Willow proposed the Challenge:

The Twelve Days of Tolkien

On the first day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me,
young Estel in an oak tree.

On the second day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me,
sad Arwen's tears,

and young Estel in an oak tree.

On the third day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me,
Faramir's dream,

sad Arwen's tears, and young Estel in an oak tree.

On the fourth day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me,
Gimli's first axe,

Faramir's dream, sad Arwen's tears, and young Estel in an oak tree.

On the fifth day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me,
Feanor's love!
Gimli's first axe, Faramir's dream, sad Arwen's tears, and young Estel in an oak tree.

On the sixth day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me,
Legolas sailing, Feanor's love!
Gimli's first axe, Faramir's dream, sad Arwen's tears, and young Estel in an oak tree.

On the seventh day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me,
Eomer and 'Thiri,

Legolas sailing, Feanor's love! Gimli's first axe, Faramir's dream, sad Arwen's tears, and young Estel in an oak tree.

On the eighth day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me,
birds in the White Tree,Eomer and 'Thiri, Legolas sailing, Feanor's love! Gimli's first axe, Faramir's dream, sad Arwen's tears, and young Estel in an oak tree.

On the ninth day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me,
Bema and Shelob,

birds in the White Tree, Eomer and 'Thiri, Legolas sailing, Feanor's love!
Gimli's first axe, Faramir's dream, sad Arwen's tears, and young Estel in an oak tree.

On the tenth day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me,
Tulkas and Nessa,

Bema and Shelob, birds in the white tree, Eomer and 'Thiri, Legolas sailing, Feanor's love!
Gimli's first axe, Faramir's dream, sad Arwen's tears, and young Estel in an oak tree.

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me,
two hobbits pranking Gandalf,

Tulkas and Nessa, Bema and Shelob, birds in the white tree, Eomer and 'Thiri, Legolas sailing, Feanor's love! Gimli's first axe, Faramir's dream, sad Arwen's tears, and young Estel in an oak tree.

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my dear muse said to me,
"I give up! Write what you want!"

Challenge: to write eleven drabbles (or one-shots, if you get stuck) on the topics above, and one of your choice, by Epiphany.

Learning Curve

"Orcs will come from the north, either down the valley floor or around the shoulder of the hill, there." Elladan pointed. "We have other lookouts, but if you see them first it will give us extra time to set up the ambush."

Estel stared at the thickly wooded hillside rolling away in front of him down into the long valley and up the mountain. "I don't have elf eyes. I can't possibly see orcs down there."

"Find the patterns."

Elladan ruffled his hair and left him perched high - and out of the way! - in an oak tree with the blazing noon sun overwhelming the colors and making harsh, dark shadows under the trees. By evening, drizzle fogged the treetops and hid the far slopes in mist. Today the clouds passed bands of swift moving shadow over the woods. The battle could very well be over by now. Lying flat and relaxed along the swaying branch, leaves rustling around his face, Estel studied the ever-changing shades of green. Nothing. He wondered if 'random' counted as a pattern and when they would come back for him.

He had long ago lost count of the number of times he had scanned the view: north, sweep around, south, north, east, north, south, north… north? Again? He carefully turned his eyes east to scan the far slope but found himself squinting north, peering at the valley floor. Nothing. He tried again: hill, slope, valley, hill, valley, slope, valley, valley. Valley?

He sat up slowly and inched backwards along the branch until he came to the trunk. He climbed higher, and looked down, his eyes drawn inexorably towards the north end of the valley. The patterns had changed.

Grinning, he whistled the signal that said 'orcs in the valley', waited, and gave it again.

(300 words)

Gift Exchange

Many mettarë's worth of presents stored away: fur-lined cloaks with embroidered facings; delicate-stemmed crystal goblets; aged Dorthonian wine; a chest carved of aromatic woods; more.

Arwen cradled the rusty scrap of linen and carefully peeled back the corners. "He is well?"

The young Ranger swayed with exhaustion and nodded. "The blood is not his, Lady."

The tiny flower within had been carved with a belt knife and polished with a drop of cooking oil. Opened further, one leaf and two petals fell away.

"Tell him I cherish it."

Arwen turned and fled the Hall so none would see her tears.

(100 words)

Knowing Too Much

Denethor wanted a report on their progress and I had delayed far too long.

"Draw a picture of Númenor, then you may go."

Boromir, thirteen, snorted and tossed a stick of charcoal to his brother. I did not look up as footsteps trotted out of the room a few minutes later. Report finally finished, I stood to tidy the tables before I left. Faramir still sat at his desk, his white face a stark contrast to the blackened paper, rubbing the stub of charcoal across the page, always left to right.

"The wave comes, and it is all dark afterwards."

(100 words)

Labor Day

She calls it superstition, and I cannot deny it. Still, I have gathered the materials - ivory, wood, steel, jewels – and our labors begin together. I work swiftly and carefully; for I would neither offer shoddy work nor, and I know 'tis folly, prolong her pain. Heated, pounded, annealed, etched, inlaid, jewels affixed. We are done as close together as makes no mind, and we proffer the gifts alike.

My son's head and chin are covered with tight reddish curls. His tiny hands grip the haft and bring the cool axe head to his gnawing gums.

"Gimli. It suits him."

(100 words)

Love at First Sight

In the dim, shuttered room, Miriel lay grey and exhausted, with a squirming and still damp baby mewling fitfully face down on her stomach. Finwë, alternately stroking the baby's back and his wife's hand, felt his son attempt to raise his head.

"Such a strong, fine son you've borne me, my love."

Miriel half opened her eyes. "I am so tired. Take him away for a few minutes."

A midwife scooped up the baby, rubbed him gently with a warmed towel, and handed him to Finwë. "Time to get acquainted with your father."

The baby ignored the endearments Finwë crooned to his son, scowling at his father, almost as if he knew how foolish they sounded. He brought his fist to his mouth and looked startled as he sucked hard on his fingers. Finwë, smiling at this evidence of hunger and turning to bring the boy back to his mother, found his way blocked by the midwife.

"Miriel needs food more than he does. Keep him for a few minutes more."

Finwë saw them coaxing Miriel to take a few sips of broth, but she turned her head away and closed her eyes. As the boy's hand slipped out of his mouth and he began to wail, Miriel made a warding gesture. Finwë' gave his son a squeeze meant to be reassuring and turned his body away from his wife. He bounced the baby gently, but the boy cried louder.

"Shhh, shhh. I will show you the world."

Finwë pushed open the door and took his son outside. It was the time of the Mingling of the Lights and the sky glowed both golden and silver. The baby drew in a deep breath and went silent. He stared up at the radiance and opened his mouth in a gummy grin.

(300 words)

Missed Opportunities

Legolas patted the yellow skiff, pronounced her 'sleek and seaworthy', and offered to name her "Galadriel". Eying the bobbing craft warily, Gimli declined the offer and climbed to watch from the parapet of Dol Amroth. He saw the boats round a marker and scatter in different directions.

"I thought this was a race," he grumbled to Amrothos standing next to him. "What are they doing now?"

"Beating to the next mark," Amrothos said. "Each skipper must choose his own way to sail into the wind."

Gimli grunted, keeping his eye on the yellow hull. After a while, it moved on a tangent farther away from the other boats.

"That's… odd," Amrothos said. "Legolas should have tacked by now. He's losing his advantage."

Clutching the wall, Gimli saw Legolas's boat veer farther, and heel over as the wind caught her on the beam. For a few seconds, the bow pointed out to sea, then the wake fishtailed as if the hand on the tiller shook. The boat suddenly swung around, the sail snapping to the other side, and headed back towards the fleet.

Gimli let out a pent up breath. Someday, my friend, but do not sail West without saying goodbye.

(200 words)

The Right Alliance

Always a danger sign, the vein at Imrahil's temple pulsed. "No?"

Lothiriel quailed but stood her ground. "I am too young and I've only known him for six days."

"The king holds you in high regard."

How he had formed that opinion, she had no idea. Aragorn had not spoken a dozen words to her since he entered Minas Tirith. She knew her duty and understood the advantages of the alliance, but her dreams had golden hair and soft, smiling lips.

"I cannot."

"Then why were you kissing him last night?"

Relief washed through her. Éomer was also a king.

(100 words)

Protectors of the Realm

Boromir had been laying quietly in the glade for long enough that the birds had resumed their cheerful songs. Even a rabbit came out of hiding and grazed unconcernedly not twenty feet away. By some trick of the mountain, the air here always smelled fresher, and, sometimes, it brought surcease to the weight on his heart. Not today. He knew it would serve Gondor better to do something: give Faramir's Rangers more men and support, attack the Dark Lord in places not yet entrenched and boiling with orcs, make alliances. Yet his father's insistence on only holding what they had could not be shaken, and Boromir could not gainsay Denethor openly.

Even in this neglected glade of kings, there was no peace. A flash of blue and yellow and an angry chirr-rr-rr sounded from the edge of the grass where the rocky slope began. The rabbit had come too close to - it was certainly the wrong time of year to be a nest. Boromir grinned as the rabbit stared at the small birds that swooped around its head, before hopping clumsily away. The determined tits chased the rabbit across the grass, then flew back to the rocky area and settled down.

Never much of a naturalist, but curious to see what they protected so fiercely, Boromir walked quietly across to the edge of the scree where several of the brightly colored male tits gathered. One bird launched himself from the top branch of a tiny seedling tree with glossy dark green leaves and flew at Boromir's eyes with a cry.

Startled, Boromir waved his arms protectively in front of his face and backed away. "Keep your secrets, then," he admonished the birds from a safe distance. Turning away, he gathered up his things to hike back down the mountain.

(300 words)

Pictures of the birds

Revenge is Sweet

None of the three looked particularly repentant. Théoden met the thinned lips and glaring eyes of his heir and the two young cousins with a quelling stare.

"They said I was a cow and tied me up in the barn all day yesterday," Éowyn said.

"Kine," Théodred mumbled. "Great aurochs. Fierce."

"It was not all day," Éomer contributed.

"I missed lunch and almost missed dinner, too! And not because you remembered where I was. You never came back!"

Théodred, who was certainly too old to have countenanced such neglect, had the grace to look abashed, but Éomer rounded on his sister. "Béma hunted the kine. You said you wanted to play, too. And we let you!"

"Kine isn't the only thing Béma hunted," Éowyn said with the supercilious satisfaction only a wronged seven-year-old could muster. "He chased the creeping shadow from Beleriand all down the Misty Mountains, and he never caught nor subdued her."

Théodred clutched at his hair, which stuck to his fingers and stayed oddly sideways from his head when he tried to release it.

"I am going to have to cut it off," Théodred moaned. Éomer looked glum.

"Why glue, Éowyn?" Théoden asked.

"Spider webs are sticky."

(200 words)

(for something this silly, I am skipping the diacritical marks)

Pick of the Litter

"Ow!"

Varda, looking innocent, tucked her foot back under the table. Nessa rubbed her knee and glared at her.

"You can't run forever. Have you made a decision yet?"

"I suppose." Nessa scowled. "Why do I have to marry anyway?"

Varda risked a glance upward. "Some questions you just don't ask."

"Not like there's much choice." Nessa warmed to her theme. "You've spoken for Manwe. Yavanna'd kill me if I looked twice at Aule."

"Irmo?"

Nessa shuddered. "He gives me the creeps, as bad as Namo."

"So it's…"

"Not my brother Orome, so, Tulkas." Nessa shrugged. "He makes me laugh."

(100 words)

Filling Time

With Frodo at a "secret" meeting, Merry and Pippin moped around. When it occurred to them that Rivendell had more sleeping rooms than even Brandybuck Hall, they had to try and surpass their record.

Walking down the upper corridor, Merry regaled Pippin with the state of his cousin's crops, casually opened the door to Gandalf's room and stepped inside. They had already visited Elrond's room, and several other rooms on this corridor, and had hours yet until dinner.

They made a good team, Merry thought; Pippin as deft as a housemaid at smoothing the covers back over the shortened sheets.

(100 words)

Raised Expectations

Faramir read the list of grandiose entertainments in growing disquiet. The king tolerated a great deal of informality, but could his Steward accuse him of fiscal irresponsibility for wanting more festivities two months after his coronation? Though long planned for, the war had seriously depleted Gondor's reserves and some taxes had been remitted to aid in rebuilding. He had explained the limits of the royal resources and thought Aragorn had understood.

"Will another round of banquets bankrupt Gondor?" the king asked.

"They might. Can this wait until after the harvest?"

"No."

Faramir met Aragorn's implacable expression with raised eyebrows and ran his eyes down the list again: fifty thousand dinners - free food for every person in Minas Tirith on Midsummer Day - several immense banquets, hunts, masques…

"Whom do we entertain so grandly?"

"I have been expecting my family. I received word this morning they've already crossed into Gondor and will be here by Midsummer Day.

Aragorn slid another paper across the desk. Faramir read it. His breath caught.

"This isn't a joke?" The paper fluttered as his hand shook and he smoothed it onto his knee. "So many elves. These are legends, not guests to entertain. Elrond, Galadriel, Glorfindel… the Balrog-Slayer himself? Coming here?" Faramir winced as he heard his voice squeak.

"I was raised in Rivendell. Master Elrond brings, I believe, I hope, the scepter of Arnor. The northern and the southern kingdoms will be reunited." Aragorn made a placating gesture. "I promise to go on progress for the rest of the summer."

"Another coronation." Faramir's thoughts whirled. "Very well. I will make the arrangements."

"Thank you. One more thing." Aragorn smiled but his eyes gave a sheepish twitch. Faramir braced himself. "I find I do not know the simplest things. Does Gondor have a queen's crown?"

(300 words)