Drabbles by Grundy

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.

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.