Yule Mathom Challenge 2005

December 11 - 14 fickle Valar

4. Fickle - by Wolfwind


*They love us.*

Fourteen fluttering petals, falling to the earth. They were Song and Singers, being and creating. Now they learned of roots, and of growth, and rejoiced in the beauty they made.

And they waited, for the crown of the Song. The ones for whom the beauty is. They waited for us.

*They love us not.*

The Enemy arose in darkness and wrath. Ruin spread across their beauty. Land was twisted, plants were poisoned. Their delicate flower turned to a bramble.

They fled. They created a new place of beauty, a place to hide. They abandoned their first task, the land that waited. They abandoned us.

*They love us.*

They set the stars to light our coming, to teach that not all the earth was darkness. They counted the time until our coming. They longed for us.

They rode out against him when they found us. They brought him down that we might have peace. They fought for us.

*They love us not.*

They left, once again, the land of our borning. They called us to their beautiful place, to ignore the wounds they'd wrought. They let this land's bloom fall away.

They set him free, the lord of darkness. They gave him the land they had left. They cared nothing for us.

*They love us.*

They heard our pleadings and arose in might. They defeated the dark one and threw him to the Void. Flowers bloomed, birds sang in the light of a new dawn.

They freed this land from his oppression. They brought us victory beyond all hope. They cast him out for us.

*They love us not.*

They turned away, to their own concerns. They hid on their island of beauty and ignored the scars rending our land. They left us ripped asunder.

They came to us and abandoned us. They claimed to love us and forgot us. They joined us and left us to fight alone.


A field strewn with flowers, nodding in the wind. An idyllic peace, shattered by the host's march. The touch of a boot, and a daisy's petals arc into the air.

*love us*

Fluttering on the breeze, white petals float toward the West.


The wind dies. The petals fall to the earth, forgotten.

*Note: The custom this is based on may not be universal, so I'll share. Traditionally, a young girl who liked a boy but didn't know if he recipricated would pick a daisy or another flower. She would pluck off the petals, alternating "He loves me" and "He loves me not". The phrase used on the last petal was right.

This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.

In Challenges

Story Information

Author: HASA Workshop

Status: General

Completion: Ongoing Serial

Rating: General

Last Updated: 01/10/06

Original Post: 12/11/05

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