Current mood:

accomplished

lots more drabbles (such a relief after a 20,000 word fic!)
My drabble muse has been in overdrive recently....

I produced a sequence of five drabbles about Faramir based around the five elements of classical philosophy. Many thanks to martal0712 for the inspiration.

Also a number of birthday drabbles:

Nessime wanted either Théodred or Boromir - or both.

More like to the swift sons of Eorl

I thought no man could rival my cousin, until the Steward’s Heir came to discuss the raids across the river and see our defences for himself.

They were a matched pair, wheeling away from the éored to race their horses across the wold, laughing. At night, as sparks wheeled upwards, our dark-haired friend exchanged tales of valour, sang his songs and listened to ours, toasted old heroes and drank to new exploits. When we faced the orcs at last, his horn joined our music; his blade wrought skilful havoc.

Saruman’s treachery robbed both our lands of their brightest and best.

***

Loqi wanted a story about the Elessar, the stone, not the king, though the king may be included too

Details

“Is there not a prophecy?" my granddaughter asked me, after she received it from her mother. "That we will pass the stone to one who will bear its name?" I told her Olórin's words.

Years later, she came and thrust it at me. “You must take it back, you must,” she pleaded.

I did not understand what troubled her, though she returned Olórin’s words to me, over and over: You shall hand it on when the time comes.

“You, you, you!” she cried at last. “Not me. You. It is the prophecy. And Aragorn is the one. He must be.”

***

Elena Tiriel wanted "heroic" non-kinslaying Elves, Rohirrim and, at a pinch, Faramir. Also obscure corners of canon.

Faithful companion

Belthronding’s reassuring voice whispers in his ear as, one by one, he slays the wolf-sentinels. Long has it sung for him, companion through many battles. Its dark limbs are crafted from yew: hardiest of woods yet one which bends to the will of friendly hands, to guard and keep them safe.

Does he suspect, as the last warg falls, that he will never hear his bow’s sweet note again? Why should he think it? He has faced many perils ere this, though none so great.

He offers a quick, customary caress of thanks, before he steals into the orc camp.

***

Brothers-in-arms

As in birth, so in death: they lie together.

As in life, so in death: they guard our border.

Water washes the walls of their last home; and all rivers must flow to the sea. None can make the current run uphill. Yet a chance-dropped pebble may change the course of a stream forever.

Oh happy hour that brought their forefathers to our aid! We gave land to a people who lacked it. They gave sons to a land that had need of men.

We sing of their valour at the river crossing in two tongues, yet with one heart.

***

Note: A small edit after some feedback.

Nothing to fear but fear itself

The Warden’s news grieves him, but he doubts the course his feelings urge on him. He suspects now the Lady’s favour lies elsewhere, though there have been moments that gave him hope it was otherwise.

Will he add to her sorrow if he brings news he suffers as she does: offering a gift to one who does not wish to receive it? Or simply increase his own burden, no longer able to guard against past hurts with scarce-acknowledged dreams for the future?

Faint heart never won fair lady. His brother’s laughter echoes in his ears.

He rises from his desk.

***

Meril wanted (a) a happy moment between Fëanor and Nerdanel, or (b) anything Houses of Healing, or (c) Galadriel and Celeborn anywhere, and said if we could incorporate all of those she'd drop dead from shock. (I hope she's still OK!)

Now in silence, now in speech

Faramir is in the garden before her today, a book in hand. She asks him what he reads, and he spins tales from the past, transporting her to other times and places with his skill.

Fëanor woos Nerdanel with precious jewels that are yet no match for her bright eyes. Melian casts a spell upon Elwë as he wanders in shadowy woods. Celeborn makes songs in praise of a bright-garlanded maiden; and Artanis becomes his Galadriel. Beren, struck mute by Lúthien’s beauty, nurses his love for her silently.

Later, she reads the book for herself and uncovers his sweet duplicity.