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The Henneth Annun yahoo group and There and Back Again Live Journal community run a challenge for writers for the 25 days preceding December 25th. Each challenge has a Middle Earth theme. The writers were to respond to the challenge with a drabble, a ficlet, or short story based on the challenge. My stories, as posted here at SoA, will include the date of the challenge and the challenge title, if different from my title. Thanks to Juno Magic, the There and Back Again community, and the HA yahoo group for inspiring me and so many talented writers with this wonderful challenge. Challenge: Writing Mathom for December 1
Challenge Theme:
She stood on the ship's deck and looked back toward her long-time home. Her memories of Middle Earth came upon her, even as the ship sailed further from the Eastern shores. Sad memories, like her husband's face as he told her he could not leave with her on the journey into the West. Happy memories, like the births of her grand children. And joyeous recent memories, like her grand daughter's wedding celebration. There 24 dancing dwarves leaped and waved their arms to a tune played by ten pipers and sung by Gimli son of Gloin. Writing Mathom for December 2
"I think the Sultan of Near Harad was laughing behind our backs when he gave them to us as part of the peace negotiations," the King Elessar sighed as he gazed down the broad table. His councillors listened politely though some seem rather confused. "So now they lounge within their fenced area, doing nothing but trampling the turf on the Pelennor, making a ruckus and a mess. That doesn't even get into the cost of feeding all 23 of them. Each seems to require a tree a day."
Writing Mathom for December 3. This ficlet is peopled by Faramir and Eowyn, as I depict them in my story "Avoidance," also available on Stories of Arda.
What had begun as a pleasant late October day turned humid and then oppressively hot by mid-afternoon. Faramir had picked this particular day to suspend his typical ministerial duties in Minas Tirith to lead a training mission for new Ranger recruits wishing to improve their archery skills. In these days of uneasy peace, the Ranger patrols were nonetheless largely uneventful. When they reached the clear pond not far from the Steward's manor in Emyn Arnen, the patrol dismounted and let the horses drink. One of the younger fellows, Maglor by name, declared himself longing for a swim. Faramir motioned his permission to the youngsters, then sat on the bank of the pond while the lads stripped off their leathers, tunics, and undergarments. They splashed gleefully into the water while the Steward guarded the discarded clothing and kept lookout. Even in these days of peace, there was always a chance they could be ambushed by the rogue orcs that slunk about in the unexplored corners of Ithilien. If only Faramir didn't have to maintain the dignified demeanor of the second-in-command in Gondor. The water looked so inviting. At least I can take off some of this armor and moisten my tunic, Faramir thought. He had just unlaced his leather hauberk when his highly-trained senses heard a rustle in the bushes nearby. He reached for his bow, which as ever was by his side, and was about to whistle a warning when he heard a female voice yell out, "Husband! That's you and your men, isn't it?" Twenty-one skinny dipping Rangers, some of whom were lounging comfortably on the banks of the pond, quickly immersed themselves up to their necks in the water. Eowyn parted a growth of bushes that tried to grab at her simple gown. Hardly phased by the sight of wet male heads in the pond and the piles of clothing strewn about the shore, she approached her sweltering husband, "A messenger just came from Minas Tirith. The emissaries from the Long Lake have finally arrived. Aragorn is calling a big council tomorrow at mid-day and wants us both to be there." "Okay," Faramir agreed but then gasped. His wife had bent down, grabbed the hem of her dress, and suddenly lifted it over her head. Her flimsy chemise was revealed to the Rangers who could not help but look. Only Faramir could hear her muffled voice say, "It's so hot. I could use a nice swim, myself." "Wife, you know well that we don't take family swimming holidays here in Gondor!" Faramir cried out in consternation but to no avail. Drat those Rohirric bathing customs, he thought, as the Princess of Ithilien blithely removed her remaining garments and stepped into the pond for a swim among her husband's troupers. On that sweltering October day, there were 21 red-faced Rangers in the pond and one red-faced, red-headed former Ranger captain on the shore. December 4 Writing Mathom Angmar tapped his fingers on his desk and scowled at Gothmog. The Orc general couldn't discern the Witch King's expression, though he was quick enough and smart enough to sense his boss' displeasure. "That platoon of Isengarders are not working out," the Witch King hissed. "They have filfthy habits, never pick up after themselves, leave half eaten food wherever they feel like it. They completely disregard the rules." Gothmog grumbled. He personally felt that Angmar's insistance on spotless quarters in Morgul was a bit excessive. He'd reminded the Witch King again and again that developing cleaniliness habits ran against the Orcish culture. But he had to admit to himself that the 21 who had come all the way from the North as a gift from Saruman were not, well, working out. "They are lazy," Gothmog admitted. "Maybe the warmer climate makes them tired and troublesome. It's cold territory up there near the Misty Mountains." "When did cold ever stop you?" Angmar continued, in a pissy mood. "No, I am going to have to redeploy them out of your forces." Gothmog was about to say, "Good riddance," but he held his tongue. Instead he asked, "And just what do you have in mind, my lord?" A strange chortling drifted from the shadowy cape that outlined where the Witch King's head would be. Angmar said, "They are assigned to muck out the Fell Beast's eyrie." "Hmmmm," Gothmog responded. "Since you've denied me their services on the field, I hope that you will let me use them in my little guano business. They can help load the carts and possibly even work in the caravans going East. It's been cold this winter and those human scum over in Rhun will need to burn more guano for heat." Writing Mathom for December 5 Author's Note: I beg the site administrators' indulgence because this PG story takes place in modern times and mentions some modern phemomena.
It was Bob and Janice's first trip to San Francisco. They drove all the way north from Fresno to enjoy a break from the relentless valley heat. Fisherman's Wharf, Coit Tower, Golden Gate Park, the famous fog and cool weather--Bob and Janice experienced them all. And now, as June was in its last week, they decided to attend an event they had only heard about on the TV news--the San Francisco Pride Parade. With water bottles and taco chip packages in hand, the couple got to Market Street early enough to stand in the second row. Within an hour, hordes of people pressed against them. Were there really half a million, as the Sunday paper had predicted? Within another hour, along came the topless dykes on bikes, signaling the start of the parade. Janice was a little embarassed. Bob was interested. Then came politicians and musicians and contingent after contingent of gay and lesbian and straight friends organizations, including a group of nude gay men. Bob was embarassed. Janice was very interested. But what struck Bob and Janice as out of place was a contingent of about 20 females, dressed in historical costumes that revealed whatever they had of cleavage. The women would have fitted more comfortably in the crowd at the Southern Rennaisance Faire. Or one of those Medieval Jousts up in Jackson that sounded like a kewl thing to attend one of these days. "Contingent 68, Silicon Valley Local: Gay Gondorians?" Janice wrinkled up her nose as she read the large banner carried by the first marchers. "That's weird. They don't look like the lesbians we've seen so far." "Ahem, I think those gals are 'friends.' Check out the heart before 'Gay'". Bob said. The marching (heart) Gay Gondorians were followed by a convertible limousine, transporting a woman dressed like a queen out of Shakespeare who waved at the crowd. The banner draped on the car's front end bore the legend that answered Bob's question: Congratulations to our own Cindy TruthTeller First Place, JRRT Fanfics Awards 2006 Northern California Branch,
HASA Yule Challenge 2005 Entry: "Seventeen Cunning Corsairs"
Every evening just before sunset the girl went down to the sea. She'd gaze at the horizon and pretend she could see them, ships looming against the pink and blue sky. They weren't the bulky but serviceable merchant ships of her father's fleet, laden down with goods for cities far away. They weren't the beautifully sinous ships like Elves were supposed to sail, like the ship that beckoned to Amroth in the tales that most of her friends loved. No, she dreamed that she could see the ships from the land her parents threatened to send her to when she misbehaved. Black and stiff like a skeleton, they loomed great in her imagination. Seventeen cunning corsair ships they were, heading toward her at great pace, sailing within a hundred yards of the shore, throwing anchor, and then lowering row boats full of evil seadogs for the invasion. At the lead would be their captain, a tall man with olive skin and short, curly dark hair. He'd brandish a broad knife in his teeth as he jumped from his boat to the shore. Then he would come up to her, take off his hat with a great, sweeping bow, and then pick her up in his arms, all with his ferocious knife still in his teeth. Her parents would never have to send her to Umbar for bad behavior. Instead, the pirates had come for her. They recognized her as one of their very own kind, and there, far away the captain would raise her... "Lothiriel, get up now, there's a good girl. It's dinner time." Lothiriel, daughter of Imrahil, picked herself up and kicked at a stone on the sand before she followed her father home. Good girl? He called her a good girl. If only he knew his daughter was the one and only Queen of the Corsairs.
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