For Anso, who requested:
Merry and Estella. Any rating.

Filled With Sun

Clear water eddied into the recessed pool, fresh against the summer heat.  Light shimmered brilliantly on the droplets caught in Merry’s hair and streaming down his body as he waded towards Estella on the Brandywine’s green shore.  But brighter still was the sunshine that rippled through his laughter as he reached for her hand and gently drew her from her seat in the grass.  It radiated from his very skin, wet from the river but hot against her through her thin shift.  Caught up in joy, there were no more shadows, no more nights; her Merry-love was filled with sun.

Diamond tucked herself deeper into the shadows.  Before her, amidst a bevy of Great Smials’ ladies sat her latest wedding guest, and the source of her despair.  Estella Brandybuck, proving true all tales, was all that Diamond was not:  cheerful, gracious and radiant with obvious fruitfulness.  The tall huntress gazed down at her dusty feet and trousers.  She would never make a proper wife for the next Thain.  For all the love he might bear her now, bitterness would eclipse it entirely when disdain for her dragged him down, and Pippin had such dreams.  She would not make this mistake.

Bilbo gazed out from the balcony of the room given him by the Lord of Imladris, pointedly ignoring the empty state of the pack upon the bed.  Though he had continued to insist he wished to travel more, its contents had slowly found homes upon shelves and within drawers.  Every evening he set his mind to packing up at dawn, to take the road that beckoned ever more faintly.  Every day he found another page that called to him to edit, another set of notes to translate, a new book stumbled upon in the library. 

  ‘Perhaps, tomorrow…’ he mused, unconvinced.

Disclaimer:  what belongs to Tolkien belongs to Tolkien, what belongs to BelegCuthalion still belongs to her, and I just get to play!

Rating: PG13 (for suggestiveness of an adult nature)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Little Lesson

A soft curve, rounded and firm, follows the dip of a steep valley beneath her touch.  Lily takes a deep breath as Frodo’s hand now guides hers in the next long stroke.  The graceful strength and precision of his fingers bend hers to the intricate forms of this dance, until, with a last swift caress, Lily’s breath catches and he sighs and leans back.  Though thrilled and a little flustered by his proximity, she can tell he is pleased with her efforts.

“Such a clever hand…” Frodo murmurs, gently taking the pen, though he barely glances at the parchment beneath.

~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note:  A little drabble for BelegCuthalion, via LJ Challenge, who wanted a juicy something pre-Quest for Lily and Frodo (from the gorgeous universe she created in Before I Go To Sleep!)  Any ickies and OOCness belongs to my ignorance alone!

Rating:  PG13

Summary:  In the Houses of Healing, March 15 seems to last forever… A drabble pair, originally written for Anso, on LJ.

~~~~~~~~

Hoping

It is the only thing that pierces the darkness of despair, like the feeblest lamp in a vast and tortured mine…  No!   We left Moria far behind, with its sadness and its demons; but there too lay failure, dragging him under, another leaden link…  If not for Moria, what strength that had been squandered might have served…  No aimless debate, no lonely choice, no foolish sacrifice, no orc-driven trek…  No Palantir.

“Merry?”

Bright tones, tremulous with fear.  A flash of amber-green, cool forest soul, hope… It is the only thing that pierces the darkness of despair, like the feeblest lamp…

 ~~~~~~~~~

Watching

Under skies grey with smoke, Pippin keeps watch.  Not for orc-kin at the gate, or assassin’s in the King’s Hall, or even for the welcome sight of the Sun.  His vigil is not open, his sword will be no help.  It is a task he can leave to no other, for who else here could see that smile and know it false?  Who else could note the instant when that blue-grey gaze turned numb and dead, and know to reach out with the right word?  Who else among these strangers here would know or care if Merry’s soul should die?

Disclaimer:  Tolkien's sandbox, I tiptoe with care.
Written for the OSA drabble challenge 'Random Phrases' ("With dance of dreadful").

Dreadful Dance

With the dance of dreadful certainty, the singing blades crashed all around his dazed eyes, and the youth wondered what foolish bravado had brought him here.  Stirring words of King and Captain had called, but weak-kneed before the awful charge, he wondered what purpose he could serve upon this ravaged field -- surely some stronger, more capable warrior could have used this sword, this shield, to better effect.

Then from the shadow, the Black Captain rose with sinister intent, and clarity broke through uncertainty and terror for one bleak moment, Fate’s hidden plan suddenly uncloaked. 

Freed from doubt, Merry acted.