Drabbles by Grundy

Lockdown Instadrabbling, Round 2

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

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

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.