofinwë, Eärendil, and Elwing.

Read Lockdown Instadrabbling, Round 2

There was a time she had loved the market of Minas Tirith.

The sensory experience was much the same. The calls of the merchants, the mouthwatering smell and sizzle of sausage cooking at the stands where the porters and laborers grabbed a quick bite before turning back to their work, meat and fish hanging in the stalls, the enticing aroma of the sweets at the candy shop that has somehow survived everything unchanged in living memory – and not just Mannish memory.

But now it all sang to her of loss. Anariel wished only to flee, to lose herself in Lothlorien.

 ---

When she left the Dimrill Gate, the Misty Mountains behind her, Galadriel dropped to one knee on the pretext of admiring the hundreds of tiny, delicate flowers scattered about the path. (Whoever thought the dwarves lacked an eye for beauty erred!)  She knew she would see her daughter and her grandchildren again. But it was hard to leave them at such a distance, knowing they would have to take the danger of the road and come to her now. The growing shadow meant she and Elrond could no longer risk having two of the Three in one place for long.

 ---

Findis watched the girl lounging on the grass. Since Anariel first woke in Lorien, it had by times occurred to her she was watching a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis, or perhaps a crab from its shell. Unkind tongues suggested the girl frittered Estë’s time away needlessly. But her nights were still broken by horrors as often as not. Findis had been observing her charge closely. She realized that languid as the girl might appear, those green eyes did not miss so much as a single refraction of light off the surface of Lórellin. She only hoped that betokened healing.

---

The slate-grey skies were precisely the color of his wife’s eyes.

Nolofinwë wondered, as he often did, what she was doing now. He wondered, too, if she loved him yet or if her love had frayed or unraveled entirely with the deaths, first their son and now their nephews. The letter announcing the fate of Dorthonion lay crumpled on the floor where he’d dropped it. The scrambled egg meant for his breakfast had lost all savor; at least the light streaming through the window glass had the decency to dim.

Anairë, vanimeldë, forgive me. I have led them to ruin.

---

It was not until Nan-tathren that they were able to rest. They had hurried ever onward, stopping only long enough to briefly sleep, fearing ever that mischance might be their undoing. It would take but one orc scout stumbling across them or their trail while it was still fresh to bring the hordes of Angband down on them anew. But the willows whispered of safety, so they dared tarry. Eärendil found a pearl in a mussel from the streambed. When he gave it to his mother, it brought a true smile to her face and an embrace untouched by fear.

---

It was when they left her alone in the room her great-aunt said was hers as long as she wanted it that Elwing had time to consider all that had happened. Everything was so different now. The elements of the room – bed, window, chair, clothes press – were not so very different to her room in Sirion. But as seemed to be the rule in the Blessed Land, everything was brighter and more colorful. And, she discovered when she sank onto the bed, more comfortable. But much too large for only one person. Eärendil had better return to her. And soon.

Lockdown Instadrabbling, Round 3

Drabbles written for Lockdown Instadrabbling Round 3 on the SWG Discord, April 2020.

Featuring Artanis, Ambarussa, Anorië (daughter of Isildur), Celebrían, and Anariel and company.

Written to my prompt for the Soundtrack challenge, "The Creatures of Prometheus: Overture" by Ludwig van Beethoven.

Read Lockdown Instadrabbling, Round 3

Artanis watched the fog swirl around her, muting the sounds and dulling the colors of the woods. She allowed her mind to go quiet, letting a different sort of sound flow through it – the sound of the Music, the heartbeat of the forest and everything in it. That would tell her more of Brethil than her eyes or ears on a day like this. Her concentration was broken by Luthien’s giggle as a pair of warm hands slipped down over her eyes.

“Good that this is no true hunt, Celeborn,” she said tartly.

“Indeed, orcs are less playful,” he agreed.

---

Ambarussa tried not to stare too hard at the dessert.

The cook had meant well, he knew. How was she to know the splash of fruit syrup across the cream would bring back memories of blood on snow? (Children alone in the woods.) Just for a moment, he wished it were possible to lose himself in taverns and drink the way he once could have. To forget all he had seen and drown the pain of all he has forbidden himself to talk about.

But Alyamë was waiting expectantly, so he forced a smile onto his face.

“It is delicious.”

---

“You do not look happy, Lady Inzilmin.”

Her face gave nothing away of her dilemma – the speaker was unknown to her, so while he might be one of the Faithful, he might equally well be a King’s Man, or worse, a paid informer. Her cousin who lit the night even now had been condemned by the testimonies of such filth. The next live body to feed the flames could well be her own.

Be resolute, daughter.

“I had other plans for the free day,” she shrugged. “Watching a few vagrants given to the fires could have waited until the morrow.”

--- 

Celebrían looked down the valley of Imladris with a sigh.

At first sight, nothing had changed. And yet everything had. From the crucible of Mordor, the fires of war had sprung up to touch all of Ennor. Now that the smoke was clearing, they had to face the beginning of a new age, and without many dear to them.

The idea that Gil-galad could be gone from the world cut her fëa like a knife; the relief that Elrond was not might be equally intense, but did not erase the pain. She hardly knew whether to laugh, scream, or weep.

--- 

It was a relieved group that hightailed it out of the Hall of Fire and headed for their favorite waterfall once Elrond gave his children the discreet signal that meant they could consider themselves dismissed.

“Man, even that guy’s staff is pretentious,” Willow snickered.

 “Right?” Xander agreed. “At least Mithrandalf’s looks like it actually came from a tree.”

“I’m surprised Saruman’s isn’t made out of silver and diamond studded,” Anariel snorted.

“Do you think he’s compensating for something?” Anya asked, deadpan.

There was a split-second of silence before they all dissolved into laughter at the expense of their least-favorite wizard.

Chapter 6

December 27 2020 Instadrabbling

Read Chapter 6

Idril giggled at her cousin pacing about like a cat that had fallen into a fountain.

They liked to explore the valley– she hadn’t really seen much of it, having come right to the city, and Maeglin got restless on occasion. Neither of them had expected the summer storm this afternoon. At the first thunderclap, they’d raced for the shelter of the nearest buildings. It wasn’t as if their wanderings could take them very far, but it had been far enough to end up drenched.

“I’m glad one of us finds enchantment in being soaked to the bone,” Maeglin muttered.

---

Celeborn allowed a pair of guards to pass him by before he ducked into the alcove – for once, he found himself grateful for the ridiculous Noldorin architecture favored in Mithlond – to give himself a moment.

It was almost a relief that in all the fuss over Elrond, no one but his wife had yet remembered that he too had known Elros well. He roamed in memory back to the days when the twins had been only boys rather than princes. To think of that bright spirit gone from Arda forever…

Come to me, beloved.

Galadriel knew and mourned as well.

---

They’ve known each other since they were children, so it is far from difficult for Elwing to see when something is troubling her husband. More than usual, that is. It’s not at all weird to find him troubled in this difficult year.

He’s been staring out to sea all the day. It’s unlikely he’s hankering to sail anywhere, and she is discovering well enough what forms grief takes in him to know this isn’t it.

No, this is worry.

“Tell me, my love?” she says softly.

He hesitates before answering.

“It is Elrond,” he says, his voice thick with concern.

---

Thranduil knew perfectly well he’d have the mother of all hangovers in the morning. He was willing to accept that in exchange for being drunk enough to not see his father’s reaction to the news of Elros’ death. Or little Elrond’s.

They had all known perfectly well that it was unlikely Elros would turn back. Even had he changed his mind, the inscrutable Powers in the West would probably have held him to his original decision. In the privacy of his own (rather soused) mind, Thranduil wondered if sundering brothers – not just brothers, but twins – in this way wasn’t evil.

---

It was not the first time she had walked in this wood, but it was the first time she did so as Galadriel.

Did the trees sense the difference? Or did they recognize it by Celeborn’s presence at her side as they moved through the forest together? Either way, she can hear the rustling that is the arboreal equivalent of gossip, and the burbling water of the nearby stream carrying the tale farther still.

Was it really so remarkable that they had found themselves in tune? They might be from opposite sides of the Sea, but they were both Lindar.

---

The resurrection of Finrod’s legacy would be difficult, Orodreth knew. Especially since he had not come out of the confrontation with Curufin and Celegorm unscathed. The whispering might be starting to ebb, but he did not delude himself that it was gone entirely. He had not proven himself worthy of his father and uncle. It was the news that Finrod had died faithful to the last, broken by Sauron in the tower that had once been his own that had been the catalyst. He would do all in his power to protect Nargothrond and the people who called it home. 

Naturalist's Guide To Middle-earth, I

Drabbles from the Naturalist's Guide to Middle-earth Image Instadrabbling

January 10 2021

0:00 UTC

Read Naturalist's Guide To Middle-earth, I

Elros tugged Maedhros’ sleeve urgently – and utterly silently.

Bemused, he quietly followed the boy, who was at pains to make as little sound as possible.

They swiftly reached what Elros had clearly wanted him to see.

Seven birds, of the sort the elves of this area called waxwings, sat perched on a branch atop a tree that had not yet gotten its leaves.

The birds are like you and your brothers!

It was the first time either twin had favored him with osanwë, though he knew they frequently used it between themselves.

See, there is even a pair of twins!

 

 ---

 

Though Uncle Moryo was a master tailor with a talent for embroidery, Tyelperinquar had never seen him sketch anything before. But that was exactly what his uncle was doing now.

Tyelperinquar peered over his shoulder, and was surprised to find that his uncle was adding carefully – and in full color – to a page of butterflies.

“It will take some time and careful dye work to achieve the right colors to render them on fabric,” his uncle explained matter-of-factly. “I will need the sketches then to remind me of the patterns.”

Tyelperinquar hoped he would get to see the finished piece.

 

 ---

 

Finderato was astonished when the trees gave way to water and the strangest things he’d ever seen. He was trying to work out just what the things floating here and there on the water were – some sort of causeway, perhaps? – when a bird ran across one.

His face must have been quite the sight, for Cirdan burst out laughing.

“They’re just water lilies, lad. But bigger – they’re large enough that we can walk on them, if we’re careful.”

Astonishment gave way to excitement. Just wait until he wrote to Artë that he had gone walking across the water on plants!

 

 ---

 

“What is that flower called?”

Lindë shrugged.

“I don’t know. I haven’t been back here since the Trees… this one is new.”

Tyelpesilmë sighed. Perhaps it had been a bad idea to bring her law-sister with her. She had thought it might do Lindë some good.

But Lindë had preferred to sail up or down the coast to go climbing up to spots she knew of from before her youth. This was not the only one that had changed. But it was the only one from which they could see the last of the embarkment and the ships making way.

 

 ---

 

“What in the name of Varda is that?” Elros demanded in an undertone.

Elrond had no more idea than his brother. Luckily, Elros hadn’t been quiet enough.

“Better to name Mahal’s mate for that, my lad!” their teacher chuckled.

“That’s a plant?” Elros asked, radiating skepticism.

“No, it’s a fungus,” Akraghâl explained. “As are the smaller ones. We call them elf-cups, seeing as they always grow on riverbanks.”

Elros’ eyes lit, and several of their classmates giggled.

“Can we drink from them?” he asked eagerly.

“If you really want to, but you’ll find it gives the water an odd taste.”

 

  ---

 

Elros stared at the multi-colored insects in his son’s ‘collection’ in bemusement.

This was definitely not any of the grasshoppers he remembered from his childhood. There hadn’t been any near Sirion, at least not that he could recall. The ones near Amon Ereb had been a dull green with brown legs; the ones on the eastern side of Tumunzahar had looked rather like leaves – a form of camouflage, Akraghâl had explained.

This so-called grasshopped had vibrant red wings, a rear section that looked akin to a bee at first glance, and speckles all over its head.

“Are you sure, Vardamir?”

 

  ---

 

Curufinwë wasn’t sure what was so important for him to see that Tyelko needed him *now*. Their camp was barely established. He had much to do.

He’d only been pried away by Tyelko’s admission that he had left Tyelpë outside the camp *alone*. There will be another kinslaying if anything has happened to his son.

His jaw dropped when they reached the clearing Tyelko had been aiming for. The massive nest dominated the scene.

“Isn’t it amazing?” Tyelpë beamed. “I think we should call it the atto-bird – he likes shiny things and everything in his house arranged just so, too.”

Naturalist's Guide To Middle-earth, II

Naturalist's Guide To Middle-earth Image Instadrabbling

January 10 2021

14:00 UTC

Read Naturalist's Guide To Middle-earth, II

Yavanna was surprised at the summons. Uinen was one of Ulmo’s folk, not hers. But she was also intrigued, so she answered at once.

“You made protectors for the trees,” Uinen said, her form turbulent with concern. “What of the sea creatures? They too need their defenders!”

The Children to come did not live in the water, and Yavanna had thought that would be enough. But Uinen was quite certain it was not. And now that she shared her thought, Yavanna knew she had the right of it.

“Let us work together,” she suggested.

The seas would not be neglected.

 

 ---

 

Celeborn could tell by the look on her face that Galadriel – still publicly Artanis, alas, but in private with him always Galadriel – was reliving some memory that was far from pleasant.

He had thought the north-lights would be something she would enjoy. Instead, they had wakened painful memories. The question he had meant to pose this night would have to wait.

“Will you tell me what bothers you, my love?” he asked softly.

Her eyes never left the dancing lights, but she leaned into him rather than away.

“We saw them for the first time on the Ice,” she explained.

 

 ---

 

Eowyn gasped as she passed through the ancient wall. She had never seen anything like it in the Mark.

Then again, she wouldn’t have – there were no ancient Numenorian ruins in the Mark. If there were, they would have been unmade long ago, as quarried stone was rarer there, and the Eorlingas would have eagerly reused any to be found.

Someone – possibly even her husband – had driven in posts and run a rope so that anyone marvelling as she was wouldn’t absently walk off the path and tumble down into what might once have been a river, now a lush swathe of green dotted with wildflowers. The forested hillside seemed to be trying to run right down into it.

Faramir smiled.

“It’s beautiful!” she told him.

“Indeed,” he replied. “I have never been there, but the sons of Elrond say it is very similar to what they call ‘the garden of Maedhros’ on Himling.”

Eowyn hesitated only a moment.

“Perhaps we should visit there, if it could be done?”

For once, she had surprised him. His smile only widened.

“Yes, I think it could. I should like to see it. And when we return – would you like to live here?”

 

 ---

 

“That is not a fish!”

Finderato looked indignantly at his Sindarin cousins. Celeborn kept his reaction to dignified amusement, but both Lúthien and Oropher howled with laughter.

“It is,” Celeborn replied mildly.

“It’s on dry land! And walking!”

“Yes, they do that if their pond has dried up and they need to seek a new home. Or if their current home is not to their liking. Or occasionally just because they can. They seem to have personalities much as elves do.”

Finderato might have argued had one of the creatures not chosen that exact moment to flick mud at him.