Written for various challenges/requests at HASA.
Family Resemblance
He watches Arwen as she cuts the arrowhead from her brother's shoulder, her eyes as steady as her hands on the surgeon's knife. Before she asks, he presses a cloth into her outstretched hand and she blots the blood sliding down Elladan's arm.
Later, while they put the stillroom in order, Elrond draws his daughter into his arms and kisses her hair, smooth and shining as the obsidian tool she wielded on her brother's flesh. "It is well that there are two healers to care for the two hunters in this family." Her rare smile illuminates the grave grey eyes.
(For nutterzoi, who wanted drabbles featuring Elrond and a family member as a birthday present.)
First Meeting
"Be welcome to Lorien, Heir of Isildur," Celeborn said, yet his cold stare belied the words. Galadriel said nothing, only met Aragorn's eyes, and he gasped like a man plunged into icy water. So you would ask my granddaughter to make Luthien's choice. And what if Arwen consented? Have you the courage to take her life?
He broke free from her gaze and looked down at his hands, relieved to see that they were not trembling. If it were her own free choice, he thought, yes. If she gave me her life, I would hold it close as my own.
(For fliewatuet, who requested drabbles about pre-Ring-War Aragorn for her birthday.)
Links
The broken horn hung now in a place of honour in the Hall of the Kings. Frodo stood before it with a simple golden chain pooled in his palm. He twisted it around the four fingers of his right hand, remembering the mountainside. The chain dangled from Boromir's fingers, and the Man's eyes followed the Ring's slow pendulum.
Standing on tiptoe, Frodo reached up to twine the links around the baldric of the horn, where they gleamed dully in the sunlight from the high windows. "The same chain bound us, Boromir. I hope you are free of it now."
(For flick, who wanted someone "remembering Boromir" for her birthday.)
Leavetaking
Gilraen and her escort mount and prepare to depart. Dawn is near, but the grey mist of morning hides it.
The Master of the House has come to see them off, and she gives him her hand in farewell. "My thanks are little enough return for years of shelter, yet I offer them nonetheless."
"They are more than sufficient, Gilraen. But will you not remain?"
"There is no longer any victory it is possible for us to share, Master Elrond. In the end, one of us will lose a child. I will not stay to see who it must be."
(For Imhiriel, who wanted drabbles about "a meeting between Gilraen and Elrond, any time, any topic" for her birthday.)
Posterity
Arwen sits under the White Tree and breathes in its scent. This courtyard – once barren and cold, a reminder of Gondor's decline from past vitality – has become one of the places she most loves. The sapling planted here with hope has thriven. Grown taller than Man or Elf now, it blossoms with starry white flowers that drench the courtyard in heady scent.
The flicker of a smile touches her lips as she rests one hand below her waist. Her mortal choice is truly irrevocable now. Nothing has ever felt so vastly, terrifyingly inevitable.
Aragorn crosses the worn paving stones, nearly running to where she sits. By the look in his eyes she knows that he already guesses the tidings she had intended to tell him. He kisses her brow, her lips, and smiling, he plucks a cluster of flowers from the bough above them and sets it behind her ear. "My white tree. Now we are truly renewed."
(For Sphinx, who wanted "something with Aragorn and Arwen" for her birthday. It's a drabble and a half, really - I couldn't pare it down to exactly 100 words.)
The Riders of Rohan
(There are two versions of this one, poetry and prose. The challenge was to condense a chapter of The Two Towers into a drabble; the complete book, each chapter drabbled by a different writer, is available at HASA.)
The Riders of Rohan
Three hunters seek hobbits in harsh land of hills.
Road marked by riddles, lightly they run on Rohan's grass.
Bright leaf of Lorien leads them on;
The wizard's will wearies their hearts.
A red dawn rises, and Riders they find
with wary welcome for those the Wood has favoured.
Then swift is sword bared, sworn are oaths,
and great-hearted gift of horses by Eomer given.
At Fangorn's fell eaves are fire's ashes,
but no hope of hobbits. Have a care –
Cut no quick wood! Dwimmer-crafty old man
Haunts their fire, horses flee.
Alone, without allies, sleep is all they seek.
A red dawn rises, and Riders they meet have little welcome for strangers. Then Anduril is drawn, and oaths are sworn to return the gift of horses, not given lightly by Eomer. Under forest eaves smoking ashes are seen, but no sign of hobbits.
A cloaked old man haunts their campfire, and the horses flee. Alone, in peril, there is naught to do but rest.
(Again, the challenge was to condense a chapter of The Return of the King into a drabble. The complete book is available at HASA.)
Many Partings
Many rich gifts are given in memory, not least the fairest maid of Rohan. To the Ringbearer is granted a jewel for comfort when all seems dark, and passage West if he desires it.
But then come bitter partings; for the Morning is passing away, and the Evenstar will not shine forever. The world is changing. Some of the Fellowship may yet meet; but they shall not all be gathered together ever again.
The time has come to return home – at least for some, at least for now. Their story must be written, and then one last long journey made.