Title: Come With Me

Author: Soledad

Disclaimer: All places and persons belong to Professor Tolkien whom I greatly admire. This was written for the simple joy of writing. No copyright infringment intended, no money made.

Rating: General, suitable for all.

Series: The Mazarbul Chronicles

Archiving: my website and Edhellond. Everyone else: please, ask first.

Summary: Gimli has grown old and the Sea calls, but Legolas does not want to sail without his friend. Triple drabble, 314 words.

Dedication: to Ro, my fellow Dwarf-fancier, for Edhellond's 5th anniversary.

Beta read by Alawa, thanks!

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"My ship is finished," said the Elf, "and my entire household is preparing to leave. Now there are only the two of us left from the Fellowship, friend Dwarf. Yet my heart cannot bear the thought of burying you, too, as I have buried all the others."

"What other choice would you have, Elf?" asked the Dwarf good-naturedly. Unlike his friend, he had grown old in the recent years, his hair and beard turning white like snow, and while he was still powerful, a strange weariness had begun to spread through his limbs. "You either bury me or leave me, as long as I am still alive."

"Nay!" cried out the Elf in dismay. "I cannot do either! I would not lose you, too, as I have lost Aragorn and the young hobbits. As we lost Boromir the Brave, so early on."

"Legolas," said the Dwarf reasonably, "there is no other way. I am a mortal, while you are not. Besides, death does not frighten me. I have had a long life, and a full one. I am well content."

"Oh, but you are wrong, friend Gimli," said the Elf. "There is another way. Come with me when I sail to the West. Let us make one last journey together."

At that, the Dwarf laughed, a deep full-belly laugh of fondness and mirth.

"You are truly mad, Master Elf," he said. "The Valar would never allow us to change the order of things. Dwarves do not belong in the West. We return to the stone when the fullness of our time has come."

"Then I shall turn the ship back," said the Elf, "for I will not enter the Blessed Realm without the dearest friend I have had in my long life."

"You are mad indeed," the Dwarf chuckled, "but if it makes you happy, for your sake I will try it."

~The End~

Title: Dorwinion Red

Author: Soledad

Disclaimer: All places and persons belong to Professor Tolkien whom I greatly admire. This was written for the simple joy of writing. No copyright infringment intended, no money made.

Rating: General, suitable for all.

Series: Starlight on Leaves

Archiving: my website and Edhellond. Everyone else: please, ask first.

Summary: Faithful old servants are allowed to make mistakes - even in Mirkwood. Double drabble set during "The Hobbit", 225 words.

Dedication: to the Wild Iris, my fellow Thranduil champion, for Edhellond's 5th anniversary.

Beta read by Makamu, thanks!

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When Old Galion failed to appear in the Elvenking's study, Thranduil could have sent Rhimlath to fetch him -- or any other servant. Yet the King chose to go to the cellars in his royal person – only to find his butler and the chief of the guards deep in drunken stupor.

Silinde, the Captain of the King's archers, who had accompanied her lord on this particular "scouting mission", ducked involuntarily, expecting one of Thranduil's famous temper tantrums. After all, not only had these two sampled the King's own highly valued Dorwinion  Red, they had also managed to fall asleep while still on duty.

To her surprise, though, the King gestured for her to be silent, and the two of them left the cellars on tiptoes, as not to wake up the intoxicated sleepers. Silinde found that unnecessarily lenient. She said so in no uncertain terms. But the King laughed.

"Old Galion has served me and all my forefathers faithfully since before the coming of the Sun and the Moon," he said fondly. "I deem he is allowed to fall asleep on duty from time to time. However," he added wit a fey glint in his eyes, "the chief guard will live on bread and water for the next moon to keep his senses sharp."

~The End~

Title: Farewells

Author: Soledad

Disclaimer: All places and persons belong to Professor Tolkien whom I greatly admire. This was written for the simple joy of writing. No copyright infringement intended, no money made.

Rating: General, suitable for all.

Series: Starlight on Leaves

Archiving: my website and Edhellond. Everyone else: please, ask first.

Summary: Celebwen, Thranduil's daughter succumbs to the Sea-longing.  Double-and-a-half-drabble, 270 words.

Dedication: to Karri, my fellow Thranduil champion, for Edhellond's 5th anniversary.

Beta read by JastaElf, thanks!

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Her father returned from the long war as the new King of their people - fatherless and bereft of his three older sons. Two third of the Silvan archers who had followed Oropher to the war did not return, either. They were dead, gone to the Halls, their broken bodies lying upon the abandoned battlefield. Lasgalen, the Tree City of King Oropher, was empty and without song... like a tomb. Her father, the new King, did not want to live there any longer; he made preparations to move the kingdom further to the North. There they would build a fortress where his people and his family - what was still left of them - would be safe.

Celebwen knew it would sadden her father even more, but she also knew she could not go with them and live under the earth like a Dwarf. The pull of the Sea was getting stronger, and her strength to resist was waning. She needed to be closer to the Sea if she wanted to resist the Call a little longer.

She was welcomed in Mithlond by the people of Círdan the Shipwright, and her heart found some semblance of peace. But not even the never-ending murmurs of the waves could make her forget the grief upon her father's face; she often wished she could go back, at least for a short visit. Yet the Sea did not loosen its hold on her heart, now that it had her close. All she could hope for was a chance to speak her final farewells ere she boarded a ship to the Blessed Land, wearied by the turmoils of Arda.

~The End~

Title: Firstborn

Author: Soledad

Disclaimer: All places and persons belong to Professor Tolkien whom I greatly admire. This was written for the simple joy of writing. No copyright infringement intended, no money made.

Rating: General, suitable for all.

Series: The Mazarbul Chronicles

Archiving: my website and Edhellond. Everyone else: please, ask first.

Summary: Gimli proudly presents his first child. Triple drabble, exactly 300 words.

Dedication: to Dís Thráinsdótter, my fellow Dwarf-fancier, for Edhellond's 5th anniversary.

Beta read by Jillian Baade, thanks!

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Legolas had never seen a Dwarf-child before. Not many people in Middle-earth had ever seen one, truth be told. Dwarves were a secretive lot, and jealous of their families. It was practically unheard of to show a newborn Dwarf to a stranger -- especially to an Elf.

And yet Gimli had sent a messenger with the request that Legolas should witness the naming of his first child, just as he had witnessed his wedding. Such was their friendship, now renowned in Arnor and Gondor, and Legolas was the third Elf ever called a Dwarf friend, next to Finrod and Celebrimbor. 'Twas an illustrious company, and he felt proud and honoured.

Still, the strongest of all feelings in his heart right now was curiosity. What would the child be like? Was it a boy-child or a girl-child? The latter was a rarity among Dwarves, considered a gift from Aule. Or Mahal the Maker, as Dwarves called him.

Perhaps it would be a girl-child, thought Legolas. After all, Gimli did have a sister himself, which meant the family could produce daughters. And a baby girl with Lady Vigdís' golden hair would be a pretty sight, even for Elven eyes.

The Dwarf guards at the gates of Aglarond greeted him with respect. He was the friend of their Lord, after all. Someone led him to the mansion where Gimli dwelt with his family and offered ale and honey cakes. Then a door opened on his right, and in came Gimli, with a bundle in his thick arms.

Legolas leaned forward, looking into the tiny face. Beetle-black eyes blinked back at him sleepily. A tiny fist grabbed his long finger with surprising strength, and the baby yawned, giving him a toothless smile before falling asleep again.

~The End~

Title: Foresight

Author: Soledad

Disclaimer: All places and persons belong to Professor Tolkien whom I greatly admire. This was written for the simple joy of writing. No copyright infringement intended, no money made.

Rating: General, suitable for all.

Series: none

Archiving: my website and Edhellond. Everyone else: please, ask first.

Summary: Halbarad prepares to lead the Grey Company to the South. Double-and-a-half-drabble... well, almost. 244 words.

Dedication: to Alawa, for Edhellond's 5th anniversary.

This particular piece did not find a beta reader. My apologies.

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The Angle buzzed with activity. Every able-bodied Ranger had come to Halbarad’s calling, and the Grey Company was slowly taking shape, ready to ride South, to Aragorn’s aid. This was the task they had been waiting for, them and their forefathers, for uncounted generations: the final reckoning between the Dark Lord and the Heirs of Elendil. The last stand that would fulfil the destiny of the Men of Westernesse.

There was a solemn mood in Halbarad’s home on the evening before they would leave for the South. Belmir, his eldest son, was loath to stay behind while his father and brothers were riding to war, but one had to stay, from each settlement, to protect their homes. Saelind, the Wise-hearted, the matron of the house, was quiet and subdued, even more so than usually, going after her duties without complaint.

“What ails you, dear heart?” asked Halbarad in concern.

She shook her head thoughtfully.

“I know not,” she answered. “It feels as if a dark cloud would shadow my heart. I fear we might not see each other again.”

“And if we do not?” asked Halbarad. “Would you wish me to stay behind?”

“Nay,” she replied simply. “You do what you have to do. I knew what to expect when I wed you. I never had any regrets.”

“You give me your blessing, then?” he asked with a smile full of sorrow.

“Always,” she smiled back at him and kissed him farewell.

~The End~

Note: Halbarad’s family has been established in my still unfinished story, “Hope, Born of Darkness”. I might change the names later, though, as I am  not happy with them.

Title: Heroes and Heartbreak

Author: Soledad

Disclaimer: All places and persons belong to Professor Tolkien whom I greatly admire. This was written for the simple joy of writing. No copyright infringement intended, no money made.

Rating: General, suitable for all.

Series: Sons of Gondor

Archiving: my website and Edhellond. Everyone else: please, ask first.

Summary: Éowyn ponders over the sons of Denethor and what they might mean for her life. Triple-drabble. 306 words.

Dedication: to Altariel, for Edhellond's 5^th anniversary.

Beta read by Isabeau, thanks!

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She often watched him from her room in the Houses of Healing. People said that he was different from his brother; yet even though she had only met Boromir once, Éowyn thought that Faramir was not. They were both noble and brave, she could tell that, and although she had more in common with the older brother, now lost, she knew that Faramir was a man of great strength and wisdom as well. And knowing how much Boromir had loved him, she also understood that he must indeed be worthy of love.

Regardless of what men – even her own brother – might think, Éowyn of Rohan had not fallen head over heels in love with Aragon, the perhaps future King of Gondor. She admired him, as Faramir had said, as a young soldier admired a great warlord. And while she grieved for Boromir, whom she might have wed had Denethor's plans come to fulfilment, she was glad that the Captain-General had not lived to see the return of the King. Boromir had been bred and trained to become what he would never have become after Aragorn's arrival: the supreme ruler of the South-kingdom.

Faramir would adapt more easily, she thought. He had never been meant to rule, only to support. He would make a good Steward to a King returning into his own, a king who was a stranger to his own kingdom. Boromir would never have made a good Steward. He had been born to be a Ruling Steward. And that was a great difference.

And where did that leave her? With Boromir, whom she had valued as a possible friend and ally, she would have become the Queen of Gondor in all ways but the title. Mayhap with Faramir, whom she had grown fond of, she might simply be happy one day. If she only had the courage to reach out to him…

~The End~

Title: Little Songbird

Author: Soledad

Disclaimer: All places and persons belong to Professor Tolkien whom I greatly admire. This was written for the simple joy of writing. No copyright infringment intended, no money made.

Rating: General, suitable for all.

Series: none; belongs to the "Innocence" arc.

Archiving: my website and Edhellond. Everyone else: please, ask first.

Summary: Radagast watches the elfling Lindir play his flute. Double-and-a-half drabble, 242 words.

Dedication: to Mirasaui, for Edhellond's 5th anniversary.

Beta read by Jillian Baade, thanks!

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The child was a true marvel in his eyes. He had seen elflings before, of course, in the Blessed Land, they visited the pastures of his Lady quite often, and they were all merry and beautiful and lovable. But this little songbird, Aiwendil found, was different. Such fairness! Such innocence!

And yet there was a hidden sorrow in those clear, blue-grey eyes of his a sorrow that would rather match a much older person, one that had seen a lot.

The wizard knew of the strange dreams that haunted the elfling's sleep from time to time, and he asked himself what might have moved Irmo and the Lady Este to burden such an innocent with them. He wished he could ask Olórin who had always been Irmo's trusted, but Olórin had not come yet, and Fate had entrusted him with the elfling's safety. 'Twas a task he had not sought after, but he accepted it, for there was great joy in it, despite his worries.

He went to the window to se what his young charge was doing. There the elfling sat, on a patch of green grass, playing his little wooden flute for the pleasure of his friends, the birds and squirrels and other small beasts. His fine, pale hair was unbound, fluttering in the soft breeze, and suddenly Aiwendil felt endless gratitude for having been entrusted with the care of something so precious and innocent.

~The End~

Title: Memories of Harad

Author: Soledad

Disclaimer: All places and persons belong to Professor Tolkien whom I greatly admire. This was written for the simple joy of writing. No copyright infringement intended, no money made.

Rating: General, suitable for all.

Series: Sons of Gondor

Archiving: my website and Edhellond. Everyone else: please, ask first.

Summary: Andrahar thinks back at his childhood. Triple drabble, 303 words.

Dedication: to Nerwen Calaelen, for Edhellond's 5^th anniversary.

This piece has not found a beta reader yet. My apologies.

Author’s note: This particular vignette has been inspired by a side remark in “Wisdom of the Sands” by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.

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My father, Isfhandijár, was the kha-kan of Bakshir: the second most powerful man after the padisákh himself. It was his duty to lead Bakshir’s armies in wartime, as well as to judge about those who had broken the law, in the padisákh’s name. Many said he was a harsh man, with a heavy hand. I believe, though he was only devoted to justice. And justice is harsh in the realms of the savannahs and shifting sands.

I remember a bright morning – I could not be any older than six summers – when a young woman, the concubine of some rich merchant or powerful khan – was caught and judged for some wrongdoing I could not fathom at that time. My father ordered her to be taken out to the desert, outside the city, bound to a wooden pole and left there, ‘til her spirit would be freed from her sinning flesh. I remember her beauty and her desperate pleas to be spared; yet none of those would move my father’s heart.

Afterwards, when her screams could not be heard any longer, I asked my father why would he not spare her. My father looked at me for a long time, as if trying to decide whether I was old enough to understand.

“My tiger,” he finally said, “I was being merciful. By freeing her from the sins of her flesh, I have saved her spirit from being stained. One day, you will understand.”

Had he lived long enough to raise me as a true warrior of Harad, I might have understood indeed. Yet Fate has brought me to the West, where I was taught a different kind of mercy. I wonder sometimes which one is my true nature now.

~The End~

Title: Rebirth

Author: Soledad

Disclaimer: All places and persons belong to Professor Tolkien whom I greatly admire. This was written for the simple joy of writing. No copyright infringement intended, no money made.

Rating: General, suitable for all.

Series: Flickers On the Water

Archiving: my website and Edhellond. Everyone else: please, ask first.

Summary: Glorfindel tries to get used to his new body. Triple-drabble, exactly 300 words.

Dedication: to Makamu, for Edhellond's 5th anniversary.

Beta read by Tolkanonms, thanks! 

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There had been no time in the Halls of Mandos, no dreams, no hope. Just fire and darkness and remembered pain. Memories of his own folly, of a path chosen wrongly, albeit for the right reasons. For how could friendship and faithfulness have been wrong? Ecthelion had been his shieldbrother since the Days of Awakening, and if Ecthelion decided to follow the rebellious children of his old friend back to Middle-earth, Glorfindel could not stay behind. Not even if he risked the wrath of the Valar with his actions.

If that were folly, he had certainly paid for it. With a heart broken by unrequited love for a girl who could have been his great-granddaughter. With a brutal death in the fire of the demon he dragged down with him in the end.

And now, here he was, freed from the Halls again, resting in Irmo’s garden, clad in new flesh that felt familiar and yet strange at the same time. He was still Glorfindel, the gold-tressed Lord of the House of the Golden Flower – and yet he was not. Not entirely. His memories of old were still there, yet blurred, as if he were looking at them from a far-away, foreign place. His body was the same, yet entirely new: stronger, faster somehow. It was a most peculiar feeling, as if he had been profoundly changed in a manner that he could not even begin to fathom.

“You are correct,” the disembodied voice of Irmo, Lord of the Dreams said in his mind. “You have been changed, in a way no other rehoused Elf has been before or will be in the future. You have been chosen to perform great tasks in Middle-earth: to lead and tutor and fight and guard. Rest now. You will be called soon enough.”

~The End~

Note: This vignette is a side product to my still unfinished Glorfindel story, “A Tale of Never-ending Love”.

Title: Recognition

Author: Soledad

Disclaimer: All places and persons belong to Professor Tolkien whom I greatly admire. This was written for the simple joy of writing. No copyright infringment intended, no money made.

Rating: General, suitable for all.

Series: Flickers on the Water

Archiving: my website and Edhellond. Everyone else: please, ask first.

Summary: When Morgoth is defeated and the pits of Utumno laid open, Alagos, the Dark Elf, makes a startling discovery. 108 words.

Dedication: to Jillian Baade, for Edhellond's 5th anniversary.

Beta read by Lady Masterblott, thanks!

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The creature had dark skin, a twisted face full of fear and hatred, and hands that reminded of the claws of some wild beast. But its ears were pointed like those of the Quendi, and though its eyes were slanted and yellow, there was something in them that held back the knife in Alagos' hand. Something torturously familiar.

He looked at the creature again, not only with his eyes but also with his heart, and now he could see beyond the grotesque visage and recognize the person hidden somewhere within.

"Brother?" he asked, and tears began to fall from the yellow eyes.

~The End~

Note: It is established in "Astonishment in Mirkwood" that Alagos' parents had been taken by the Hunter to Utumno, in order to be twisted into Orcs. They were also forced to breed; his brother was born in the pits.

Title: The Burden of Kingship

Author: Soledad

Disclaimer: All places and persons belong to Professor Tolkien whom I greatly admire. This was written for the simple joy of writing. No copyright infringement intended, no money made.

Rating: General, suitable for all.

Series: The Mazarbul Chronicles

Archiving: my website and Edhellond. Everyone else: please, ask first.

Summary: After the Battle of Five Armies, Dáin Ironfoot considers his future duties. Double-and-a-half drabble, 225 words.

Dedication: to Aislynn Crowdaughter, my fellow Dwarf-fancier, for Edhellond's 5th anniversary.

This particular piece has not found a beta reader yet. My apologies.

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The aftermath was almost worse than the battle itself: the number of the dead and dying disheartening, and the desecration of the time-honoured halls by the Dragon’s filth saddening beyond relief. Dáin asked himself whether the Halls Under the Mountain would ever regain their beauty of old. Whether all the dying and killing was truly worth it.

‘Twas true that the Children of Mahal were jealous of all that which was theirs. ‘Twas also true that the Dragon had needed to be dealt with if one wished the North to be safe again. But the price paid for that elusive safety, for the regaining of their birthright, was a very high one.

Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain, was dead, and so were the young princes of his House, who would one day have become his heirs. The eldest branch of Durin’s line was broken, forever. It fell to Dáin now to shoulder the burden of kingship in a kingdom long gone; to rebuild that which had been destroyed by the Dragon. ‘Twas a duty he had never asked for. He had been content in the Iron Hills, and would have stayed there happily ‘til the end of his days.

But there was no-one else to step into his place, and Mahal had not made his children to run away from their duties.

~The End~

Title: The Last Ship

Author: Soledad

Disclaimer: All places and persons belong to Professor Tolkien whom I greatly admire. This was written for the simple joy of writing. No copyright infringment intended, no money made.

Rating: General, suitable for all.

Series: Starlight on Leaves

Archiving: my website and Edhellond. Everyone else: please, ask first.

Summary: After everyone else, finally Thranduil too boards a ship to sail to the West. Double-and-a-half drabble, 251 words.

Dedication: to JastaElf, my fellow Thranduil champion, for Edhellond's 5th anniversary.

Beta read by the Wild Iris, thanks!

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The little grey ship was waiting for them at the haven of Edhellond, as promised. On board was Airantir, the Sea-Wanderer, once a member of Gildor Inglorion's Wandering Company. He had been a good friend for millennia and had waited for Thranduil and his miraculously re-found son to make up their minds. Now the time had finally come, and the Teleri Elf had turned the sails into the wind that was to whisk them away to the West.

Thranduil was strangely subdued while boarding the ship. While grateful for the chance to see his children again, both those who had sailed and those who had fallen in battle, he was still mourning the loss of his beloved forest, and he was worried whether the Lords of the West would allow his Queen to follow. Lálisin had stayed with them as a disembodied spirit for a century, to watch over them – whether with Námo's blessing or without, no-one could tell. And what would the Blessed Land be worth without Lálisin to share it with?

But he did not truly have the choice. Now that Enadar had finally been healed enough to risk the journey, they needed to go. They had already waited too long.

He looked at his son, standing at the prow of the ship, his eyes bright with anticipation, and knew that it was, indeed, time to reunite the family. He only hoped that the Valar would be gracious.

~The End~

Title: When You Are With Me

Author: Soledad

Disclaimer: All places and persons belong to Professor Tolkien whom I greatly admire. This was written for the simple joy of writing. No copyright infringment intended, no money made.

Rating: General, suitable for all.

Series: Flickers on the Water

Archiving: my website and Edhellond. Everyone else: please, ask first.

Summary: Once again, it is the anniversary of the sack of Sirion. Celebrían knows where to look for Elrond. Almost-triple-drabble, 287 words.

Dedication: to Lady Masterblott, a jewel among beta readers, for Edhellond's 5th anniversary.

Beta read by Cirdan, thanks!

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She woke up in the middle of the night to an empty feeling at her side. Reaching out for him, she found his side of the bed vacant. Her sharp Elven eyes adjusted to the starlit darkness and saw that his robe was no longer hung over the back of the chair. As his side of the bed was cold, he must have been gone for quite some time.

She sighed and rose, wrapping herself into the light grey robe woven by her mother's handmaids in the Golden Wood. With swift, practiced moves, she twisted her long silver hair into a loose knot and hurried out of their bedchamber. She had just realized that it was that time of the loa again. She knew where to look for him.

And there he stood, upon the highest balcony of the Last Homely House, staring at the night sky. Dawn was not far; his eyes were turned eastwards, where the golden ship of Arien would soon sail above the upper waters.

"'Tis strange," he said without turning to her, knowing that she would be there for him like she always has been. "One would think that as the son of the Evening Star I would be drawn to the night. But my brother chose to become a mortal Man, and though I remained with the Firstborn, I often find myself more at home during the sunlit day. Could it be that I have made the wrong choice?"

"Do you believe you have?" she asked quietly.

He turned to her now and looked at her with a smile full of love.

"Not when you are with me," he replied and kissed her in the glowing light of the new day with gratitude.

~The End~