Drabbles

Elrond and Celebrían

I

Regeneration – (double drabble)

The youth held his sword tightly, casting a glance at the older warriors. Though his hroa was not as broad or muscular as theirs, he moulded his lithe form into an image of their stance and practised finding the blade’s balance. Unlike his first attempts, when he had dropped his wooden sword more times than he cared to remember, Elrond moved with sleek grace, soon forgetting to compare himself to the others.

The wind whipping the rough shores of Lindon also ruffled his dark hair, which had grown about as long as it ever would. The others still remarked that he might take years before he would be ‘full-grown’, but Elrond knew that he was ready. There were so few of them left after the great re-shaping of the world. So many famed warriors had fallen. It was up to him, and to the others of his era, to protect the Eldar in Middle-earth.

He swung the blade around, slicing the sackcloth orc in half. Across the clifftop, one of the warriors applauded.

‘Well dispatched…’ he said, but checked himself before adding, ‘child’.

This, more than anything, made Elrond smile. But only for a moment, before he resumed his training.

II

Doubly Blessed

She studied his frown, trying to interpret the lines upon his brow, discern the meaning of his pensive sighs. His hands pressed against her, firm but not unkind, though she did not know how the touch could tell him anything. Still, she knew to trust him. His understanding of the ways of the hroa far surpassed any other of his kin. He would ensure the babe was well.

Finally Elrond stepped back and took his hands from her belly so that he could caress her face.

‘All is well,’ he said, then added with a smile, ‘with both of them.’

III

Departure

I cannot allow my selfishness to harm you so. We are as one being and your pain swells in my heart too. Though the thought of these halls empty and devoid of your laughter chills me, and I do not know how to continue without you, how can I force you to remain?

Let me think of you in Aman, on those white shores in the warm sunshine, where one day we shall embrace again and all this will be forgotten. Let me embrace the knowledge that you are free and happy once more. That is all I can ask.

IV

Hope

"He is sleeping." Her whisper seemed to echo through the night-steeped halls.

Elrond nodded, his expression dark.

"All is lost," she breathed, stifling tears.

"Only if we make it so. The last of the blood of Númenor lies in that crib. He shall be safe here so long as is necessary."

"But he is the last…can even Imladris truly protect so precious a vessel?"

Elrond frowned. "Here he can be hidden, and known by another name."

Then, leaning over the sleeping infant, the elf lord whispered, "He shall know his true name in time. Until then, he shall be Estel."

V

Time Heals

He had thought he would rush into her arms, unable to stifle the urge to possess her after all those long years apart, but as he embraced her, Elrond felt the passage of time slow until it was meaningless. In that land, there were no great ages; a century was no more than an hour, and so, surrounded by ethereal song and laughter, he held her close to him and kissed her. There was no urgency. Long years may have passed but they meant nothing now. Upon the shores of Eressëa, reunited at last, they would have an eternity together.

Drabbles

The Forces of Darkness

I

In the Shadows – Gríma Wormtongue

Her pale flesh, cold as heathland rain…if only I could see her fully. Yet I am no great warrior. I have nothing that would lure her gaze. For the moment I stay in the shadows and dream…nay long…for those slender white thighs to embrace me.

If only there were not so high a price, yet am I not permitted my happiness? If no ill comes to Rohan from this betrayal, and love lights up my life after this tempest, then is it not good?

If I can watch at last in freedom as she disrobes, is that not worth it?

II

Where She Cannot Watch – Gollum

We sees it wriggling. Mustn’t make a sound. Catch it while it swims in shallow waters. Mustn’t scare it. We slips our hand into the pool and we smiles. Nice food for us today. Not hungry today.

Something touches us. We feels it on our back. It burns! And we cannot see the fishes any more! Bright, burning light! No food today. Fishes swim away. Curse the light.

Then we remembers its name. Loathsome, burning thing. The Sun, that is what we called her.

And we hates her.

Now we catch our fishes in the dark, where she cannot watch.

III

Annatar’s Gift – Khamûl the Easterling

He stood and gazed upon the shifting sands. The tents, crimson, blue and gold, gleamed in the naked sun, the palms fanning them gently in the breeze.

Then his eyes moved from the Easterling war camp to the band of mithril upon his finger; metal jaws clasping a blood red stone. So precious a gift! Its power flowed through his skin already. And with this Annatar’s gift, thought Khamûl, there would no longer be a question as to loyalty. All in the East would serve him.

Such a precious gift.

Yet strange how the sun no longer seemed as bright…

IV

Danse Macabre – Gandalf and the Balrog

Nature's pull dragged down their writhing forms. Flames cavorted gleefully round them both and licked the Istar's flesh. Then they plunged into darkness. The fires hissed and died. The Servant of Flame now writhed in slime and shadow. The gavotte continued in the icy waters. Two Maiar struggled on in that unwholesome gloom. They circled each other, embracing and turning. And not even when they reached the very bottom, which none had seen save the unspeakable creatures who dwelt in that dark, did their dance cease. It could not end, lest one of them had victory, and the other death.

V

Knives in the Dark – Butturbur and the Ringwraiths

The beds were tattered; the frames in splinters, the sheets shredded; a sorry sight indeed. And what of the reputation? The town already throbbed with rumours, excited whispers coursing through the streets, of murderous figures moving in the night, visiting the inn, and preyed upon its customers.

Butturbur looked upon the damage, heart heavy with both sadness and alarm. There was no guarantee the danger would not return.

And worse, that morning he discovered that an attack by wraiths in service of the Dark Lord counted as an ‘Act of the Gods’, and therefore his insurance would not cover him.

VI

Call to Arms – The Witch King of Angmar

"Upon our black steeds we shall scour the lands for that which our master seeks. Never shall we rest, for we are bound. Our only purpose is to serve, and to recover the One Ring, wherever it may be. Heed your Black Captain, wraiths of Sauron and prepare to ride forth…What is it? Well we can hardly ride out with only seven of us…Who’s missing? Look, do I have to take a sodding register? So where is Khamûl? Well how can he have an infection there…or anywhere for that matter? What d’you mean he has a note from his mum?"

Drabbles

Miscellaneous

I

In Some Corner – Elendil and Anarion

They carried the corpse over the dark ash, with his dented helm upon his chest. The mourning king walked behind, head held as high as he was able. They marched over pockmarked plains, breathing foul air.

Not once did the screams from the Dark Tower cease, nor did the soldiers put down their arms. Battle would not pause for grief.

Finally they laid the body in a shallow hole and covered him with fine black soil, in that stretch of land commandeered for the dead. How soon though, thought Elendil, before that field was greater than the plain of battle?

II

The March of the Galadhrim

Against encroaching darkness, the Galadhrim marched, through woods made murky by the blight of evil. No longer did their voices lilt in hymns to their old Lórinand; now the soldiers sang of coming battle.

Dol Guldur was as yet a shadow midst the trees, yet the folk of Lórien heard its creatures all around them, some like mist and others wholly solid. But they had orders from their Lady to destroy the malice at last, and they would fight to protect their Golden Wood, whatever the cost.

"Onwards!" called the captain, "and in the darkness we fight for our Laurelindórenan!"

III

Farewell – Arwen

The gardens were overgrown, the house hidden amongst the trees. Only birdsong and the sighs of ghosts disturbed the air. No gentle chants or laughing voices any more. Arwen breathed in the memories of thousands of years, walking in the deserted valley. A short visit, on her way to her last repose.

She remembered the faces she would never see again; her father, her mother... Their memories seemed to touch her spine and brought tears. At last the true weight of the choice was revealed. She was alone, soon to step into the dark, with so much unsaid and unresolved.

IV

Unconquered Son (Triple drabble)

The fire sputtered, wreaths glinting all around the hall. Magically rich garlands of holly and fir hung around the place, golden and glittering against the white stone. Faramir sat alone, watching the flames dance.

Outside the city snored, in anticipation of a lazy Yule.

The first full turn of the Fourth Age. But around the hall, the ghosts of that past age wandered by. Like a freshly laundered beach, all the familiar things were there, but the patterns had changed irrevocably.

Tomorrow, Yule would break across the city in song and in the scent of roasted meats, sweet wine and honeyed fruit. Then all would toast the things that had passed, and look in hope to those still to come. They had reached another knot in the passage of time, yet naught seemed settled.

If only a sip of wine and a cheer could set things right.

So many things were unsaid, and he would never know the truth behind those things that were voiced. If Yule was indeed a time for mystery, to celebrate life’s triumph over death, then might he not be granted some sign?

If I knew that you did love me

He sighed and looked towards the empty seat beneath the throne, wondering if a few whispers might reach the unfathomable place where all men come to dwell in their time. The fire cracked again.

Perhaps it was a shadow cast by the flames, for shades did leap about the pillars and walls, but for an instant, he might have thought there was someone seated in that chair. A blink and the illusion was gone, but imagination pressed the image into Faramir’s brain, and he held his breath.

He was almost sure the shade had smiled at him, the fatherly way he smiled in years past.