Whimsies by Grundy

Waggle

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“It was really quite terrible of you,” Bilbo said as reproachfully as he could manage after his host had fed him so excellent a dinner.

“Ah, but it was amusing,” Gildor replied merrily. “And I dare say you sang a verse or two under your breath by times before you reached the Mountain!”

“I must say I had never noted any of the Khazad with beards that waggled,” Finrod said to his son.

“That’s because you only knew respectable ones!” Gildor snorted. “Thorin and company were a sight less reputable when they first arrived in the valley – and less cordial.”

Winter

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The first winter in their new land was an echo of the Ice – but the first echo, the one that has not yet lost its potency. The memory, refreshed with every blast of frigid wind, chilled them as much as any air coming down from the north did or could. No doubt their Enemy knew, and enjoyed their predicament. But Nolofinwë too had sworn, and not lightly, and if the Helcaraxë had not stopped him, the worst cold the Mithrim could remember certainly wouldn’t. Spring would come, the cold would fade, and they would have their vengeance for his father.

Waistcoat

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“You may well blind someone in that,” Maeglin said, warily eying the new waistcoat Egalmoth was showing off.

He had over the past years grown accustomed to the Ondolindrim’s love of gaudy hues and glittering gems, but the jewel-encrusted garment sparkling in every color of the rainbow seemed a bit much even by their standards.

“Lad,” the Lord of the Heavenly Arch sighed, “just because you don’t like bright colors doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t. A little cheer harms no one.”

“Cheer might not,” Maeglin replied, “but all those cut stones worked into the coat are another matter.”

Wruxled

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Irissë glared at her tutor.

“You made that one up,” she said crossly.

Or threw it in just to see if we were paying attention, Artanis suggested.

While it wasn’t odd for them to have never heard a word, it was strange that they hadn’t been able to find it in the lexicon the Lambengolmor had been compiling.

“I most certainly am not,” Rumil sniffed. “It is an old word, no longer in use.”

“Then what does it mean?” Irisse demanded.

“No one is sure,” Rumil replied.

I bet Uncle Naro knows, Artanis snorted.

Good. We’ll ask him at dinner.

Whole

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Celebrían frowned down her tiny nose at the insolent Falathrim boy who had dared question the shape and composition of her family.

“I do not see where it is any of your business, but my family is whole, thank you very much,” she informed him.

She was well aware that some of her playmates had more relatives than she did – grandparents, for a start, and aunts. She only had Uncle Oropher, who she didn’t see very often. But she did have cousins…

“If you think otherwise, you’re welcome to take it up with my parents. Or perhaps with King Gil-galad.”

Wallop

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The crack of flesh meeting flesh with force echoed.

Nerdanel was out of her workshop and into the kitchen before whoever was responsible could flee. Tyelko was backing swiftly away from Moryo, whose face was a furious red betokening payback.

“Tyelkormo,” she said sternly. “You are no longer such a child that you can claim you didn’t know better than to hit your brother!”

“He started it,” Tyelko muttered resentfully, glaring at his little brother. “The brat.”

“Did not!”

“Did so!”

“Enough!” she thundered. “Tyelkormo, you can apologize later, when you actually mean it. For now, go to your room.”

Wane

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“What think you of these fascinating new lights in the sky?”

Írimë considered her answer.

“I believe I prefer one that sprang from Laurelin,” she said slowly. “Its constancy is more to my liking.”

“Ah, but if Telperion’s flower were so constant, we would not be able to enjoy Elbereth’s stars so,” he host replied, a twinkle in his eyes.

She bit back her undiplomatic first thought. She mustn’t offend Círdan of the Falas. Nolo would be furious.

“That is true, yet I prefer not to have to plan my comings and goings around a light that waxes and wanes.”

Wander

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“Shall we go a-wandering, my lady?”

Celeborn held out a hopeful hand in her direction.

Galadriel –her new name fitted well – smiled at the man she would not call suitor. Not yet, at least. For now, she preferred to keep whatever was between them to just the two of them.

“I am guessing you have some particular spot in mind?” she asked.

The last time she’d gone with him, he’d brought her to a treetop from which one could see the broad plains of Estolad spread out before them.

“Perhaps,” he grinned. “But you won’t know unless you come along.”

Waiting

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There had been a time when Anairë of the Noldor had delighted in visits to Alqualondë. She had spent many days there in the company of her dear friend and law-sister Eärwen, with or without their children. The Sea had been a comfort then. But that had been before. Before her husband promised to follow his brother’s madness. Before blood had stained the quays. Before her children and husband had marched away on the Ice. Before she could no longer meet the Ciriáran’s eyes. Before the Sea became painful, as the wait for word – good or ill – dragged out interminably.

Wampum

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Itarillë nearly dropped the shell – she had picked it up thinking it might be a jewel like Atto said had been on the strands in Alqualondë – before Cirlim spoke.

“Oh, lucky! That’s a good one to save!”

She looked at her friend in surprise. He was one of the Nevrastim, the elves who made their home on these shores. The shell was shiny, worn by wave and weather to near transparency, but she wasn’t sure what she would do with it.

“If you don’t start saving good ones like that, you’ll never have anything pretty to wear – or to trade.”

Water

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“Why water?” Galadriel asked.

She waited patiently while her mentor considered her answer.

“Tell me what you know of water,” Melian said eventually.

“It is necessary for life,” Galadriel said. “The domain of Ulmo.”

“Good beginnings,” Melian nodded.

She let water trickle from the miniature waterfall into a metal basin.

“But there is more than that to it. The echo of the Music is strongest in water, and as water passes through so many living beings, kelvar and olvar alike, their Song is added to the echoes. If you wish to See more clearly, first you must learn to listen.”

Want

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Findekano looked dubiously at the squalling bundle of blankets. The baby’s tiny face was scrunched up like Uncle Naro in the middle of an argument.

His parents were watching him expectantly.

“Aren’t you going to greet your brother?” Atto prompted him. “You’ve been waiting all year to see him.”

Findekano would really rather not. Turukano was loud, and did not sound pleased.

Yes, he had been excited at the idea of a baby brother once Tyelko made it sound so exciting. But he was fairly sure this wasn’t what he had wanted.

“Couldn’t I have a quieter one?” he asked.

Wain

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Findis smiled.

It had been a hard time since the Darkening, but with the rising of the sun, life had begun to find its new rhythms. They had been able to plant crops again, and with Yavanna’s aid, the plants were adapting well to the new light cycle.

The last of the wains bearing their first harvest were trundling into the granaries and storehouses. There was more than enough to feed them well through the fallow time of year – and enough to finally consider a festival.

After so much sadness, her people not only needed but deserved to make merry.

Walrus

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Andreth peered at the illustration. The creature looked beyond odd to her eyes, almost too strange to be believed. Two enormous teeth jutted down from its mouth, but at the same time, it had jaunty whiskers. Its front legs ended not in something more like an extended duck foot, while it appeared to have no back legs at all.

“These are real?” she asked, trying to keep the skepticism from her voice.

“They are only found near the Sea,” Aegnor explained. “I am afraid that unlike most creatures, they do not love my people. We hunted them on the Ice.”

Wasp

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As usual, they heard their enemy long before they saw a single orc. Tyelkormo grinned in anticipation. The creatures seemed incapable of silence. Their lairs buzzed louder than any wasp’s nest. He had gotten the inspiration when one of his guards had made that comparison. After all, one known way to pacify wasps if their nest had to be moved was to smoke them. Knowing the entrances to the cave complex meant they could do something similar. The difference here was that the orc were not intended to survive the procedure. Their nest was to be exterminated, not merely anaesthetized.

Warm

Rating on this chapter is higher than the others - call it Teen rather than General.

Read Warm

“Something is bothering you,” Findekano sighed.

Maitimo gave him a look of fond annoyance before turning back to the papers on his desk.

“Nothing is bothering me, Finno. Except possibly you.”

“You’re a terrible liar, you know,” Findekano replied, trailing a finger down Maitimo’s back and enjoying the reaction it elicited.  “I can feel how tense you are.”

He grinned, his hands wandering around to caress Maitimo’s thighs.

“In fact, I’m absolutely certain you have a small problem here,” he grinned, one teasing hand drifting still further up. “Am I getting warm yet?”

He took Maitimo’s moan as a yes.

Wild

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In Tirion, no one had known quite what to do with her. Even her own mother had often been exasperated – loving, but exasperated all the same – at how she did not fit in.

In Gondolin, she had been forced to pretend to be all that she was not. Responsible. Administrative. A proper Noldorin princess.

In Nan Elmoth, she comes and goes as she pleases, and if she wants to answer the call of the forest or dance naked in the moonlight, her husband is not bothered at all.

In Aman they would call her wild. Here they call her free.

Wick

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Elros watched in fascination as the Haladin completed their ritual, marking the end of what people were beginning to call the Great Voyage. He wasn’t sure why they thought it was at an end, not when ships were still arriving, and would for years to come. But he enjoyed the ceremony. There was song, and chanting of the history of the people, and bright flowers freshly cut laid on the rocks by the sea, and finally double wick candles that tradition dictated must be left to burn out of their own accord. He wondered what other ceremonies he would see.

 

Walnut

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The autumn was glorious, the trees a riot of color. Equally exciting, many of the edibles were bearing their first bounty. There had been few fruit or nut trees when they first stumbled onto the valley. Elrond had approached the matter with caution – while he wanted his stronghold to be self-sufficient, he did not wish to spoil the natural beauty with too much cultivation or importation of trees that did not belong. But after careful planning and judicious experimentation, not to mention several years of growth, they could look forward not only to apple pies, but walnut cakes this winter.

Warlock & Wield

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Elrond frowned.

He was no stranger to the idea that one could use words as Music, to manipulate the world. But the powers the self-proclaimed King of Angmar wielded were not any that belonged to the world of Men.

He looked with more than just his eyes, and to his dismay, found what he sought.

Angmar wore a ring of dark metal, in which was set a single milky stone.

The Three were safe. But as Celebrimbor had feared, the lesser rings had fallen with Eregion.

Blood of Numenor as he claimed or not, Angmar’s fate would be grim indeed.

Wake

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Curufinwë was jarred from a deep sleep by a sudden crash and then wetness.

He leapt from his bed with a yelp, but too slow to catch or even spot the culprits.

Not that it was hard to work out who it had been. The giggles that floated back to him from the hallway were too young to be any of his older brothers.

“Just you two wait until I get my hands on you!” he yelled, stomping to the door.

The pounding on the stairs meant the twins had scampered as fast as their little legs could carry them.

Wandreth

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Aldamir looked around the wreckage in dismay.  Perhaps he had been foolish, but he had not expected it to be as bad as it was.  

Osgiliath had been a jewel of the kingdom, its graceful avenues planted with trees, and its buildings housing some of the most precious pieces of their heritage. But the usurper had sacked and burnt it as mercilessly as Sauron himself could have hoped to do. Its libraries had suffered grievously. The Dome of Stars had been destroyed, and the seeing-stone was missing.

With Ornendil dead, it would fall to him to put all this right.

Walm

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“Elves!” Narvi laughed. “Always with the complicated theories when a simple one will do.”

“What then is your explanation?” Celebrimbor asked curiously.

“The Maker, when he had placed the Fathers where they would waken, realized Durin would need a sign to show them where he ought to begin his own work. So he tapped Barazinbar several times with his hammer. Wherever he touched, a stream sprang up to run down the Stair. And at the bottom of the stair, he stomped with his foot, so that the waters trickling down joined waters bubbling up, and so was the Mirrormere made.”