Stories of Arda - Lord of the Rings Fan-Fiction Archive

A/N: NaQuaWriMo is National Quality Writing Month. A challenge for those who find NaNoWriMo daunting. Write at least 100 words per day during the Month of November of beautifully crafted stories or poetry; the aim is quality over quantity.

How could she help but be fascinated? He was all that she had silently wished for in her dreams of a future mate.

The first time she laid eyes on him, she was bedazzled by the smile he'd cast across the room to the most beautiful woman in the hall. Not to her; she wasn't so prideful as to compare herself to his mother, Luthien. But how she had wished that he would take note of her.

I find myself looking for the youngling whom I carried on my back through the Eagle's Cleft as we escaped from betrayed Gondolin.

Instead, I now see a man, the image of his father; eyes as grey as the sea, flaxen hair caught by the salt-laden breeze as he stares out over the waves.

All too soon, he has become too old for my wishes to safely hold him home. He hears the call of Ulmo and Ossë.

Perhaps his wife will be strong enough to keep him ashore at her side, but I fear the sea is stronger.

Cirdan smiled at his protégé. "You haven't forgotten anything, have you? You've got the ring?"

Impatiently, Eärendil nodded. "Yes. Of course!" He displayed the golden circle to the Shipwright, then put it away. "Isn't it time?"

Before Cirdan could answer, Elwing was there, clad in white and silver, with flowers in her hair. Holding a velvet-wrapped bundle in her hands, she said, "It would be my mother's part to give you a jewel. So, in her stead, my beloved husband to be, let me gift you with this."

As the couple exchanged vows, the Silmaril flared gloriously on Eärendil's breast.

Eärendil placed an ungloved hand against the broad silvery white trunk, and the papery bark crackled under the pressure of long fingers. He looked up, his eyes following the height of the ancient tree up to where the first branches extended from the main bole, then dropped his gaze to meet Cirdan's eyes. "This one."

"Are you sure?" the Shipwright asked, standing bundled against the bitter winter wind, his beard and hair blowing in a tangle about his face.

"Aye, I am sure. It's as if Yavanna created it just for this purpose; to become the keel for my Vingilot."

A/N: Inspired by the following text from THE SILMARILLION: Now when Eärendil was long time gone Elwing became lonely and afraid; and wandering by the margin of the sea she came near to Alqualondë, where lay the Telerin fleets. There the Teleri befriended her, and they listened to her tales of Doriath and Gondolin and the griefs of Beleriand, and they were filled with pity and wonder; and there Eärendil returning found her, at the Haven of the Swans (Chapter 25 "The Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath")

"And then," Elwing said, "I watched him out of sight, until I could no longer see the gleam of the Silmaril moving up the pass into Valinor."

She smiled, although her eyes were still dark with grief. "Aye, little one. I did." Elwing turned towards the window that faced the Calacirya, as had become her habit. Where was her husband? Would he return to her or would she be doomed to spend what might be left of her life grieving on the bejeweled shores of Aman?

A/N: Inspired by this quote from THE SILMARILLION: Thus led by Tuor son of Huor the remnant of Gondolin passed over the mountains, and came down into the Vale of Sirion; and fleeing southward by weary and dangerous marches they came at length to Nan-tathren, the Land of Willows, for the power of Ulmo yet ran in the great river, and it was about them. There they rested a while, and were healed of their hurts and weariness; but their sorrow could not be healed. And they made a feast in memory of Gondolin and of the Elves that had perished there, the maidens, and the wives, and the warriors of the King; and for Glorfindel the beloved many were the songs they sang, under the willows of Nan-tathren in the waning of the year. There Tuor made a song for Eärendil his son, concerning the coming of Ulmo the Lord of Waters to the shores of Nevrast aforetime; and the sea-longing woke in his heart, and in his son's also. Therefore Idril and Tuor departed from Nan-tathren, and went southwards down the river to the sea; and they dwelt there by the mouths of Sirion, and joined their people to the company of Elwing Dior's daughter, that had fled thither but a little while before. (Chapter 23, Of Tuor and the Fall of Gondolin)

The gates to the Havens opened before the band of refugees, welcoming those who fled from lost Gondolin. Eärendil, head nodding with exhaustion, leaned against his father's shoulder as they passed within the walls. "Atto, is it much further?" he asked sleepily.

"Not far," Tuor told him, heading for the guesthouse the gate warden had pointed out.

"Time enough for that in the morning," Idril told him firmly. "Go back to sleep."

A/N: Inspired by: Yet by Sirion and the sea there grew up an Elven-folk, the gleanings of Doriath and Gondolin; and from Balar the mariners of Círdan came among them, and they took to the waves and the building of ships, dwelling ever nigh to the coasts of Arvernien, under the shadow of Ulmo's hand. (Chapter 23 Of Tuor and the Fall of Gondolin)

"Look, Atto! It's Master Cirdan!" Eärendil ducked under the lower edge of the sail and scrambled to the bow of Tuor's clinker-built pinnace. He eagerly leaned over the prow. "Oh, Look how his ship gleams in the sun! I want to sail one just like it when I grow up, Atto!"

"You'll have to build it first, little one," Tuor indulgently told him from the stern, guiding their small vessel towards the elven ship.

Eärendil nodded vigorously. "I'm going to build the very best ship in the world! And I'm going to sail it where nobody has sailed before!"

A/N:Bright Eärendil was then lord of the people that dwelt nigh to Sirion's mouths; and he took to wife Elwing the fair... (Chapter 24, Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath). The muse says that Eärendil and Elwing are 13 or 14 years old in this drabble.

Elwing noticed the boat before she noticed the flaxen-haired youth who guided it expertly through the combers and ran it up onto the shore. But then the wind caught at the cap he wore, whipping it from his head to land right at her feet. She stooped to grab it as another gust threatened to carry it away.

When she straightened up, her white gown and dark hair billowing, he was there before her, blue-grey eyes sparkling.

A/N: Inspired by: and he took to wife Elwing the fair, and she bore to him Elrond and Elros, who are called the Half-elven. (Chapter 24, Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath)

Eärendil stood at the prow of the Vingilot, staring at the silhouette of a tower on the moonlit horizon. So close and yet so far. He felt an unexplained sense of urgency rise up in his heart. He could not wait for the dawn winds to drive them into the harbor. He had to get home.

He hurried below, to where his crew were drawing the golden oars from where they'd been stowed, and claimed one.

When he finally raced up the tower's stairs, he was greeted by the high, twin wails of his newborn sons.

A/N: Inspired by: ...and they were three mariners who had sailed all the seas besides him: Falathar, Erellont, and Aerandir (Chapter 24, Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath)

Falathar sat cross-legged on the white deck, splicing rope. He glanced up from his busy fingers at his friend Aerandir, who had the helm, and replied, "I haven't thought that far ahead, to tell you the truth. We've got to get to Valinor first."

Erellont handed them waybread and mugs of water. "No one's ever found the way back there."

Falathar glanced at the Vingilot's prow, where Eärendil stared westward with his arm about Elwing's waist. The seaman tugged on the repaired rope and said, "If anyone can do it, he can."

A/N: Inspired by: And Eärendil went into Valinor and to the halls of Valimar, and never again set foot upon the lands of Men. Then the Valar took counsel together, and they summoned Ulmo from the deeps of the sea; and Eärendil stood before their faces, and delivered the errand of the Two Kindreds. Pardon he asked for the Noldor and pity for their great sorrows, and mercy upon Men and Elves and succour in their need. And his prayer was granted.

Standing alone in the Mahanaxar, Earendil wondered if this were a dream; if he would shortly awaken on board the Vingilot and find himself again lost among the mists and shadows that barred the way to the Blessed Realm. The empty thrones about him were suddenly obscured by flares of light, against which he shielded his eyes. When he could see again, awestruck, he dropped to his knees. Taking the shining Silmaril from his brow, offered the brilliant jewel up to the Elder King.

A/N: Inspired by: In those days Tuor felt old age creep upon him, and ever a longing for the deeps of the Sea grew stronger in his heart. Therefore he built a great ship, and he named it Eärrámë, which is Sea-Wing; and with Idril Celebrindal he set sail into the sunset and the West, and came no more into any tale or song. But in after days it was sung that Tuor alone of mortal Men was numbered among the elder race, and was joined with the Noldor, whom he loved; and his fate is sundered from the fate of Men. (Chapter 23, Of Tuor and the Fall of Gondolin)

Unexpected

(exactly 100 words)

Elwing joined Eärendil as he examined a Telerin ship moored at the Haven of Alqualondë. "What are you thinking?"

"My father would have liked her lines," he answered, his eyes shadowed by sorrow. "She reminds me of the Eärrámë."

She nodded, and when he went to speak to the ship's master, wandered down the pier. She beckoned down one of the gulls that swooped above, as she glanced out at a grey-hulled ship on the sea beyond the harbor's great stone arch. Her eyes widened. "Eärendil! Look!"

She wept with silent jealousy as he embraced his parents, Idril and Tuor.

A/N: This was not inspired by any particular words of THE SILMARILLION, but from it overall. I also was drawing a bit from my friend Fiondil's Valar fics here at www.storiesofarda.com which feature Lord Námo. After reuniting Earendil and his parents last night, I wondered if there might still be a way for Elwing to get to be with her parents one day. This was the result.

In the shadowy hall, Dior stood defiantly before the Lord of Mandos, his fists clenched. "I will not go. Not without my wife. I know that she is here, for I saw her fall beneath their accursed swords beneath the stone trees of Menegroth."

"It is the Fate of Men to die and pass beyond the circles of Arda--," Námo intoned.

"No," Dior interrupted him. "I will stay here, in your Halls, until Nimloth and I are reunited."

A/N: A follow on to "Unexpected". Attributable to my warped sense of humor and frustration with a misbehaving computer. Please forgive me!

Eärendil refilled Tuor's cup and then his mother's. "How did you get here? We thought you lost forever, especially when King Olwë told me that none of his people had seen the Eärrámë."

Tuor smiled at his wife and caught up her hand to kiss it. "I followed your mother's advice this time. We might not have spent so long wandering from one of the Shadowed Isles to another, if I had done so before."

Elwing looked wide-eyed from him to her mother-in-law. "What advice was that?"

"I told him to ask for directions." Idril smirked. "And, thankfully, Ossë obliged."

A/N: A follow-up to "Argument". According to a footnote in HOME IV, Dior was accounted among the Elves, along with his daughter Elwing, and his grandson Elrond (see A/N below the drabble).

"The answer is still no," he said flatly, "I will not leave this place without my wife."

Námo asked, "If thou were allowed to partake of the fate of the Eldar instead of that of the Edain, wouldst thou choose to do so?"

His answer was immediate. "I would choose to be with Nimloth." He looked into the Vala's eyes. "Wherever she might be."

"Then sleep, Dior son of Luthien, and awaken to the life of the Eldar with thy love at thy side."

From HoME IV, The Shaping of Middle-earth, pg. 100-101 HarperCollins paperback edition, on the fate of the Elves:

Slain or fading their spirits went back to the halls of Mandos to wait a thousand years, or the pleasure of Mandos(2) according to their deserts, before they were recalled to free life in Valinor, or were reborn,(3) it is said, into their own children.(4)

And of like fate were those fair offspring of Elf and Mortal, Eärendel, and Elwing, and Dior her father, and Elrond her child.

A/N: Inspired by: "Then at the bidding of the Valar Eönwë went to the shore of Aman, where the companions of Eärendil still remained, awaiting tidings; and he took a boat, and the three mariners were set therein, and the Valar drove them away into the East with a great wind." (Chapter 24, Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath)

Eärendil watched the white swan ship out of sight, standing next to Eonwë on one of the hidden watchtowers that looked east from the heights of the Pelóri. "I would have liked to have bidden them farewell. We have sailed together since before Vingilot's keel was laid." He drew his cloak tighter about himself as the west wind grew stronger.

Eonwë smiled. "I told them to remember that hope would rise for all in Middle-earth."

A/N: Inspired by: But Dior returned no answer to the sons of Fëanor; and Celegorm stirred up his brothers to prepare an assault upon Doriath. They came at unawares in the middle of winter, and fought with Dior in the Thousand Caves; and so befell the second slaying of Elf by Elf. There fell Celegorm by Dior's hand, and there fell Curufin, and dark Caranthir; but Dior was slain also, and Nimloth his wife, and the cruel servants of Celegorm seized his young sons and left them to starve in the forest. Of this Maedhros indeed repented, and sought for them long in the woods of Doriath; but his search was unavailing, and of the fate of Eluréd and Elurín no tale tells. (Chapter 22, Of the Ruin of Doriath)

Eluréd kicked at the warrior who dragged him from his hiding place. "Let me go!" he yelled, and then bit hard on the hand that clapped over his mouth.

"Morgoth's balls!" his captor spat, and the child wrenched himself free and ran towards a dark side tunnel, hoping to hide himself again.

He tried to dodge, but his feet slipped on the gore-stained pavement. He sprawled on the encarmined stone and sobbed as he was taken captive again.

"Take them to the forest." Celegorm's servant sneered down at the twins. "Let them starve."

A/N2: The fate of the sons of Dior always saddened me... I'm surprised that I'm not awash in tears after writing this.

A/N: Inspired by: Now Dior Thingol's heir bade farewell to Beren and Lúthien, and departing from Lanthir Lamath with Nimloth his wife he came to Menegroth, and abode there; and with them went their young sons Eluréd and Elurín, and Elwing their daughter. Then the Sindar received them with joy, and they arose from the darkness of their grief for fallen kin and King and for the departure of Melian; and Dior Eluchíl set himself to raise anew the glory of the kingdom of Doriath. (Chapter 22, Of the Ruin of Doriath)

Luthien blinked back her tears. She hadn't expected this parting to be quite so difficult. Dior tucked a greying strand of hair behind her ear as he moved into her embrace.

"I'll miss you, my son." She kissed his brow and looked into his eyes. "My father would be so proud of you."

Beren's fingers tightened about hers as she, weeping, waved farewell to the new King of Doriath, his queen, and their children.

A/N: Not inspired by any particular quote from THE SILMARILLION, but I can't see that Elwing wouldn't wonder and worry about her children in Middle-earth, especially on what would have been a special day had they been together.

Elwing lay back on the jeweled sands and gazed up at the starry night sky, blowing a kiss towards Vingilot and her husband. Menelmacar strode into the heavens at the eastern horizon, followed by faithful Heluin. Sadness welled up within her breast as she wondered if her young sons could see the Swordsman as well. They'd be ten years old on the morrow. She silenced the insidious inner voice that added "if they yet live". Closing her eyes she slipped onto the Path of Dreams, to seek out the flicker of a fire, a song, and their yearned-for twin faces.

A/N: Inspired by: But they took Vingilot, and hallowed it, and bore it away through Valinor to the uttermost rim of the world; and there it passed through the Door of Night and was lifted up even into the oceans of heaven. | Now fair and marvellous was that vessel made, and it was filled with a wavering flame, pure and bright; and Eärendil the Mariner sat at the helm, glistening with dust of elven-gems, and the Silmaril was bound upon his brow. (Chapter 24, Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath.

Eärendil wondered how long it had been since all of the Powers last stood together by the Sundering Sea. The fourteen Valar made a shallow semi-circle before the Vingilot, standing barefoot at the edge of the surf.

Elwing took his hand and he squeezed it reassuringly as Varda stepped forward. She raised her face and her hands to the heavens and began to sing.

Listening, entranced and awed, he stared as the white wood that gleamed in the sunlight shimmered and brightened with each note of the song. When she stopped Vingilot glistened, transparent and filled with a wavering flame.

A/N: Inspired by a comment made by one of my reviewers asking why Elwing put the Silmaril ahead of her children. This is what came to mind after re-reading: Too late the ships of Círdan and Gil-galad the High King came hasting to the aid of the Elves of Sirion; and Elwing was gone, and her sons. Then such few of that people as did not perish in the assault joined themselves to Gil-galad, and went with him to Balar; and they told that Elros and Elrond were taken captive, but Elwing with the Silmaril upon her breast had cast herself into the sea. (Chapter 24, Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath)

Don't let them have me! Your great-grandfather and your father died for me... can you do no less?

The subtle voice of the Silmaril filled her mind as Elwing raced up the stairs of the tower.

The image of her sons' nurse and tutor lying slain in the bloody school room rose before her, and Elwing sobbed as she reached the chamber that overlooked the sea. Her children were gone, dead or captive, and she hated herself as she scrabbled at the catch of the window casement.

A/N: An alternative view of why Elwing cast herself from the tower with the Silmaril. For those who found yesterday's offering "too uncanonical".

Her pursuers at her heels, Elwing tripped on the top step, sprawling on the stone floor of the uppermost chamber. She scrambled to her feet and flung herself towards the broad window that overlooked the sea far below. Trapped. They had her children. Maybe they'd preserve them if they knew the jewel was out of their reach for good.

My father died to keep it from them. I'm supposed to protect it. But how? The sound of the waves below sent inspiration and, her eyes on Maedhros' face, she reached for the clasp of the Nauglamir.

A/N: The narrator is an Elf of Doriath and this takes place back when Doriath fell for the last time. (Chapter 22: Of the Ruin of Doriath)

It is the reason I died; there in the Thousand Caves. Maybe if he had just given the Silmaril to the sons of Fëanor, I might not have fallen in the underground streets, cut down by my own distant kin, my blood soaking into the paving stones of the city. But instead, Dior gave us up to the kinslayers; every man, woman and child of us, and we paid the price for his accursed obsession.

Why couldn't he give it to Maedhros and his brothers? How much more blood of the Firstborn will that jewel claim? Will none be left?

A/N: Inspired by: And it is sung that she fell from the air upon the timbers of Vingilot, in a swoon, nigh unto death for the urgency of her speed, and Eärendil took her to his bosom; but in the morning with marvelling eyes he beheld his wife in her own form beside him with her hair upon his face, and she slept.... Yet Eärendil saw now no hope left in the lands of Middle-earth, and he turned again in despair and came not home, but sought back once more to Valinor with Elwing at his side. (Chapter 24, Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath)

Eärendil rolled on his side and gazed, surprised, at his wife who slept, the Silmaril gleaming on her breast. He brushed her dark hair from his face. "Elwing, how are you here?"

She awakened, gasping. Her eyes met his and overflowed with tears. "Eärendil!" She yanked at the chain of the Nauglamir, until finally something gave way and it fell onto the deck. She picked it up and thrust it into Eärendil's hands. "Take it!"

His fingers closed about the glorious jewel as she confessed her actions at Sirion. Before she was done, he'd ordered his crew to sail West.

A/N: Inspired by: "and Eärendil the Mariner sat at the helm, glistening with dust of elven-gems, and the Silmaril was bound upon his brow." (Chapter 24, Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath)

"B-But," Eärendil stammered, confused, looking from Yavanna to Aulë and then back to the elegant mithril circlet the Worldsmith held, "I gave the Silmaril to Lord Manwë."

Yavanna smiled. "And that is why we now return it to you. You have proved your worthiness to bear its light."

She shook her head; wheat golden tresses rippling over her shoulders like a wind touched grassy plain. "It is far too late for that."

Aulë placed the Silmaril on Eärendil's brow. "Now it is time for hope to grow," he said.

A/N: Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue. To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. The Dispossessed shall they be for ever. (Part of the Prophecy of the North, Chapter 9, Of the Flight of the Noldor)

"Why do you weep, granddaughter?" Melian stepped from the nearby pavilion and sat down next to her granddaughter.

"What kind of mother am I?" Elwing wailed. "I chose the Silmaril over my own children!"

The Maia drew her Elwing into her embrace. "You were alone; you had no choice under the Prophecy of the North. The Sons of Fëanor are Doomed to ever be dispossessed of the Silmarils. Their own Oath and the Doom of the Noldor forced you to do as you did."

A/N: Inspired by: Now when first Vingilot was set to sail in the seas of heaven, it rose unlocked for, glittering and bright; and the people of Middle-earth beheld it from afar and wondered, and they took it for a sign, and called it Gil-Estel, the Star of High Hope.

Erellont had the helm of the Valar-gifted boat that hardly seemed to need his hand on the tiller, for she sailed ever eastward, and it seemed that the sea calmed before her, easing their way back towards Middle-earth.

As sunset faintly stained the sky to the west, he looked up at the stars for those which were his guide to the Havens at Balar. Then looking behind, his breath caught for a moment then he was calling for his companions.

"Aerandir! Falathar!" he cried, pointing, his far-seeing elven sight focused on the glorious new star. "Do you see? It's Eärendil!"

A/N2: These are the elves who accompanied Eärendil and Elwing west to find Valinor and were sent back to Middle-earth by Eonwë.

Elbereth had promised that he would be protected from the cold, airless space beyond the highest clouds. Eärendil was much relieved to find that her promise was true as the Vingilot rose to sail the oceans of heaven.

No mere velvet blackness scattered with pinpricks of light, it was a magnificent reality of stars innumerable sown so thickly it seemed as if the diamond dust of Tiron's streets had been spread across the spaces between the brighter orbs.

A/N: Inspired by: For Maglor took pity upon Elros and Elrond, and he cherished them, and love grew after between them, as little might be thought; but Maglor's heart was sick and weary with the burden of the dreadful oath. (Chapter 24, Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath)

Maedhros knelt by his dead brothers and cursed. The Silmaril had been practically in his grasp, and then she had jumped. They had nothing to show for the carnage except the loss of all but one of his beloved siblings.

A shrill, piping voice caught Maedhros' attention. He looked up to see his brother, Maglor, holding firmly to a pair of identical twin boys whose faces carried him to a memory from 35 years before; of another pair of children who had been lost.

A/N: In honor of the last day of NaQuaWriMo, I'm giving my readers two drabbles instead of one, because I just can't tell one side of the story. These are not inspired by any particular lines in THE SILMARILLION, but rather from what I'd like to think happened when Elrond Half-elven finally arrived in the Blessed Realm. Enjoy!

The breeze that drove the swanship towards the grey smudge of land on the horizon tugged at Elrond's hair and he stepped away from the railing to impatiently re-plait it. Gasps and exclamations made him whirl and look up. The half-finished braid fell from his fingers to tangle once more as the gleaming white sea-bird alighted on the deck before him.

She furled her wings with a soft cry and, with a shimmer of bright light, transformed into a white-gowned woman with tear-filled grey eyes. Soft hands drew him into her embrace. "My son!" she whispered in his ear.

The Peredhel had no conscious memory of the flaxen-haired man who leaped over the side of the glowing, crystalline vessel to the white stone pier. But he found himself running towards him with open arms.

As Elrond was swept off his feet into a whirling embrace, he recognized the feel of the strong muscles beneath the diamond-dusted raiment. "Ada!"

"I thought this day would never come!" Eärendil's smile was brighter than the Silmaril bound on his brow. "To finally meet you, to hold you, to know you! Ah, Elrond!"

Of Elves, Men and Peredhil by Rhyselle