In an effort to get my muses working again, I'm writing some semi-
drabbles. I say semi - they're too long for a 'true' drabble.

To watch and Learn

He watched.

He watched as they rode out to destinations known and unknown, to Imladris, Greenwood and Lindon. Those places were exciting enough, but they were places he could also go.

It was the others he envied most, the ones who rode to Gondor and Rohan, or to any place of men. He had never seen a mortal and longed to do so. To see how they lived, to understand how they came to terms with the brevity of their lives.

So many questions welled in his heart, but the answers were ever
elusive and would remain so until the day he rode out on a journey of discovery.

He would make that journey though. It might take time, but the day would come.

Turning away from the window, Haldir sat back down at the table, to continue his lesson in the common tongue with renewed determination.

The End

This Moment

Never had he thought that anything could be so beautiful. Yet the
miracle before him proved that anything was possible.

Was this what it had all been about? All the pain, suffering and
struggles of the previous years, for this? If it was so, then it was
worth it. He'd have fought a hundred more battles and weathered
dozens more cruel winters, if it would have helped bring him to this moment.

Gently, Oropher reached into the crib and lifted his son into his
arms. He smiled, seeing the child instinctively curl towards him,
reaching for his warmth and love. Already this tiny being had utterly stolen his heart.

"Thranduil," he whispered, stroking one tiny cheek. At this the child reached out one chubby hand, finding his finger and clutching it with surprising strength.

A tear came to his eye as his son held on to him, the strength
reassuring. In his heart, Oropher knew that he would one day be
parted from his child, but now he knew that whatever happened to him, Thranduil would survive.

The End

Maglor's Lament

I sing.

I sing for my lost brothers, who I will never see again in the life of Arda.

I sing for the terrible oath that brought us to such a grievous end, an oath that should never have been sworn.

I sing for the blood that was spilt, for the lives I took in the upholding of that rashly sworn oath.

I sing for what could have been... peace and harmony on the shores of Valinor.

I sing for the Silmarils, for the purity tainted by hate and greed with which we pursued them.

I sing for Earendil, for his sacrifice and nobility that I could never hope to attain.

I sing for myself, for my troubled soul that may never find peace.

I sing.

The End

This started off as one almost-drabble, but turned into two! Because they're connected, I'm posting them together.

Silver and Gold

The Golden Wood they call it, yet truly, it is not so. The trees themselves are silver - but it is the leaves that are gold and are their crowning glory.

Just like us.

I may do much of the work, overseeing the running of the realm and its defenses, which I know does not go unnoticed, but what you do is something else altogether.

You are the light by which we see, the golden crown that I would be nothing without. I am the moon to your sun; my own light comes from that which you give.

Only you can heal the wounded with but a thought, or calm the fearful with a simple smile. Only you could have charmed a people not your own and become accepted as their Lady.

I do not know what I did to deserve your love, but am eternally grateful for it. I hope you always know that you alone hold my heart and soul and that I love you with all that I am.

The End

************

The Sun and the Moon

I see you, the way you smile at me, the adoration and love that never
leaves your eyes. It never fails to warm my heart, but I wonder, do you know that your feelings are returned? I fear sometimes that I am too aloof and that you have cause to doubt my heart.

Never doubt it, my love. You are so humble, not seeing your own greatness, only mine. But I see, I know what lies behind your outward calm.

A brilliant mind; whose strategies have saved us time and again. A compassionate heart; always thinking of your people. A beautiful soul; that has a connection to the Earth I can only dream of.

If you are indeed the moon to my sun, then it is your light that shines brightly in the dark and leads us through the night.

You are my strength, my light and I love you.

The End

Note: There *is* a Faramir story coming, promise!

************

Fading Hope

He couldn’t believe it, how could this have happened? It had only been a tiny cut and he had tended to it with all due care and attention.

Yet somehow it had still become infected and now the child’s tiny body was wracked with fever.

Elrond knelt by Estel’s bed, holding the tiny hand in his as the boy’s breathing became shallower.

The elf-lord’s shoulders shook as he cried, tears for his own failings and the life of the small boy who had so easily taken hold of his heart, who was like a son to him.

He couldn’t bear to lose him, not now, not like this. It was too soon, he had too much to do! Elrond’s heart was heavy; would a simple oversight rob the world of its greatest hope?

“Forgive me,” he whispered through his tears, losing all dignity and reserve in the face of this terrible loss. “I love you, my son.”

With a hand that trembled, he placed his palm on the child’s forehead, praying that he might find rest swiftly.

And then Estel opened his eyes.

The End

At Last

It had been long years since last he had filled his lungs with sweet air and felt the grass soft beneath his feet.

Millennia had passed since he had marvelled at the colour of the summer flowers and heard the sweet song of the birds as they flew about the clear blue sky.

Yet at last Mandos had seen fit to release him from his hall and give him a second chance at life. He had awoken that morning on the soft sands of Valinor, to his surprise and delight.

It had not taken long for him to realise what had occurred and with joy in his heart he had started walking, heading towards the city in the distance, full of hope for who he might find there.

Though it was not necessary to complete the journey, for as he approached the forest, a figure appeared at the edge of the trees.

For a long moment they simply stared at each other, unable to believe what they were seeing. Then the figure moved, flying towards him.

A moment later Thranduil was in Oropher’s arms and everything was right at last.

The End

Faramir semi-drabble, as requested! Sorry for the delay!

The Gift

He loved to watch the warriors. They were so fluid in their movements, the swords moving so fast he could make out little more than a blur of silver.

His brother was the best, though. No one else was that fast, that accurate.  But then, that was why he was captain. It was through sheer skill and hard work that he had risen through the ranks, not, as some jealous of him suggested, because of his bloodline.

One day, he hoped he’d be as good.

The practice ended and the soldiers left, all but his brother. He would check the weapons and then they’d leave together, as they always did.

“Faramir!”

His head shot up, he was being called? That was not the usual way of things! He looked curiously at his brother, who smiled.

“Come, brother! I have a gift for you!”

Faramir needed no further encouragement, running over to where Boromir stood.

“What is it?” he asked.

Reaching behind him, Boromir produced the one item Faramir had coveted since he had been old enough to walk; a wooden training sword.

“You are old enough, I think,” Boromir said, smiling at his ten-year-old brother. “Come; let me teach you how to wield it.”

With a cry of joy, Faramir threw his arms around Boromir’s neck, before taking the wooden sword.

“Thank you,” he whispered, smiling up at his adored brother.

“I want you beside me, little brother,” he said simply. “Brothers should never be apart.”

The End

If you haven't read the Silm - you may not get this. Helpful notes at
the end though.

~These Letters I Write~

They have sung my praises for this great invention, named me scholar
and sage over and again. It will change our lives, they tell me,
allow us to record things that would otherwise have been lost, should
our memories fail.

Yet they are not perfect, these letters. Even I can see it - there
are inconsistencies that make them difficult to use and they are hard
to learn. The children especially have trouble.

I could revise them; it would not be an overly great task. Now that I
have experience, I can see where I went wrong, that writing is not
simply written speech - it is more, and less all at once.

Yes, I could revise them. However, each time I try to do just that,
something stops me. A feeling that it is not for me to do, that
another is meant to take on that task. It is a feeling I can not
overcome, even as I sit with my quill poised in my hand.

A commotion reaches my ears, so loud that it causes me to drop the
quill. My door flies open to reveal a young and very excited elf
standing there.

"My Lord Rúmil!" he cries. "A son has been born to King Finwë!"

I jump up, a smile spreading over my face, the quill forgotten in the
wake of this glorious news.

"That is wonderful!" I cry, we had all hoped for the King to have an
heir. "Has he been named?"

"Aye," the Elf replies. "His name is Fëanor."

~The End~

Yup, Rúmil - just not the usual one! *Grins*

Rúmil of Tirion was a great Noldorin Sage in Valinor and was the
first to invent writing. However, Fëanor later produced a better
system.

I'm aware that his birth name would not have been Fëanor, probably
Curufinwë, but I decided to use the name most people would know.

Regret

I loved you, father. Everything I did was for you. We all followed you, all took the oath. But no one followed it with as much fervour as I. Despite your constant disapprovals, I never stopped trying to win your favour, to be the best of your sons.

I know you loved me, but still I could never live up to your expectations. Even after you died I still wanted to be the perfect son, in case we should one day meet again. I was relentless in my pursuit of the Silmarils and it led me into ruin. I became cold, corrupted. My actions were of such evil that even Huan, my most trusted companion, deserted me.

Now I am dead and doomed to spend eternity in Mandos’ Halls. Are you proud of me now, Father? Are you?

END

As per the request I recieved for a Maedhros drabble.

Conflict

The flames dance in the corner of my eyes, unavoidable, no matter how I try. They dance and taunt me - I should have tried harder to sway my father from this course of action. I failed and now all I can do is stand aside.

Yet who am I to sway my father from anything? Never has he listened to council, going so far as to drive my mother away. I am but the first of seven sons, an heir by virtue of good timing. Or bad, perhaps, for what am I heir to now, but blood and grief?

I understand my father’s quest, his love of that which he created. I understand it and I will aid him as I have sworn. Yet here, now, as I feel the heat on my body and the smell of the White Ships burning I think only ‘we should not have done this’.

~End~

Shadows of Perfection

I despise the Silmarils. They have been praised and admired by all who have lain eyes on them - save me. In them I saw no beauty, only the end of an ancient peace and a terrible darkness.

I had feared it even before they were finished, when the light in his eyes burned with an intensity that no Elf should possess. It was then that I had first come to understand how he sapped his mother's strength so much she desired eternal death. It was then that I left, my heart trying to distance itself from the hurt I knew it would have to bear.

Yet all my fears could not prepare me for the reality, the day the fire and madness finally took him – the day Melkor stole them. For a brief moment I had been glad, hoping they were gone and that they could be forgotten, yet it lasted but seconds. With painful swiftness I knew that he regarded them too highly, that he would pursue them to whatever end.

It was with a heavy heart that I could only watch as all my nightmares came to life. As he swore the oath and then left, taking with him all my children. I knew then that I would never see any of them again.

For the sake of three jewels, all I ever loved was lost.

I despise the Silmarils.

END

That Which is Earned

It is not my first formal event, nor my first time amongst those of status. Yet my stomach turns nervously as I lace up my tunic and I grow frustrated as my attempts to braid my hair fail, my hands shaking too much to perform the usually simple task.

I feel panic rising within me – I can not be late! Yet nor can I leave before being properly attired, it would be disrespectful. Panic is not an emotion I am used to and I do not know how to deal with it. In my heart, I start to wonder if I should even attend at all.

Then I hear the door open and the soft steps of my father as he approaches me. He laughs lightly as he takes in my pale face and unbraided hair.

“Let me,” he says, picking up the brush. I relax, visibly relieved as he deftly braids my hair in the fashion of his house – of our house.

“There, all done.” His tone is so soft – I cannot remember hearing him so gentle since I was a child. Glancing in the mirror I nod in approval and turn to him, smiling.

“Thank you.”

He puts his finger under my chin, raising my head until it is held high.

“Be proud, my son,” he tells me, “You have done well. Tonight is your night.”

It is the greatest praise I could ever hear and spontaneously I hug him – a rare event these days.

“I will not let you down, father.”

Then, before I can further embarrass myself, I turn and leave, more confident now. Tonight I will sit in the halls of Oromë, with the greatest hunters in all of Aman, and know that I deserve my place amongst them.

END

Note: It's from Celegorm's POV, in case there's any doubt. :)

Title: The Chase
Author: Tuxedo Elf
Rating: G
Character: Thranduil
Summary: A chase in the palace.
Notes: I was bored.

***********

The King of Greenwood ignored the odd looks he got as he charged in a most undignified manner along the halls. He’d have thought those who resided in the palace would be used to it by now – since the birth of his son the previous calm of his home had been well and truly shattered, along with his dignity.

He cursed as he had to swerve to avoid a servant who appeared unexpectedly in front of him. Her arms were full of china plates and he swore again when he realised that he had almost been the cause of the destruction of his favourite dishes, not to mention scaring the poor maid to within an inch of her immortal life.

Round corners and down passageways he went, doing his best to avoid others, while his sharp eyes searched for his son. Honestly, he’d only averted his gaze for a moment and the child had vanished! He sighed in exasperation – being a father was far more work than ruling a realm, without a doubt!

Finally coming to a halt outside the kitchens, he spied something dark and sticky on the floor. Bending down, he scooped a little onto his finger and sniffed it. A slow smile spread over his face as he recognised the sweet sticky jam as the filling of his son’s favourite treat. Further inspection of the floor revealed a suspicious trail of crumbs.

Carefully and quietly he followed the trail, until he came at last to a high alcove. Nestled within was his slumbering child, covered in the remains of the berry tart that he had no doubt sweet-talked the cook into giving him. He was far too charming for his own good – and he knew it.

Sighing, the king picked up the Elfling, who instinctively snuggled into his arms. “You do try my patience sometimes,” the king chuckled, knowing full well that his son was not listening. “But enjoy it while you can, my little Thranduil. Because one day, the shoe will be on the other foot and you will chase an Elfling throughout the palace!” Smirking in satisfaction at the thought, Oropher carried his son back home.

END

Title: To Reach an End
Author: Tuxedo Elf
Character: Gil-galad
Rating: G
Summary: All things end.
Notes: Written using the Silm canon of Gil-galad being Fingon's son. I like that version best anyway! ;)

*************

My armour is heavy on my body, a physical reminder of the weight that now surrounds us all. The once pristine metal is dirty and bloodied - as is everything in this land.

The stench of death fills the air; many battles have been fought these past years and Elves and Men have fallen here as they have on countless other battlefields during this seemingly endless war.

No more.

Today, I make my final stand. My family has suffered more than most in this fight against evil and for too long it has gone unavenged. I will put an end to that.

Picking up my spear, I call my troops to me, heartened to see the determination in their eyes, despite their weariness. We will fight on.

I will fight for my father, who after healing ancient wounds and performing many great deeds, fell to the balrog’s flames.

Starting the march to the battleground, I hear their heavily booted footsteps echo in my ears and the dust that rises invading my nostrils as we move towards the inevitable confrontation.

I will fight for my grandfather, whose valour and courage are legendary and whose marks Morgoth bore until he was at last defeated.

Reaching the line, I see once again the ranks of the enemy, the dark lines of vile, merciless creatures, who live only to kill whatever lies in their path.

I will fight for my great-grandfather, who became the first victim of the darkness when he dared to stand against it.

Hefting Aiglos, I raise it above my head and let out a battlecry, my own voice ringing in my ears. A moment later, it is echoed by those who follow me.

Together, we will fight for the first and greatest line of kings; that has stood proud since Elves first awoke in these lands. A line that will end today.

I charge.

END