M&G drabbles collection by mairoff

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Meet & Greet Drabbles Collection

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Something never seen before

 

Time and time again the golden flowers had bloomed under her care. Time and time again, Laurelin had been her world, safe under the canopy of blazing gold and soft fiery song. Now Arien stood alone and above, orb of fire and heart aflame. The Sun they called her, Daybringer. Something never seen before, something of a new beginning. Something of a replacement for a loss of more than safety. Time and time again Arien moved above them, time and time again she called and hoped for another. In the land of shadows where she had never been seen before. 

 

A wrong interpretation

 

“They call you a Maiden.” Tilion flounders, blushing bright red, crimson clashing with the silver paints of his cheekbones. Arien gives him a withering look, gathers her skirts and flips her hair. 

“And so?” The Hunter mumbles, and bites his nails, looks down and misses the smirk on red lips, dangerous like fire, hypnotic like starlight. 

“Shall I feel honoured by your attention then?” Her voice is musical, the laughter soft as petals, the eyes shimmering as plated golden in the candlelight. 

“Yes?” 

“Sweet innocent Tilion.” the Maia laughs, his skin warms, burns even under the brief contact of fingers on his cheek. 

 

Being delayed

 

Trekking through Endórë takes longer than anticipated. They have scouts, they have spies, they also have hundreds of Amanyar in a brand new location. No Unbegotten is with them and so the Vanyar discover a land they only have heard their King often sings of. It’s too slow, too too slow. Eönwë counts the hours and counts the days then stops when it turns into months and years. Orcs under their blades for each kilometre conquered, horror in rumours for each settlement freed. The Gates of Iron so far, so far. Each day with its taunt, each day with its end. He looks at the sunset and hopes, longs then breathes. A new day tomorrow, and he hopes no new delay. 

 

M&G: Lost In Memory

 

Nienna sits in her tower at night. Tilion, far off his usual trajectory, casts off silver eerie shapes around her. It is a crisp winter night now. They have seasons. They have many things. She has sorrows. Nienna remembers the Before, beyond Time, she often likes to sing about it, quietly, to herself. Could one miss a time that happened not in Time? Nienna’s tears are warm against her veiled skin, the fabric indigo sticks to her cheeks. Lost in memory she does not seem to see the shape of one larger than her, looming in the corner but she senses his presence nonetheless. 

 

“You were foolish to hope for me.”

 

“I am stronger because I hope.” she replies.

 

Reading a good book

 

“Are you enjoying your reading, my love?”  

Celeborn nods, it is a good book then looks up from it with a tender smile, “Very much so. But I must say, my Lady looks positively radiant tonight.” 

Galadriel offers a smile, full of adoration, full of contentment. “Flattery my Lord?”

“Only for the greatest of Elvenkind.” His wife rolls her eyes and he opens his arms for her to settle in. The burden of leadership comes easy to her, but in those instances, behind closed doors, the greatest of the Noldor is simply Galadriel, his wife, his most precious jewel. 

 

M&G - “Wait, that can’t be right…”

 

The healers had been quite clear, quite precise. The book she was reading on the matter was filled with explanations ranking from flowery metaphors to literal methodical step by step instructions. Melian felt horrified. “Wait…”she says, one hand hovering over the swell of her stomach toward the apex of her legs, “That can’t be right.” Incarnated body or not, she would not subject herself to this… barbarian act. “Please inform my husband that I will now be giving birth.” 

 

“My lady? Are you having contractions?”

 

Melian waved a hand, silencing their non ending chatter. “Ridiculous notion, I have simply decided it was time.” Standing up with some difficulty, Melian walked in the middle of the room, then started singing. 

 

When King Thingol arrived minutes later, he found his wife holding a bundle of clothes to her chest. As well as a quite traumatised-looking couple of handmaidens. 

 

Group - Follow

 

Eönwë’s day had veered so out of its usual direction he did not know why he was feeling any kind of surprise or bafflement at the scene playing in front of him. A group of Maiar, dressed in ridiculous accoutrements were parading in the streets, following what looked like to be some hastily made statue of the Lord of the Seas, build in dried seaweeds and seashells and upon which stood a crown made of dark woods decorated in pearls. 

“What-” wordless in the face of the parade that had now been attracting the attention of many Elves and Elflings, he spotted that one person Eönwë knew would have been behind it all. Especially when it came to spreading pranks and chaos. 

“Ossë.” he groaned but it was his spouse, sweet Uinen who shuffled forward in a large robe of azure and cyan tule, an apologetic smile on her face.

“He heard of that Atani’s custom, a carnival?” 

Eönwë closed his eyes, feeling a headache pressing behind his eyes and ëala alike.

 

 Running, distance, breathless, limits 

 

He is running, feet hammering the gravel, legs burning, burning, lungs empty, catching on too little oxygen. He is running and breathless and at his limits but he keeps on and on. The three peaks are lost in ashes and roiling clouds, ahead, so far away but Fingon presses on, shortening the distance. More, he urges his hröa, more. 3 decades of resentment, 3 decades of ice. 3 decades of Russo taken away. Fingon does not even cry, does not even swear or curse, he's past hating, it dies with so many on the Helcaraxë. No, instead he just runs and runs until his legs fail him, until he coughs up blood, until he has to stop and breathe. More, he says to no one around him. 

 

Contempt 

 

It certainly is the contempt on Fëanáro's face, Varda thinks with distaste. Ungrateful little thing who thinks himself above them all. Including his own kin. He shouts and threatens and hollers. And in all of this, Varda hears the words of Melkor, hears the Discord, hears the will of Another. His own words? She sneers. Her brother in law is a master at corrupting others without raising a sole sense of awareness.

 

Flawed they are, perhaps. The Music they sang had changed so much. Accused of many things by most who forgot much of History. She cares not. It is funny when he lands in the Halls so little time after making a grand speech. She leaves compassion to Nienna and tolerance and kindness to her husband. Varda is made of the violence of supernovae, she burns and consumes. No, he won't get Darkness Everlasting. They are not Melkor. They are not their Father either.

 

Fëanáro is certainly like Melkor, she thinks. Greatness gone wrong. Varda has galaxies between her hands and she twirls them, round and round. Let him rage. He will calm down. Nothing is evil in the beginning. Nothing is evil.

 

The Void seems to sneer at her from the edge of an accretion disk. 

 

M&G: A sentient object

 

His maker likes to stare at him, likes to stroke him, likes to call him his precious. The name, the one that echoes is one forgotten - Mairon, Admirable, Precious is a weapon he likes to use as poison on a collapsing mind. He is made of malice and greed, every song of seduction every sung to and by his maker. What do you want, what do you wish, tell me, tell me, he sings. Order, order and peace - no, war! For peace we must have war. Unleash me he  whispers,  unleash me on weaker minds Master, I shall bring you all that you want. It is delicious to control, it is delicious to own. He is the One Ring, the one that will bring them all into his dominion and control. His maker included. 

 

M&G: A fresh start

 

He is a child of darkness, a soul doomed to sinister pursuits, he is the child born of fleeting passion, born in captivity, born without hope. He is the villain in the story, the betrayer, the one pitied in tragic tales. When Maeglin falls, he thinks it is fitting. Like father, like child. Doom him to the Darkness from whence he came. It is just so. 

“No, child.” A voice says, gently. “No one is born evil.” He wakes up to light, so much light and warmth and love. “There is a new beginning in each ending.” 

 

M&G: Unusual weather

 

The wind had picked up in the morning, violent and unforgiving, pushing the ships back onto the shores, cresting waves with foam that landed like sea snowflakes against their windows. There was an intent in the storm Cirdan felt, a terrifying one. He had just finished ordering the rest of the village to retreat inland when his old friend materialised between droplets, face pale and hollow. 

 

“It has begun my friend.”

 

Cirdan remembered Ossë’s terror and his grief, he remembered seeing mountains of water crashing over torn cliffs, he remembered hearing a dreadful Song in the water, an horrifying sound as the earth beneath his feet cracked and curled. He remembered feeling, sensing the end of an old world.

 

M&G: A favourite place

 

Celebrian loved Imladris. She loved the soft hues, the gentle breeze, the chiming of waterfalls. She most particularly loved the care in which Lord Elrond ensured all newcomers be settled at ease and at peace. The last heaven of the Elves in the east of Eriador. 

 

Celebrian had travelled many times with her parents over the years, from west to east to north to south, yet her favourite place in all Middle-Earth was a wooden bench overlooking the gardens from where she could observe Lord Elrond taking his regular morning walk amongst the flowers. Celebrian thought that now matter how beautiful Imladris was, when he knelt to pick up a lily and smell it, eyes closed and smile tender, her world seemed to finally make sense, illuminated by the Light her mother had been born under. 

 

M&G: A minor catastrophe 

 

Ossë looks at his own doing and lets out a nervous laughter. Behind him he can already sense his wife fast approaching amidst the currents. Ah. 

“Darling, what did you do this time?” comes Uinen’s exasperated wife but Ossë only smiles wider, hand gesturing wildly.

“Nothing much, nothing much, just some unexpected rippling effects, err a minor event.”

“A minor catastrophe you mean.” 

“I am sure Lord Ulmo would not notice.”

“The wide fault right below Tol Eressëa?”

Ossë gives another nervous laughter, flicking his tail around before coming to embrace Uinen, a smirk on his face. “Don’t tell me you don’t want to explore it too?”

“Allfather be my witness, Ossë your mischief never stops.” 

Kissing her cheek he cackles then swims near the precipice with a curious look. Whatever can be hidden in the darkness he ponders to himself.