These little drabbles were originally written for the OSA weekly 100 word challenges. I am way behind with my next story owing to returning from the Far East with a very virulent and persistent virus.  Luckily it was not ‘Bird Flu’ so I have at last started tapping the keys. In the meantime I thought that there may be one or two of you who would enjoy these.  You may need to read the first one once or twice! LBJ

Challenge – ‘Heirs’

Heirs –  only get in the way. Get rid of them all.

The multi - coloured robe swirled around bony ankles, changing hue with every move until it appeared black in the shadows. Trembling, he swept aside the velvet cloth, dropping it onto the stone floor in his eagerness.

The smile spread slowly over dry hollow cheeks – Yes…the small band was desperately hastening back to their miserable thatched lair. 

How carefully Éomer cradled his cousin, but it would be for no reward. He had not been in time and how it would haunt. Théodred’s lifeblood was already seeping slowly over his thighs.

The Sons of Eorl: one down, one to go.

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Challenge – ‘Horselords’

Judgment –  A Horselord decides

The ranger rose and cried out, his powerful voice catching the wind and piercing the thunder of the galloping hooves.

As a flock of birds, whirling and wheeling at sunset, men and horses moved as one until the travellers were enclosed by a moving circle of power and death.

A hundred spears held them.

The three hunters remained silent. The fate of the quest teetering on the judgment of one tall Horselord, as finely balanced as the bright sword he gripped with his iron hand.

Éomer, Éomund’s son. A man of clear mind. His love and trust would condemn him.

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Challenge – ‘Letters’ -  some do not always convey the truth

Counting the Days -   it became the inspiration for my longer fic.

The blank page stared up at him. Pricking his conscience and berating him for his neglect.

The words would not come.

 How do you tell such a Lady that she set you on fire?

Stirred your very soul.

How do you tell her that you were counting the days to their marriage; dreaming of hot steamy nights when alone in your cold wide bed?

He sighed. You did not of course. He picked up his pen.

Dear Lothíriel,

I hope this letter finds you well. The horse I have chosen for you is now weeks into her training. I …

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Challenge – ‘Rulers’ - What it means to be a King or Queen.

Missing you – Being a King can be a tad frustrating

It was late, but he could hear the mummer of voices from somewhere near the fire. Ignoring them, he crept silently down the side of the hall.

She would be asleep. Her black hair spread all over the pillow. Her head nestling into her arm.

His eager fingers were already pulling at the laces of his tunic when he reached the door to their chamber. Was it only three days he had been away? It had seemed an age without her. He grasped the handle….

“Ah, my lord Éomer” came the voice of his chief advisor, “good, you are back.”

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Hope you enjoyed - LBJ

Road to the Black Gate   —  A birthday drabble for Gwynnyd

The reaction of new Lord of the Mark to his confidences lightened the air of even this grim place. Aragorn waited patiently for the inevitable response, watching the palate of emotions — disbelief; incredulity; horror, to name but a few – cross Éomer’s features. 

Saying nothing for a moment, Éomer took a sip from the cup he had been cradling and stared at the Heir of Elendil from over the rim, fixing intense blue eyes on him. “So, you are telling me, Aragorn, that we are camped in this hellhole, preparing to act as stool-pigeons to lure the Dark Lord from his lair, all for the for love of a woman?”

Aragorn’s lips twitched. “Not exactly. It is for her father that I have to regain the Crown of Gondor. Arwen’s heart, I already hold in troth.”

Éomer put his lips to the cup a second time, his brow furrowing in thought. “It seems a great deal of effort to go to. I hope she is worth it.”

“Oh yes,” Aragorn nodded as clouds of soft, black hair and the glow of luminous, grey eyes kidnapped his thoughts. “She is worth it.”

Éomer frowned, but did not answer and Aragorn reached over to refill his cup, “Do I gather, my young friend that making any exertion to secure a woman is something out of the ordinary to you?”

The lazy, characteristic smile that lit up the Rohir’s face warmed Aragorn more than any blaze could do in that desolate spot. He grinned, as Éomer raised one mobile eyebrow and held up his little finger, twisting it around to make dancing shadows in the firelight.

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